The Symbology of Scepters

Royal Scepter

When you hear the word scepter what do you think of? Personally, I instantly imagine a rod of about two feet in length, something belonging to the 17th century or later. Something like the the thing pictured to the right. I have always been fascinated by Greek myth, and the kings of the Greeks were said to carry rods to display their station. I found this, when I was young, to be a very evocative image. Agamemnon with his rod of kings was an image that was long part of my consciousness.

In my mind, Agamemnon's rod of kingship looked something like a Roman baton of captaincy. That was a model I could use, mentally, to imagine a Greek king's symbol of office.

Then King Agamemnon rose, holding his sceptre. This was the work of Vulcan, who gave it to Jove the son of Saturn. Jove gave it to Mercury, slayer of Argus, guide and guardian. King Mercury gave it to Pelops, the mighty charioteer, and Pelops to Atreus, shepherd of his people. Atreus, when he died, left it to Thyestes, rich in flocks, and Thyestes in his turn left it to be borne by Agamemnon, that he might be lord of all Argos and of the isles. (Iliad, Book II)

I was Oloz Slave-taker

I have here two journal-entries written by the two surviving players of the Essad campaign, the only Dogs of the Exactor to make it through first the Vault of Azris and then Takal's betrayal. This first is from Oloz Slave-taker, the brutal half-orc leader of the Dogs who's entire world-view changed when his companion, the priestess Elethanyra Luaaline, perished in the flames of a trap.

I was Oloz Slave-taker, half-orc. I was born ezal of the Black Tusk, shat out by other ezal and I lived the life of a slave's shit, dirtying other slaves and unthinking. I slew, I raped, and exulted, for that was life. I know now that is not the way, I know now that I am not ezal, I am not Ashad's, I am not orc.

An orc is not like a man. An orc is strong. He doesn't feel pity, remorse. He takes life, he takes slaves, for him they are the same, for in the orc's place in the afterlife, like in his life, he is slave or slaver. There is no other way. For the orc, for Ashad his Screaming God, that is the only way - slave or slaver in life, slave or slaver in death. For Oloz Slave-taker, that is the only way.
Oloz Slave-taker is dead.


He is dead but his soul is not with Ashad. He is gone but still he remains, Slave-taker no more.

The Power of Betrayal

I run several games set in the 10th Age. These are somewhat simultaneous, essentially being amalgamations of the core group with different folks left out in order to make sure we always have a game to play; when one player isn't there, we play this game, when the other isn't we play that game. When everyone is there, however, we play a game set in the slaving-kingdom of Essad, a brutal landscape of cruel Masters and poor lesser freemen who's jobs have all been taken by slaves.

A few days ago, this party was set with terrible woes. They've been involving themselves haphazardly in politics in the city as a way of making some money on the side. Their main goal has been to excavate a ruined city, the presence of which is known only to them and their extremely unpleasant employer, Drozon the Sage of Dragons. The majority of the party members have generally been evil, lending the game a violent and unpleasant feeling. They have fought (both to the death and not) in the arena, murdered innocent people to get ahead, and ambushed and killed their competition for Drozon's contract.

All of that has begun to change. During a deep delve into one of the three vaults that the insane wizard Durius Wyrmcrown built to hold the keys to the sealed city (long story), they activated a trap. It was one of those "leave me alone" traps, where if they had just ignored the lure of treasure they would've been fine. As it was, a good portion of the party was hit by a pair of fireballs. Standing in the middle, at the overlap point, and failing all her saves, was their henchpriest, Elethanyra Luaaline, daughter of Aros and Windwalker. She became a molten gobbet of steel.

Tee Arr Yew Ess Tee

There can be no pen and paper roleplaying game without a game master. This is a dictum that, aside from a few games (that I would classify as collective story telling and not games at all), has held true throughout time. Players, you need to trust your game master. There's no game without him; he needs the leeway to make the game function and shouldn't be hamstrung by your trust issues.

That having been said, game master: you must be worthy of trust. I've addressed the poisonous Player's Rights movement that has informed so many of the modern pen and paper rules, but so far I've not actually spoken about the key issue that lies at the very root: the lack of trust between player and game-master that so permeates modern roleplaying games. Where does this lack of trust stem from? It is most likely not a flaw on the part of players, to be fair. So who do we have to blame for this virulent movement? Why, none other than the abusive GMs that put the fear into people so badly that they felt they had to design rules to protect themselves!

