Retrospective: Vampire: The Masquerade

Continuing with my recent trend of posts that have proven inexplicably contentious, I have decided to do a Retrospective post for White Wolf's Vampire: The Masquerade, a game considered by some fans of old school RPGs to represent a major point at which the hobby took a seriously wrong turn. My own opinion of the matter is considerably more nuanced than that, but I agree that the publication of Vampire in 1991 does mark an important hinge point in the evolution of roleplaying games.

If, like me, your introduction to RPGs was through Dungeons & Dragons, Vampire: The Masquerade felt like it had come from another world. Where the focus of D&D was on adventure broadly defined, Vampire was about mood, metaphor, and personal horror. It didn’t merely offer a new set of rules, but a fundamentally different vision of what roleplaying games could be. It was brash, stylish, and theatrical in a way that felt almost confrontational to the sensibilities of "traditional" roleplaying games – and I suspect that was intentional.

Even if you didn’t play Vampire – and I didn't and still haven't – you couldn’t ignore it. By the mid-1990s, Vampire was everywhere: at conventions, in hobby shops, and in the imaginations of a younger generation of gamers for whom roleplaying didn’t begin with The Keep on the Borderlands, but in the nightclubs and dark alleys of White Wolf's "gothic punk" setting. Whatever else you might say about it, Vampire captured the Zeitgeist with almost supernatural precision. The Cold War was over, cyberpunk had gone corporate, and angsty antiheroes were ascendant in pop culture. Vampire gave roleplayers a way to inhabit that mood and make it their own.

Looking back, the game’s presentation probably played a big part in its success. The rulebook looked very different from those of other games on the market. It was filled with fiction, quotes from Schopenhauer and the Indigo Girls, brooding black-and-white artwork, and a relentless focus on theme. Its mechanics, such as they were, often took a backseat to emotion, identity, and esthetic. Character creation prioritized personality, inner conflict, and one’s place within a secretive, decaying society. The World of Darkness, as it came to be known, was more than just a setting. It was a tone, a posture, and a subculture, for good and for ill.

For players of old school D&D or Traveller, used to thinking of characters as problem-solvers and adventurers, Vampire was jarring. Here, the emphasis wasn’t so much on overcoming external challenges, but internal ones. What mattered wasn’t what your character could do, but who he was, what he felt, and how far he’d fall into monstrosity. The oft-parodied “angsty vampire with a katana" stereotype, while real, obscures just how radical this idea was at the time. Vampire: The Masquerade was – or at least aspired to be – a roleplaying game where introspection and tragedy weren’t just permissible but central.

From a mechanical standpoint, Vampire was a bit of a mess. Its Storyteller system was vague, inconsistent, and sometimes begged the question of whether mechanics mattered at all. Of course, it wasn’t designed to support dungeon delving or tactical combat. Instead, it aimed instead to foster collaborative storytelling, character drama, and social intrigue. For many players of the game, it more than succeeded in this aim and its approach to roleplaying soon became not only widespread but, I would argue, the norm.

The game also changed who played RPGs. Vampire brought in a lot of people who'd never played a roleplaying game of any kind, thereby changing the face of the wider hobby. Its gothic, romantic esthetic was attractive to these newcomers in a way that dragons, starships, and mutants never could be. Beyond that, Vampire inspired live-action roleplaying on a scale previously unseen and encouraged a style of play that emphasized character, emotion, and interpersonal drama over puzzles and tactical challenges. Like it or not, Vampire's impact was immense – to the point where the game was once a serious challenger to D&D's hegemony.

From the perspective of old school play, Vampire remains, in most respects, an alien creature. It’s driven more by narrative intention than by exploration or open-ended play. The referee – sorry, Storyteller – is often expected to have a plot and characters are meant to fit into it. That almost certainly rankles those of us for whom the oracular power of dice and emergent play are the acme of roleplaying. Even so, it’s impossible to deny what Vampire accomplished. It dared to be something different and, by doing so, it opened doors. Whether or not you liked what was on the other side, you had to admit it was impressive that someone found a key.

It’s fashionable nowadays to treat Vampire: The Masquerade with irony or to blame it for the sins of later trends, like over-emoting, railroading, or the tyranny of the tragic backstory. While there's more than a little truth to these jabs, I also think it does the game and its influence a disservice. Much like Dungeons & Dragons itself, Vampire was a lightning-in-a-bottle moment that was simultaneously bold, flawed, and genre-defining. It clearly gave roleplayers, especially younger ones, something they were craving, even if they didn't quite realize it at the time. Even though I was never a huge fan of the original game – I liked several later World of Darkness games better – there's no denying its power.

"Trespassers! This is my home."

For all my current misgivings about the 1983 AD&D module, Ravenloft, I don't actually dislike it and indeed have many fond memories associated with it. I was reminded of this when I saw this ad from issue #78 of Dragon (October 1983). Whatever you think about Ravenloft and its influence over the subsequent history of D&D, there's no denying that this is an effective advertisement. It piqued my interest when I first saw it and, even now, decades later, it grabs my attention. 

Pretenders to the Throne

Like most people involved in the hobby of roleplaying, Dungeons & Dragons was the first RPG I ever played. Furthermore, it's probably the RPG I've played the most over the decades, even though it's not my favorite. I do like it and would even go so far as to say that most versions of it are fun to play. This isn't a controversial opinion. Indeed, if history is any guide, most roleplayers feel similarly, because some version of Dungeons & Dragons has been the most popular, most played, and most profitable roleplaying game pretty much continuously since 1974. 