Luckily, there are ways to tell if you're an abusive GM; you can change, I promise, and you won't even have to have a player-held intervention.*

Now is the winter...

of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Encountering Balance

There's a mania going around about balancing encounters. Its poisonous grip has slithered around 3.x and 4e alike, and I'm sure it will make it into 5e as well. We are told that encounters need to be fair, survivable, carefully crafted to allow players to use their resources but not difficult enough to kill them. This is a common thread in a lot of modern pen and paper games, presumably to give the Game Master some idea of around what the players can handle without having the floor totally mopped by their foes. However, I would argue that, like many modern pnp conceits, this is actually a result of the vague player's bill of rights that I have discussed on many occasions; namely, in this case, the right to have fair encounters.

Steve Winter mentioned this problem somewhat in his discussion on dragons and on another secondary discussion on encounters, but I'd like to take it in a slightly different direction and trace the benefits of both systems so that we can compare what each method does (fair vs. unfair) and leave the reader to choose for themselves which they prefer. Clearly, I'm going to be in the Winter camp as I agree with Steve on almost every subject; it was his notes in the 2e DMG that taught me how to be a DM, after all. That doesn't mean I can't attempt to list their perks semi-objectively, though.


Let's begin with the fair and balanced encounter. We all know this one, as it is in vogue right now. The fair encounter promises the illusion of threat, which is an important element in any roleplaying game. Perceiving danger is integral to the function of not only what we call "roleplaying games," but any game in which you engage in the role of a character; video games more commonly qualified as action games, etc. Perceiving a danger to your character is part of the fun!

By that same token, this could be a danger to your game. If the threat to your players is simply illusion (i.e., the encounters are so well balanced that only by a series of awful dice-rolls or idiotic tactics could they lose) they may realize this. Indeed, they may realize this just from being familiar with the system. The problem here is, of course, that once the players know that encounters are balanced and are not going to be too hard, they'll know there is a set solution. "If we just arrange our tactics a certain way," they say, "We can definitely win."

This turns combat from a risky endeavor into a puzzle. That's fine, if that's the game you're looking for, but I have never thought of D&D as primarily a puzzle-game. This reduces the adrenaline and fear of combat, ensuring that players are going to survive if only they find the correct solution to their problems. As long as the tactics they choose are the ones that are "correct," they will almost certainly be victorious.

I suppose this can be fun. Who am I to say it can't? That's not the way I want to play D&D though. This seems like a strange way to approach the game, which I see as a reflection of events truly occurring in the fantasy setting of your choice. That sounds insane, I know, but bear with me on this. Maybe I'll even write about it further in another article. Here it goes: perception, as far as I am concerned, is reality. Whatever I perceive is what is real. The seat of perception is generally relegated to the senses, but in the case of imagination we can pretend to sense things that we do not. If we collectively imagine a place, is it not then, in some sense, extant?

And with that fresh in mind, we can look at the other approach. Under this rubric, one does not decide whether or not the PCs can "handle" a fight; rather, whatever makes sense for the region and adventure is present. It matters little if the PCs are level one and fighting ogres, or if they are level 10 and fighting goblins in terms of balance. Balanced encounters, in this mode, are simply not even a question.

The reason for this, of course, is because unlike a video game wherein you must approach problems from a limited number of starting points, in a real pen and paper game you are not forced to approach anything from a particular direction.

Let's take an example: Level 1 party is aware of a group of ogres they want to kill. In a video game, they would have to choose one of the developer approved approaches to getting rid of them. In that sense, the fight would most certainly be "unfair," since there might be one or two possible solutions to allow the party to overcome the ogres.

However, in a pen and paper game the level 1 party has an infinite variety of options. They could hire men to help them, trick the ogres into a narrow defile and rain boulders onto them, dupe them into fighting each other, bait some trolls to come down and destroy them, etc. The game is no longer about finding the right solution, but rather about working with the information you have to solve problems using any tools that could potentially exists in the gameworld.

This is, in my mind, a truer expression of the benefits of pen and paper than the carefully tallied fights designed to waste your resources and make your dead heart feel alive.

Fiction: Beyond the Hedge (part 3)

The following morning, the elves were the talk of the village. There was but one little tavern in Cairaw, the Beleaguered Oarsman, which rambled along the river. It had been an elven-hall once, when the elves still sent lords to Cairaw to govern. The old stone towers had long since tumbled down and the debris been used to sink piers into the soft mud of the riverbank, and the undercrofts dug into the hill had been converted into three taprooms, a brew-house, and an overlarge buttery. The kitchen was above-ground, of course, rebuilt over where the elvish kitchens once stood, though it was finished in sod and turf rather than fine white shingles.