I say "pretty much," because there have been times and places when this was not case, but most of these instances have been unusual in one way or another. I was thinking about this topic for reasons I'll explain in an upcoming post, but my present point is that, with only a handful of exceptions, D&D has always been the King of Roleplaying Games. That was true in 1974 and it's still true in 2024. That's a truth that a lot of partisans of other RPGs don't like to hear. While I'm sympathetic to their feelings, I'm not going to pretend as if it's not the case that D&D's reign has not been a largely secure one.

There I go again with my quibbling adverbs – largely. I'm old enough to remember several moments in time when it seemed as if the fortunes of Dungeons & Dragons were on the downswing and another roleplaying game was on the ascent. Whether that was actually the case is another matter. For now, though, I'd simply like to focus on three occasions when it seemed to me – perhaps mistakenly – as if D&D was in danger of being pushed aside by a competitor. 

The first time was in the mid-80s, once I had become a subscriber to White Dwarf. One of the things I very quickly noticed was that the magazine frequently carried content for Chaosium's RuneQuest, then in its second edition. This was in stark contrast to Dragon magazine, the gaming periodical with which I was most familiar, which scarcely ever included articles, let alone adventures, for RQ. At that time, AD&D was in its late 1e doldrums, so I took the appearance of so much RuneQuest material in White Dwarf as evidence that its star was on the rise. I would eventually learn that this was mostly a British phenomenon, where RQ's popularity met or even exceeded that of D&D. So far as I know, this never extended to North America, but I still started contemplating the possibility that Dungeons & Dragons might one day be toppled from its position as King of the Hill. 

The next time I saw what I thought was a serious challenger to D&D was about a decade later, in the mid-1990s. That's when White Wolf's "World of Darkness" games were all the rage, particularly the first game in that line, Vampire: the Masquerade. While I didn't get into any of "World of Darkness" games until a few years later – I'd eventually even write for a few of them – I was nevertheless quite familiar with them, thanks in large part to friends who were regular players. What I learned from them was that Vampire and its companion games had proven popular with many people who'd otherwise not played RPGs. The "World of Darkness" was bringing in new players and those players were very devoted to it. It probably helped, too, that Dungeons & Dragons (and indeed TSR itself) was in the midst of another period of doldrums, which made White Wolf's offerings seem even more vital by comparison.

Finally, there was Paizo's Pathfinder Roleplaying Game. Pathfinder came out shortly after Wizards of the Coast announced that the next edition of Dungeons & Dragons – Fourth Edition – would not, unlike its immediate predecessor, being an "open" game. Instead, it would use a much more restrictive licensing scheme. Likewise, the new edition's rules would be rather different from those in 3e, making backward compatibility an issue. For a lot of fans of the Third Edition, this was dreadful news and Paizo saw an opportunity to serve them by producing its own version of 3e, which it called Pathfinder. Pathfinder proved quite successful and, for a brief time, appeared to have snatched the RPG crown from Dungeons & Dragons. Ultimately, that proved to have been an illusion, but that doesn't change the fact that, for a brief moment, I felt otherwise.

In the end, none of the aforementioned roleplaying games were truly successful in knocking D&D off its pedestal, at least not for long. In each case, the plausibility of this belief rested on the same thing: the perceived weakness of D&D. Whenever the current edition of Dungeons & Dragons was in its late, decadent phase, disenchantment with the direction of the game or the perception that it was on the wrong track made me feel that some other RPG might have a shot at the Throne of Gygax. That's not to say that none of these games enjoyed a genuine popularity boost when D&D was "weak." In the case of Vampire the Masquerade, I'm pretty sure it did enjoy a period of wild popularity and good sales and that might well have been true of Pathfinder, too (RuneQuest in the UK is more of an edge case). Yet, for all that, D&D always came roaring back, its place as the hobby's top dog secure for another decade or so. 

I can't predict the future, so if another roleplaying game will ever succeed in displacing Dungeons & Dragons, I have no idea. Judging by the past, however, it seems quite unlikely, which is why, for good or ill, in most people's minds, tabletop RPGs will always be synonymous with D&D.

White Dwarf: Issue #37

Issue #37 of White Dwarf (January 1983) features a cover by Emmanuel that I assume is inspired by an article within entitled "Faeries," about which I'll speak presently. Like all of Emmanuel's previous covers (including that of the Fiend Folio), it's quite striking and very different than the kind of artwork I instinctively associate with RPG magazines. That may say more about my own narrow perspectives, I don't know. Regardless, it's a strangely compelling piece and is a good reminder that "fantasy" artwork isn't limited to the technically proficient but soulless style seen too often on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.

Ian Livingstone's editorial begins by focusing on the relative decline in the British pound compared to the US dollar and its adverse effect on the pricing of imported goods, like RPGs. This, in turn, leads him to wonder why, seven years after the arrival of Dungeons & Dragons, there is still no commercially viable British competitor. Games Workshop would, of course, rectify this matter in time, starting with (I believe) Golden Heroes in 1984, followed by Judge Dredd in 1985, and, of course, Warhammer Fantasy Role-Play in 1986. 

"Faeries" by Alan E. Paul discusses, as its subtitle explains, "AD&D and the Land of Faerie." The article is basically an overview of British and Celtic folkloric notions about fairies, fairy creatures, and the otherworldly realm whence they come, with an eye toward incorporating these things into an AD&D game. It's a good effort and genuinely interesting, though I am generally well inclined toward attempts to introduce some authenticity into D&D's deracinated monster roster. However, "Faerie" is very light on specifics and contains no rules or rules modifications to aid the referee in this goal. Consequently, I found myself wanting more.