The Oarsman was humming with rumors. Vary Bagdon had started in on his wine as early as breakfast and by lunch was predicting the return of the dragons. Alder chose not to go to the Oarsman, so Barley was there alone. He knew that ma' and Alder would be having a row—a big one—up at the house. Ma' would insist on going ahead with the fieldwork, perhaps even hiring hands, but Alder was spooked. That left Barley sitting by the river-windows in the tavern, drinking a thick mug of ale and eating sops and pease porridge.

Fiction: Beyond the Hedge (Part 2)

Hither you shall find another section of Beyond the Hedge. These aren't broken up in any particular way, they simply end at places I think are interesting. It could easily be read start to finish with no breaks. Enjoy! 

The elves had come from beyond the river. Old Narl Mudborn was watching for them at the gate through the hedge, his straw hat drooping down over his eyes. He told them everything. The elves had crossed at midday, their painted river-barques swiftly making the crossing. They came silently, like silver ghosts, disembarking at Cairaw's humble fishing piers to pass like shadows through the town. All day they had been assembling and marching. After a few hours had passed, the banner of the Twywynne came across, carried by a corps of elves in shining mail and blowing aurochs horns to announce their arrival.

The banner was borne by the Twywynne's champion himself, Holinarën Clenëron Foe-slayer. Narl spread his fingers wide. "'e was attended by squires'n grooms of all kinds! Three white horses, had he, and elven hounds. He said 'e was chief of the rangers headin' east into the moorlands. It's a good thing yer home, for he told the alder-folk that his elves report goblins an' worse about. A big army, a real one, is crossin' at the fords of Medonlo. Ah, but it was grand to see the Foe-slayer!" Narl was fair preening!

The Seduction of Violence

There is a certain hypnotic quality to violence, I find. Playing a game where it is a central theme runs the risk of being seduced by it, of allowing it to be the one and only raison d'être of the entire experience. A cult of violence exists within us all, and particularly in our roleplaying games. This sounds like an indictment, but it's not. For one thing, as I recently said over at Really Bad Eggs, the depiction of something is not the thing in itself. The depiction of violence is not violence, and treating it as the real thing is ludicrous. The depiction and experience of violence is something central to being human, and with it we can explore other things. Even when it appears senseless, it can really be a commentary on the purposelessness of life, the randomness with which we perish for senseless and incomprehensible reasons, or most simply the cruelty of man.

All of these things are inherent in the depiction of violence. But I find that there are certain settings and games, most particularly Warhammer 40k comes to mind, in which violence serves only as an end in itself. This is probably because 40k came into being as a war game and, like all war games, the story served as a reason to kill. There seems to be something sinister about 40k, though, particularly amongst the most iconic of groups: the Space Marines. They exist solely as arbiters of death and destruction. They are quite literally ubermensch, towering over most human beings, possessed of the strength to rip doors from concrete walls and crush skulls in their hands. They have excessive weaponry: exploding plasma-bolts, chain-saw swords, flamethrowers that can liquify bone.

What's my problem with these Space Marines? I'm not really sure. I like Warhammer 40k (though I think that Warhammer Fantasy has a much more cogent and well thought-out setting) but it seems somehow to be lacking in the content department. It has one or two themes, and it hammers them home with the subtlety of a screaming drunk. It espouses close-mindedness and racism, but in a setting where such things are valuable survival tools. It is, as the kids are saying these days, grimdark.

But it also runs the danger of falling prey to the treacherous siren-song of violence. While it may be dangerous for characters in the Imperium to think too much about their actions, the same is not true of their players. When players stop thinking and simply relish in the gore they are unleashing, is something not gone wrong? Violence without content has no depth beyond the most juvenile possible delight in destruction, and while it can be fun for a little while I cannot see myself engaging in a long-term 40k roleplaying game; at least not Deathwatch, which focuses on the Space Marines.

There are other elements that I enjoy and respect; the insane anarchism of Chaos, the hopeless (and very human) struggle of the Imperial Guard, and the clandestine workings of the Inquisition all have a lot of interest for me. But the superhuman muscle-flexing of the Space Marines seems somehow to be lacking, in many cases. That's not to say I dislike all depictions of the Space Marines, but that the ultraviolent trappings seem to be a pitfall that is hard to avoid. In their best incarnations, Space Marines are battle-brothers, knights of the horrific future age where all things are dark, an elite warrior-brotherhood, monks and templars. At their worst they are savage thugs who murder indiscriminately and casually and, worst of all, without examination by those who play them.

Time and Tide

Recently I've had cause to reexamine the way that combat rounds work one 2e. I've played with the Combat and Tactics 15-second combat round since time immemorial. However, C&T advises that spell durations be substantially reduced to fit with the new round time.