Andy Slack continues his "Introduction to Traveller," this time offering advice to referees. Like its predecessor, it's well done for what it is, though, as I perpetually say when approaching articles like this one, it's difficult to judge it properly decades after so many of its insights have passed into conventional wisdom. On the other hand, "Bloodsuckers" by Marcus L. Rowland is an unambiguously excellent article. As its title implies, it's about vampires, specifically for use with Dungeons & Dragons. What Rowland does is present referees with a "vampire construction kit" filled with lots of ideas and options. They're presented in the form of random tables, but the referee could just as easily choose those options he prefers. The end result is a much more varied – and unpredictable – kind of undead monster.

"Open Box" reviews three products this month, starting with Chaosium's SoloQuest for use with RuneQuest, which the reviewer judged excellent, giving it a 9 out of 10. Slightly less well received (7 out of 10) was TSR's Star Frontiers. Reviewer Andy Slack it less "realistic" and more "action adventure" oriented than Traveller, which is a fair, if common, knock against the game. Finally, there's Crasimoff's World, a play-by-mail fantasy RPG of which I've never heard. The reviewer likes it well enough (8 out of 10), though it's hard to understand fully what the game was like to play. Mind you, PBM gaming is a huge black hole in my own experience of the hobby, so I must admit to having a general difficulty in comprehending how they worked in practice.

"The City in the Swamp" by Graeme Davis is a remarkable AD&D scenario for characters of levels 5–7. The premise is that a gray slaad had been sent to spread some chaos on the Prime Material Plane and failed. Rather than return to Limbo in disgrace, he instead fled into a swamp to hide among the toad-like gralthi (a new monster race). A death slaad was sent to do the job the gray slaad failed to do and then, shapechanged into human form, he hires a group of player characters to go into the swamp and deal with his wayward kin. It's a very unusual set-up but a clever one that reminds me of a little of a lost story of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser or even Elric. My only real complaint is that it's difficult to read, as many White Dwarf articles were, thanks to both its small font size and its being printed on silhouetted pages.

"D&D Scenarios" by Lewis Pulsipher is a collection of brief adventure ideas for Dungeons & Dragons. 
 When I say "brief," I mean it. None of the ideas is fully fleshed out and most are only a paragraph or two long. Like the "Introduction to Traveller" piece earlier, it's hard to judge articles like this in retrospect. I can only say that I wasn't inspired, let alone blown away, by any of the ideas presented here. How much of that reflects my current vantage point is hard to say. Much more compelling was this month's installment of the "Fiend Factory," which presents four new monster species, the standout being the weed-delvers, a race of ancient cephalopods that ruled the seas eons ago. Also called the Wet Ones, the weed-delvers come in three varieties and are Chaotic Neutral in alignment, meaning the referee can use them in a multitude of ways, not simply as straight up antagonists.

"Magic Quest" offers up three new spells and one magic item for RuneQuest, while "Starbase" provides a prospecting vehicle for Traveller (complete with a schematic diagram). Finally, "Encumbrance without Tears" is an optional, simpler encumbrance system for use with AD&D. There's no question that this system is better than the standard version, but it's still too number-heavy for my present tastes. Mind you, I've never been a stickler about encumbrance, so I'm probably not the intended audience for articles like this.

This is a very good issue, buoyed in large part because of the excellent vampire article and the terrific AD&D scenario. Both heavily remind of the things I liked best about White Dwarf when I was a reader of the magazine in the early to mid-1980s. Both also encapsulate a certain intangible quality that I strongly associate with "British fantasy." They're both excellent palate cleansers for gamers like myself whose earliest experiences of fantasy are limited primarily to created by Americans (and American game companies). Good stuff!

Retrospective: Tomb of the Lizard King

Depending on one's perspective, 1982 is either the penultimate year of D&D's Golden Age or close to the start of a transitional Electrum Age. These days, I incline more toward the latter interpretation and modules like 1982's Tomb of the Lizard King are part of the reason why. The module is written by Mark Acres, who's best known for his work on some of TSR's "lesser" RPG efforts (including my beloved Gangbusters). I was honestly surprised that Acres was its designer, as I hadn't recalled his ever writing anything for any edition of Dungeons & Dragons. I also think I had confused this module with Against the Cult of the Reptile God by Doug Niles, perhaps due to the presence of lizard men in both.

Before even looking at the contents of the module itself, the first thing that's obvious is that it makes use of the then-new trade dress for AD&D modules – the first module to do so, I believe, even though I more strongly associate it with Pharaoh, published the same year. Aside from the gold bar across the top – visually similar to the gold spines on books like Monster Manual II – another notable feature is the AD&D logo with its distinctive draconic ampersand. Finally, Tomb of the Lizard King is billed as a "fantasy adventure module" rather than a "dungeon module" as were all its predecessors. Taken together, these changes demonstrate, I think, that AD&D was in the midst of a shift, esthetically if nothing else, away from its earlier form.

The adventure is written for levels 5–7 and includes eight pre-generated characters, as so many modules of the era did. I enjoy examining pre-generated characters, with an eye toward the power level of player characters presumed by the designer. The pre-gens here are pretty much in line with those of the time, with middling ability scores and hit points and comparatively few magic items. I prefer characters of this sort, but it's clear that, as time went on, this approach fell out of favor and presumed PC power increased considerably – a shift we'll see strongly during the Silver Age proper.

The adventure takes place on the plain of the River Ardo in the County of Eor, which has recently been beset by bandits. If none of those place names sound familiar, you're not alone. Tomb of the Lizard King is a "generic" module in that it's not specifically keyed to the World of Greyhawk setting, as most AD&D modules were at the time, if only tangentially. This is another shift worth noting, as it's one that becomes much more widespread as the 1980s wear on. In any case, the characters are asked by the Count of Eor (with the rather mundane name of John Brunis) to find out first what happened to the men he sent to deal with these bandits and who never returned and, if they can, to deal with the bandits themselves. 

Of course, the bandits are no ordinary highwaymen but rather a coalition of evil men and monsters assembled by Sakatha, the titular lizard king. Sakatha, we learn, died more than two centuries ago, slain, like all his kind, by the ancestors of the people of Eor. Dying on the battlefield, he begged whatever powers that might hear him to have his revenge. Sakatha then rose from the dead as a vampire and has slowly been building up his power base so that he could avenge himself and his people upon Eor. (I feel like I should add that, in addition to being a vampire, Sakatha is also a 9th-level magic-user, so he's quite powerful.)

It's a good set-up for an adventure in my opinion and, for the most part, it doesn't disappoint. The encounters throughout, both in the obligatory wilderness section and in several underwound locales, are very challenging. In fact, I'm not really sure that they're suitable for 5th–7th level characters, not without a great deal of luck and planning on the part of the players. In that respect, I think Tomb of the Lizard King is in keeping with earlier AD&D adventures, which demanded attentive play and skill to survive. However much its presentation may differ from those of earlier modules, its level of difficulty still feels as if it were a product of previous years.

That said, the module does suffer from a lack of flavor. Yes, Sakatha is a compelling and well fleshed out antagonist and that's important. However, the Count of Eor, the realm he rules, and even the wilderness the characters explore while in his employ all feel bland and generic. There's none of the details or idiosyncratic flourishes one would find in Gygax's adventures, let alone the overwrought melodrama of Hickman's efforts. Instead, this is a fairly bare bones affair that's notable mostly for its clever villain and demanding encounters. Perhaps that is enough.

Random Roll: DMG, p. 119

The Dungeon Masters Guide devotes three paragraphs on p. 119, right before the descriptions of magic items, to "Energy Draining by Undead or Device." When my eyes came across this section, I knew immediately it'd be worth examining. The matter of level drain remains one of the most contentious topics in all of D&D and AD&D, right up there with alignment in terms of spawning debates and disagreements, even after more than forty years. I've touched on this topic several times previously and in those instances it generated a lot of comments, suggesting people have strong feelings on the subject. I've personally never had any real issues with the rules as written, but, even so, I remain keen to see if there are details and nuances about it that I might have missed.

Gygax begins his discussion of this topic in the Dungeon Masters Guide by stating that "when a character loses a level of energy, he or she loses an experience level," adding

he or she loses hit points equal to those gained with the acquisition of the former experience level (including bonus points for constitution), all abilities gained with the experience level now lost, and experience points sufficient to bring the total possessed to the mid-point of the next lower level. 

What immediately strikes me is that the drained character only loses half the XP between the previously earned level and the new, weakened one. I can't recall ever seeing that rule before or, if so, I'd long ago forgotten it. In the years since, I've always docked a drained character all the experience points earned between the previous level and the new one. Thus, a 5th-level fighter struck by a wight would drop down to 4th level and 8001 XP, according to my scheme, while Gygax says that the fighter would have 13,001 XP. Apparently, I've been doing it wrong all these years. I think this takes a little of the bite out of level drain, though probably not enough for dedicated opponents of the mechanic.

That first paragraph goes on to say

If this brings the character below 1st level of experience, then the individual is a 0 level person never capable of gaining experience again. If a 0 level individual is drained an energy level, he or she is dead (possibly to become an undead monster).

This is fascinating to me for what it might imply about a metaphysical distinction between ordinary, 0 level people and adventurers. Does Gygax mean to suggest that no level 0 character can ever gain XP, or does this apply only to characters who formerly had levels above 0 who drop down to that level due to energy drain? He doesn't clarify the matter, unfortunately. 

On the matter of multi-class characters, Gygax explains that the drain always affects the class with the highest level or, if they are equal, the highest experience point total. In the case of an energy drain that steals two levels, one level is taken from each class (at least in the class of, say, a fighter/magic-user; presumably a character with three classes struck by a spectre loses one level each from the two highest classes). 

Gygax also elaborates on the matter of "lesser undead controlled by their slayer/drainer." He explains that, in most cases, "each has but half the hit dice of a normal undead monster of this type." However, in the case of vampires, the situation is somewhat more complex.

Lesser vampires have but half their former level of experience with respect to profession (cleric, fighter, etc.) at the time they initially encountered and were subsequently slain/drained by their now-master vampire, i.e., an 8th level thief killed by a vampire, even though drained to below 0 level in the process, returns as a 4th level thief vampire, as appropriate. However, upon the destruction of their slayer/drainer, such lesser undead gain energy levels from characters they subsequently slay/drain until they reach the maximum number of hit dice (and their former level of class experience as well, if applicable) appropriate to their type of undead monster. Upon reaching full hit dice status, they are able to slay/drain and control lesser undead as they once were.

Though not directly relevant to the overall question of level drain, I found it intriguing nonetheless, since it makes clear how differently Gygax viewed vampires from other undead. As a younger person, I noted that nearly every vampire to appear in a AD&D module had character levels, a possibility noted in the Monster Manual but whose details were never fully explicated until the DMG.

Imagine Magazine: Issue #22

 Issue #22 of Imagine (January 1985) fittingly features a cover by Rodney Matthews entitled "Earl Aubec." I say fittingly, as this issue's "theme" is Michael Moorcock and his works.  That alone made me sit up and take notice, since I have long had a love/hate relationship with Moorcock as a writer and creator. I'm always interested in hearing what he has to say, even if I frequently disagree with it. Seeing the blazon on the cover announcing several Moorcock-related features immediately increased my enthusiasm to read the magazine's contents. 