Thus, a spell that lasted for one minute now, in combat, lasts for 15 seconds-- fully 1/4th of it's original duration. This makes certain magics much less impressive, useful, or sensible. Why, for example, do they last so much longer when no one is fighting? I considered toying with an explanation based on ability to concentrate and the relative speed of casting, but that just puts a band-aid on the problem.

I'm not going back to 60 second combat rounds (way too long!) so I'm thinking of extending spell times back to their original length, that is one round of normal duration (one minute) would be 4 combat rounds (60 seconds). I'm not sure if this will make magic UNSTOPPABLY good (heat metal, for example) but I can't think of a more elegant solution. If anyone has solved this problem I'd be keen to hear about it.

Having a Party: when D&D works best

As you might have gathered, I've played Dungeons and Dragons for years and years now. My friends have been forced to play Dungeons and Dragons right along with me. Oh, sure, we've had some Call of Cthulhu, 7th Sea, Paranoia, Aftermath, Harn, Deadlands, Alternity, and other such morsels on our plates before. We've sampled and picked our way through the vast feast of roleplaying opportunities. Roleplaying gourmands, we've tasted White Wolf, delighted in Mongoose, and supped upon the offerings of Wizards (though we much preferred when they were prepared by Tactical Studies).

For me, and not necessarily for the rest of my friends, but for me it has always returned to D&D. It was like a mentor to me, and from the arms of Tolkien and Gygax I went on to study medieval history. What was it about D&D that always made me want to come back to it? Well, for one, I have always been a fantasy buff over sci-fi, and for another the style of AD&D was foundational in my understanding of fantasy. But today I want to talk about another reason that D&D has remained a perennial favorite of mine, and that is: the Party.

Fiction: Beyond the Hedge (part 1)

Here's some more fiction, this bit detailing some of the backstory of the halfling porter one of the parties I'm running hired to watch after their things, go rent rooms ahead of them, and generally doing all the things that adventuring parties like to get out of the way with a minimum amount of fuss.
Enjoy!

Barley wiped the sweat from his brow. There were more stones to get rid of, and a tree-trunk left behind in one of the corners of the new field, but he needed to rest. His brother had already found a stool to support him and was sipping warm wine from a skin. Barley grunted and threw his weight into the work, but the rock wouldn't budge. "Come over here and help me with this!" he complained, shooting Alder an angry look.

His brother laughed. "Yew just wait there," he said, gesturing with his skin full of wine. "I'll be along in a minute." Alder was older than Barley and his wiry arms were full of knotted strength. They both shared their father's pale blond hair and deep blue eyes, but Alder was heavy built while Barley had always been a slender lad. Angry that his brother wasn't going to help, Barley dropped the ropes and stalked over to the unfinished wall.

Left Behind

As I feel as though I've had an inordinate amount of fiction recently (most of it not even medieval!) so I've thought long and hard about something gaming related to talk about. What I've hit upon today is that very thing which drove me to write this blog in the first place. I feel like there is a certain sector of the pen and paper population that's being driven away by Wizards and their marketing strategies, of which game design plays a large part.

I first articulated this feeling in a letter to Wizards nearly a year ago now. The purpose of the letter was to ask for permission to use the trademark AD&D freely within the now-defunct Grognard magazine to which, of course, Wizards refused. The efforts of people like Mearls to "unite" the apparently warring factions of D&D players now sheds some light on their refusal; they themselves are trying to draw people back to the fold who have long since been left behind. I fear they will never draw me back, though, and that is what I want to talk about.

What exactly is it that drove me from the loving arms of the corporate world of D&D? Steve Winter has discussed the poisonous release cycle espoused by Wizards, but that's not the core of the issue. It has exacerbated my problems with the alterations that have been made to Dungeons and Dragons over the past several editions, but the problems themselves come not from the dangerous re-iteration and reshaping of core ideas simply to wring a buck out of the D&D crowd, but rather from the exact direction they have taken.

That direction is simply this: Dungeons and Dragons has become less like the fantasy I want to run and experience. The baseline of D&D has shifted from my fondest days (AD&D 2e, of course) away from the grim fantasy I love and towards flashy action-fantasy. We are told in the most modern iterations of D&D that things like monster ecologies are a waste of valuable ink; they never become relevant, so we do not need to trouble ourselves with them. This is the very attitude that wrongheadedly informs the new iterations of D&D over and over. But why?

Fiction: The Siege

How is it that I, Giancarlo, manage to find myself in the worst possible positions no matter where I am in the world, no matter what great powers are clashing? Perhaps it is sweet Fortuna who draws me there, that fickle bitch! Perhaps it is because I am like a crow, scenting the geysers of blood, the putrefaction of corpses, and the crisp smell of powder from across the world. However it may be, I found myself on the island of Corfu in July of the year 1716.