"The Vampire Revamped" by Derrick Norton is the issue's first article. It's an extensive examination of the undead monster, with an eye toward expanding its powers and abilities for use with AD&D. I have no objection to this and in fact think it's a good idea. The vampires of Dungeons & Dragons have always been a bit bland in my opinion (hence my own variant of them) and Norton does a good job of presenting multiple alternatives, even if some of them are bit more potent than I'd prefer myself.

"Gibbet Street" is the latest installment in the series describing the City League of Pellinore. As its name suggests, Gibbet Street gets its name from the gallows that stands there – a reminder to the inhabitants of this shady part of the city that criminal behavior can have dire consequences. Also nearby is Beggars Alley. As usual, there are plenty of quirky NPCs detailed, along with examples of the city's guilds. Also presented is information on capturing and selling monsters for use as opponents in the arena (described in last issue). As I have said several times before, I find Pellinore quite charming in its content and terrific in its presentation. It's a good model, I think, for building up a fantasy setting from the ground up and has undoubtedly influenced my posts on Urheim.

Michael Moorcock's "The Last Enchantment" is a Elric short story originally published in 1978. It concerns the Melnibonéan's journey into a realm of Chaos and his efforts to escape it. The story, which I had read before, is not an action packed one. Rather, it's somewhat philosophical and gives Moorcock the chance to muse about the nature of Chaos. Not one of Moorcock's great tales but it's worth a read nonetheless. Much more interesting, I think, is his interview in which he touches upon a very wide range of topics, from Deities & Demigods to Mervyn Peake to why the Eternal Champion always has a companion at his side. If you've read interviews with Moorcock before, none of it is particularly revelatory (or new), but I enjoyed reading it nonetheless. Another article, "The Theatre of Michael Moorcock" by David Hill, is an overview of the three main Eternal Champions series (Elric, Hawkmoon, and Corum), presented as if it were notes from an imaginary stage production.

"Earl Aubec and the Iron Galleon" is an adventure for Advanced Dungeons & Dragons written by Michael Brunton based on an outline by Moorcock. It's an unusual adventure in that it's intended for a single player, who takes the role of Aubec, Earl of Malador. Aubec is a great hero of the Young Kingdoms from before the time of Elric, as well as a previous incarnation of the Eternal Champion. A second character, Jhary-a-Conel, is provided in the event that a second player is included. It's an intriguing scenario, involving a sea voyage that results in a fogbound collision with the titular Iron Galleon. The adventure also includes rules for luck points that remind me of those in Conan Unchained!

Graeme Davis and Colin Greenland take a long look at gamebooks in "Solo Voyages." They cover a lot of ground in this piece, from Fighting Fantasy to Lone Wolf to Tunnels & Trolls and The Fantasy Trip. I find the concept of solo fantasy gaming fascinating, even though I have fairly limited experience with it myself, so this article held my attention. There are plenty of reviews this month, such as Lords of Creation, Middle Earth Roleplaying, and Star Trek the Roleplaying Game, in addition to supplements for Marvel Super Heroes, Indiana Jones, and Traveller. I enjoy reading old reviews, both for the perspective on how things were viewed in the past and for how things are viewed in different contexts. Overall, I'd say Imagine tends to be a bit harsher in its reviews than was Dragon, though, in the case of this issue, that wasn't quite so clear.

Brian Creese's "Chainmail" continues to discuss postal gaming, something with which I have no experience and still find it hard to imagine was once sufficiently popular to command a monthly column devoted to it. Colin Greenland's "Fantasy Media" reviews The Last Starfighter, which he praises for its computer effects, and The Dune Encyclopedia, one of my favorite bits of para-fiction ever published. I should write a post about it someday, because it's a remarkable piece of work that too few people have ever seen, let alone read. Rounding out the issue is Roger Musson's "Stirge Corner," which tackles languages – a topic dear to my heart – and new installments of "Rubic of Moggedon" and "Phalanx."

This is another strong issue, aided no doubt by the presence of all the Michael Moorcock-related material. I've lamented many times before the decoupling of roleplaying games and the literature that inspired them. Seeing the work of a genuine literary superstar like Moorcock in a magazine devoted to RPGs is thus a big thrill for me, as well as a reminder of the lost world I grew up in, when being a D&D player meant that of course you had read Elric (and Conan and John Carter and Middle-earth and …), a situation that seems far less true today than it was in my youth. Ah well.

Solomon Kane vs Dracula

I have often said – too often, most likely – that the period from the late 1960s to mid-70s was one of incredible creative ferment. That Dungeons & Dragons appeared during this time is not at all surprising, especially when you consider everything else that was going on at the time. Just take a look at comics from the era to get an idea of what I'm talking about (including their influence on early D&D). 

Marvel Comics played an outsize role in this period of artistic upheaval. One of the reasons for this was the company's willingness to push boundaries in the pages of its black-and-white comic magazines, such as The Savage Sword of Conan. Because these offerings were magazines rather than comic books, they weren't subject to the Comics Code Authority's rules, allowing writers and artists to produce things that wouldn't otherwise have been allowed at the time. (The distinction between a "magazine" and a "comic book" is a complicated and somewhat arbitrary one in this context, but, for historical reasons, it was a real one)

Besides Savage Sword, Marvel published Dracula Lives!, which premiered in June 1973 and ran for a total of thirteen issues (plus an annual). The magazine was sort of the grown-up companion to The Tomb of Dracula and featured some of the same creators (most notably, Gardner Fox). Roy Thomas, whose lasting fame is based to a great extent on his work on Conan the Barbarian, was a regular contributor to Dracula Lives!, starting with its very first issue. His contribution to issue #3 (October 1973) is of particular interest to me (and, I hope, readers) because it features not just the Count himself but also Robert E. Howard's Puritan swordsman, Solomon Kane. Even more significantly, it answers that age old question, "Who would win?"

The story, entitled "Castle of the Undead," begins with Solomon Kane beset by wolves in a Transylvanian forest.

Wounded, tired, and surrounded, Kane is near defeat – until he is rescued by a mysterious stranger.

The stranger is, of course, Count Dracula, who explains that he had raised the wolves from cubs and it was only his familiarity with them that enabled him to survive where Kane nearly did not. Kane thanks him for aid and explains that he is in Transylvania seeking a young woman named Rosella Carson. Rosella is the daughter is a friend back in England and he has vowed to return her safely to her father. Dracula claims to know nothing of Rosella but offers Kane a place to stay the night. Kane accepts and promises Dracula any boon he asks in payment for his having rescued him from the wolves.

When Kane awakens just before dawn, he finds himself assailed by "a vision of sensuality incarnate, whom he memorably rejects.

Dracula has enthralled Rosella Carson, making her one of his vampire brides. Horrified, Kane confronts her and is left with no choice but to slay her, which he does by piercing her heart with his shattered walking stick. Soon after, he goes to find the Count, who, it turns out, is waiting for him, sword in hand.

Kane duels Dracula and seems to gain the upper hand. Despite the vampire lord's skill at arms and preternatural strength, Kane overcomes his defenses and stabs him. Dracula topples backward and laughs, for Kane does not yet fully understand the "rules" that govern the undead's damned existence. Dracula gets up and mocks the Puritan for a fool. Kane is not so easily beaten, though, and, as the Count ridicules him, he reaches for his coin purse and tosses the silver coins within at the vampire.

With this maneuver, Kane gains the upper hand. He reaches for a nearby axe to chop off Dracula's head. Before he can do so, the Count craves the boon Kane had earlier promised him: to spare his life. Honorable and upstanding even when dealing with a spawn of Hell itself, Kane agrees. A good Christian gentleman, he will not break any oath he made and relents. Dracula mocks him one last time for abiding by his moral code and the story ends.

Once one gets past the initial absurdity of these two literary characters meeting and fighting, "Castle of the Undead" isn't half-bad. It's not great literature, to be sure, but I think it's broadly in keeping with the spirit of Howard's Kane stories, if not necessarily Stoker's Dracula. Indeed, I'd say it's a better original story than the 2009 Solomon Kane movie, which wasted James Purefoy, not to mention probably the only chance we'll get for an adaptation of the character. Say what you will about Roy Thomas – and many have – but he certainly understood REH and his characters better than have anyone in Hollywood over the last half-century.

V is for Vampire

Of all the types of undead, it is the vampire that is probably the most terrifying. Part of it the terror it generates is simple revulsion at the vampire's physical form -- an emaciated, almost rodent-like mockery of the human countenance -- but there is more to it than that, as there are many monsters whose appearance is as hideous, if not moreso, than that of the vampire. Equally terrifying is the vampire's mockery of both mortality and  immortality, its cruel reminder that all existence depends upon sucking the life out of other beings.

There are three known ways to become a vampire. The first is to voluntarily seek out this undead state through the use of Chaotic rituals. Comparatively few vampires are created this way any longer. The second is to be drained of one's life by a vampire and then chosen by the creature to be one of his thralls. This is the most common way that vampires are created in the present age. The third is is a variation on the first, in that Chaotic rituals are employed but the vampire is forcibly created against the wishes of the person affected by those rituals. And, just like the first method, this one is quite rare at present, as the rituals needed are possessed only by a few secretive cults.

Like liches, vampires frequently become leaders among the undead, cowing lesser types into their service. After the fall of the Thulian Empire, a number of vampires associated with the cult of Turms Termax took advantage of the ensuing disorder to establish themselves as warlords in several locations, most notably the military base then known as Fort Adamantas. Over time, most of these vampire lords were overthrown, but some survived, either fleeing into hiding or continuing to rule from their strongholds. With the opening of Dwimmermount, there are stories of yet more Termaxian vampires appearing in the world -- which does not bode well for the future.

"La Sangre es La Vida"

Since I'm the parent who stays at home on Halloween to dispense candy to the neighborhood children, I often find myself in need of something to do during the lulls between the doorbell rings. Because that happens often enough, I can't do anything that demands too much attention, like reading, so the solution I came to is that Halloween night is perfect for watching movies -- horror-themed ones, naturally.

Last night I decided to pop in the second DVD in Universal Dracula set, which contains the Spanish language version of the film, made contemporaneously with the English language one, using the same sets. In the earliest days of film, Hollywood would just dub their movies into other languages for overseas distribution, but, as the industry became more sophisticated, it was common practice to concurrently make several versions of the same film, each with a different cast who spoke different languages in order to both save money and make movies that held a wider appeal in foreign markets than did dubbed versions.

Many of these foreign language versions of famous American films no longer exist, but Drácula survives, albeit in a slightly less than pristine condition (some of the scenes are a little choppy and grainy). Even so, it's eminently watchable and I quickly found myself enjoying it a great deal, so much so that I started to resent the ever more frequent occasions I had to pause the action to go to the door. Eventually, I just decided to give up and rewatch the movie from the beginning after the children went to bed, because Drácula deserved my fuller attention.

Without the benefit of immediately understanding the dialog, I was left primarily with the visuals and that makes for a very different experience in viewing a film. Drácula is longer than its American counterpart, adding nearly 30 minutes. Consequently, it felt slower paced to me, though that might simply have been a trick created by my lack of linguistic understanding. Even so, the camera did seem to linger longer over many scenes, particularly those in which its female cast were onscreen, something about which I can hardly complain. Lupita Tovar's Eva Seward is a much more vibrant presence than Helen Chandler's milquetoast Mina in the American version:

Of course, Carmen Guerrero's Lucy Westenra's all-too-brief appearance is likewise notable, especially this scene where she prepares herself for bed before becoming Dracula's next victim:

Also not to be forgotten are the three Brides, whose portrayal in Drácula is as predatory, almost bestial creatures (and it is they, rather than the Count, who drive Renfield mad):

As I understand it, there are critics who feel the Spanish language version is superior to its English language twin. I can certainly see why one might hold that opinion. Drácula has a lot to recommend it beyond eye candy. Its performances are, on the whole, more emotionally charged and immediate. They're no more realistic than the English versions, since I find both films very "archetypal," which is to say, more like a Greek drama than a scene from life put on the big screen. However, I think the Spanish language actors turned out better performances overall.

Of course, any version of Dracula rises or falls based on the actor in the central role. Carlos Villarias is no Bela Lugosi, despite some superficial physical resemblance between the two. He has no problem portraying the suave, alluring side of the Count, but he lacks the menace that Lugosi could project. When he attempts to do so, Villarias generally isn't very effective and, occasionally, it's laughable. I suspect that it's my lack of fondness for Villarias that prevents me from judging Drácula as the superior to its twin. (And I should state, for the record, that Christopher Lee gives my favorite portrayal of Dracula)

Despite that, Drácula is a superb film and I'm glad I sat down and watched it after meaning to do so for so long. Rather than see it as a "rival" to the English language version, I prefer to see it as a complement to it -- another take on the same movie, which is exactly what it is. It really is amazing how much alike the two movies are, so much so that the differences are easier to notice and, my preference for the women of the Spanish version aside, it'd be impossible to pick one over the other.

Fortunately, I don't have to.

Grognard's Grimoire: The Vampires of Dwimmermount

I doubt it will come as a surprise to anyone that I loathe the domestication of the vampire that has occurred over the last forty years or so. I find nothing that is attractive or admirable in the idea of creatures who attain immortality through the consumption of the blood of others, even if the concept of the vampire is an intellectually fascinating one to me. Consequently, you're out of luck if you're expecting a sympathetic portrayal of a vampire in one of my RPG campaigns, especially my Dwimmermount campaign, where a vampire -- Doux Cyrus Agallon -- is an important NPC. Though his cooperation with the PCs has, thus far, had no obviously negative repercussions, no one, least of all the PCs, believes this state of affairs will last forever. Cyrus is a vampire: an inhuman, rapacious monster whose continued existence depends on violence against the living. Ultimately, he must be destroyed, for there is no comprising with him.

The vampires of the Dwimmermount campaign are based on those of the LBBs, but I've reinterpreted them in various ways, in accordance with the idiosyncrasies of the campaign world, most notably in the fact that one cannot be made a vampire against one's will.

The text in the quote box below is hereby designated Open Game Content via the Open Game License.

Vampire
No Enc.: 1d6 (1d6)
Lair Probability: 20%
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 120' (40'), Fly: 180' (60')
Armor Class: 2
Hit Dice: 7 to 9
Attacks: 1 (see below)
Damage: 1d10, drain life energy (see below)
Save: F7 to F9
Morale: 11
Hoard Class: XVII
XP: 3,590/5,560/8,000

The vampire is a hateful undead creature created by means of an abhorrent necromantic ritual that requires the free and active consent of a human (and only a human) being to effect. The vampire survives only by drinking the blood of the living. It is immune to sleep and charm spells and can only be struck by magical weapons. If damaged, a vampire regenerates 3 hit points per round. If reduced to zero or fewer hit points, it is not destroyed but rather reduced to a gaseous form (which it can also assume at will).

A vampire is immensely strong, dealing 1d10 points of damage with each strike of its claw-like hands. Though this creature looks like a hideous, emaciated corpse, it nevertheless can exert a powerful attraction over mortal beings with its gaze, which acts as a charm person spell (save at -2 to resist). A vampire will drink the blood from a charmed victim, draining two levels with each feeding. Drinking blood cannot be done in combat and the victim will have no recollection of the event afterward. Victims entirely drained of all their levels simply die, but they may not be restored to life by any means, including resurrection. A vampire must drain a number of levels per week equal to its hit dice or it will permanently weaken, losing one hit die per week of insufficient sustenance.

Though powerful, a vampire will quickly disintegrate if exposed to sunlight. It cannot cross running water (which they cannot cross except by means of a bridge, boat, or similar construction) and impalement with a wooden stake immobilizes (but does not kill) it. A vampire is repelled by the scent of garlic or its reflection and can be turned by a cleric of sufficient level. During the day, this creature must return to a grave, tomb, or casket that contains soil from its native land or else it will lose hit die per night until it reaches 0 hit dice and fades away. Lost hit dice are restored at a rate of 1 per night of slumber in its proper hideaway.

A vampire can summon 1d10x10 rats or 3d6 wolves once per day, which arrive in 2d6 rounds to aid it. The presence of an active vampire creates a miasma that slowly spreads at a rate of 1 square mile per day up to a maximum number of square miles equal to the hit dice of the most powerful vampire in the area. Anyone within the miasma suffers a -2 to saving throws against diseases, curses, and similar effects.

Retrospective: Palace of the Vampire Queen

In the history of the hobby, there are a handful of early products that might rightly be called legendary. 1976's Palace of the Vampire Queen, written by Pete and Judy Kerestan, probably qualifies for such status. The first in a series of "Dungeon Masters Kits" published by a company called Wee Warriors, Palace of the Vampire Queen is the first stand-alone adventure module ever produced, which probably explains why its earliest printings were "distributed exclusively by TSR Hobbies, Inc.," as the credits page notes. There was a demand for prefabricated adventures and this adventure was written to meet it.

At the time, the only other adventure available was "The Temple of the Frog" in Supplement II to OD&D and, awesome as it is, it was probably too idiosyncratic to serve as a model for others to use in creating their own adventures. Palace of the Vampire Queen, on the other hand, is a much more "traditional" scenario, combining the classic elements of the post-Dracula vampire myth with D&D distinctives, like demihumans, giant vermin, and magic treasures. In a sense, one could call it an ancestor of the more well-known Ravenloft, except that Palace of the Vampire Queen contains only the thinnest plot, being more of a location-based adventure rather than an occasion for romance novel-level melodrama.

The Palace of the Vampire Queen is thus a very bare bones affair, but that probably makes it more immediately useful. Its basic assumptions are those of most D&D campaigns, namely that the characters are a party of "adventurers" looking to acquire fame and power by venturing into Chaos-tainted locales and battling the monsters that dwell therein. Introductory text explains that the daughter of the dwarf King Arman of Baylor has been kidnapped by the dreaded Vampire Queen, providing some context for the PCs' actions, but there's little else to frame the story nor are there additional rewards for rescuing the unnamed dwarven princess from the Palace.

Instead, what we get is a five-level dungeon intended as "only a basic outline -- you can make it a dramatic adventure." Each of the five levels has two maps each, one that is keyed and one that is not, the latter being available "to speed game play" if the referee prefers not to have the players map the Palace themselves. The maps are unusual in several respects. First, they're not presented on a grid, instead using a scale of one-quarter inches equaling six feet. [This is in error; please forgive my aging eyes --JDM] Second, they use non-standard symbols, eschewing those presented in the LBBs in favor of its own. Finally, the maps have rather attractive decorated borders as you can see below.

The same level of attractiveness applies to the map keys, which, despite their oddities, are clear and easy to use, far more so than the convoluted keys of "The Temple of the Frog." In this way, Palace of the Vampire Queen established a standard of presentation that, while not wholly adopted by others, would nevertheless exert an influence.

This was a product intended to be picked up and used by any referee, regardless of the campaign he was running or the characters being used in it. That alone makes it remarkable, even if by the standards of TSR and Judges Guild adventures from just a short time later, it feels very "flat." Palace of the Vampire Queen is a milestone in the history of the hobby and it certainly deserves to be more well-known than it is.

Turning the Undead in Style

Here's a steely-faced Peter Cushing unleashing the power of God in 1960's The Brides of Dracula while wearing a jaunty Alpine hat.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Dracula

First published in 1897, Abraham "Bram" Stoker's Dracula is one of those rare works of literature that, while being thoroughly steeped in the genre out of which it arose, in this case Gothic fiction, nevertheless manages to transcend their origins. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that Dracula is one of the most influential novels of all time, inspiring not just many imitators but also whole genres of fiction and ensuring that the vampire is one of the enduring archetypes of Western mythology.

Like most people, I knew the character of Count Dracula long before I read the novel in which he appears. As a kid growing up in the 1970s, before the advent of inexpensive VCRs, I watched old movies on Saturday afternoons on local TV channels, among them the many Hammer films of Peter Cushing and Christoper Lee, which, as it turns out, were important influences on Dave Arneson. It was Christopher Lee's portrayal of Dracula that has probably stuck with me all these years as the interpretation of the titular character, despite its deviation from what Stoker himself actually wrote.

I only read the novel for the first time when I was in college and I was initially rather taken aback. Dracula is an epistolary novel rather than a traditional narrative. There are journal entries, telegrams, newspaper clippings, even transcripts from phonograph recordings, and they each shed a different light on the unfolding story of Count Dracula's "invasion" of late 19th century London. This gives the novel a somewhat disjointed feel, particularly since it's told from the perspective of several narrators, some of whom are unreliable or at least ignorant of all that is transpiring. Likewise, the novel is written in a style that sometimes felt stiff and "distant" to me, at least in parts, but I eventually came to realize this was intentional.

The general outline of the novel's plot are well-known: a Transylvanian vampire seeks to acquire real estate in England in order to gain access to a larger population on which to feed and to pave the way for his long-planned attempt to rise to power. What made the novel so fantastic, though, was not its plot but its characters, chiefly Count Dracula himself, who is at once repulsive and attractive. I'm not sure that the character has ever been adequately portrayed in film, as most portrayals tend to over-emphasize his seductive qualities at the expense of his monstrous ones. Dracula-as-Byronic-hero is a common misinterpretation of this character and, while there's little question that Stoker does make Dracula an alluring figure -- by design -- there's also no question that he's a villain and one who must be destroyed to ensure the safety of the world.

Like Stoker's Dracula, I find vampires to be both attractive and repulsive: attractive, because the idea of nearly-immortal damned souls stalking the night is a terrifying one; repulsive, because too few people nowadays look on vampires as unambiguously evil. I suppose that's as much proof as we need to illustrate the glamor of evil, but I can't help but feel disappointment at the way the archetype of the vampire has been so watered-down and indeed neutered of the power it packed in Stoker's day. I think there's still a lot of punch left in vampires but most of that punch comes from contemplating their status as thralls of Hell (whether literally or metaphorically) rather than as forever-young demigods.