It was a hot July, and I had thought to find refuge amongst my fellow Venetians. As usual, I had spent all but a handful of ducats when my story begins and I was looking for work. I always seem to be looking for work, and it is the most brutal of work which presents itself. Over the past few years my countrymen saw their colonies in Byzantium being taken away from them by the Sultan of the Ottomans. Corinth, Navarino, all were lost one by one to the armies of the Turk. I suppose I had it coming to me, being so close to the enemy during such a vigorous war, but I was in desperate need of money and my relations on Corfu have always obliged.

Player Journals: Aurelien Greenmantle, 3rd Furrow 502

Today we've got a player-written journal from one of my currently running games; the character, Aurelien the Greenmantle, a level 5 wizard who has been questing up and down the Lonely Lands and most recently entered the Rootwood with his companions, the Lamplighters (the ranger Jaquelline le Fevre, the paladin Quintis Beauclerc, and the strange and unpleasant wizard Theylon the Faceless).

Enjoy!

3rd Furrow, 502

I have seen so many things, met so many wondrous and dire folk, but what record is there? When I saw that elven caravan before the wood, smashed and scattered by giant-tossed stones, I was reminded by that senseless wreckage by other black days. They left no record, and how many others fall to similar fates? I thought of the dessiccated corpse of Milea Potioner - long dead when I met her, but through her written word, in a way, I knew her there. So I will do the same; I will write of my travels, and if I should die, perhaps others will know me even still.

And so much is there to write upon! I have spoken this past night with an ent! And in the afternoon, a giant of the Rootwood! Birchtongue, and Terelos, respectively - these are great peoples, wondrous and inscrutable. How many men of eighteen short years have treated with giantkind in this Age? A lucky little few, I would wager, and more of them will I speak with in the coming days, if all goes well. It is morning, and soon I will speak to the withdrawn wizard with whom we travel - I thought to begin last night, for how could I sleep despite my weariness in the presence of such an ancient and thoughtful creature as the ent? but of course there can be no fire-light in his grove, so now let me gather my thoughts and I will present you, my future reader, with the marvels I have seen these past days.

The Power of the Image

Everyone with functional eyes enjoys pictures. It's wonderful to see your character brought to life before you, if someone decides to draw a portrait (or you perhaps pay them to). A sweeping fantasy vista can inspire us and urge us onward to create new things of our own, even if we ourselves aren't visual artists. But where does the power of the image to inspire stop? Where does it become poisonous, driving us with a need for accurate representation in the visual sphere? Is that even a real problem, or am I just making up something to complain about?

I will argue that it is, in fact, a real problem, and that the potency of images is so great that they can cause stultification and lack of imagination rather than inspiring it. Images themselves are not to blame, but rather the overuse of visual art in media such as roleplaying games where they cannot (by their very nature) properly represent the goings-on that are being described.

The Harrowing of Hell

IN honor of the medieval festival celebrating the Harrowing of Hell today, I present to you some marginalia that are particularly amazing courtesy of Ryan Audino:

The Illusion of Stillness

Whenever we look at a particular time in history, we have a tendency to assume that there was a continuous period that surrounded that time; a sort of cleared milieu in which things remained the same. This is a telescoping effect: the nearer the time was to us, the more gradient we see in individual years. For example, most of the 20th Century is typified as being a series of decades, each decade bearing a particular zeitgeist. The fifties were Leave it to Beaver, the sixties were Hippies and Free Love, etc. Of course, being so close to these periods, we know that they were really much more granular. The roots of each decade spring from the decade before, and rather than being discreet units they form a continuum of time.

What does that have to do with roleplaying? Well, it is an unfortunate tendency, partially due to the lack of sources and partially because of mid-late 19th century romanticisation of the past, for us to assume that certain periods were vast swathes of uninterrupted time. Imagine Rome in the 2nd century. Now imagine Rome in the 3rd. One hundred years separate those two time periods, but most people would be hard pressed to say how they differed. The so-called "long dark ages" have fallen prey to a similar problem in modern perception. The middle ages, at least in popular culture, tends to be divided into a series of very long periods, each of which has its own appropriate look and feel. The dark ages have vikings and mud, the Crusades have mail and helmets and the first fortresses, and the 14th century has the plague.

Invisible Dice and Staying In-Character

I play all my pen and paper games on IRC these days. It's a sad development that is a result of being separated by time and distance from all of my players, but it's enabled me to play with people I would otherwise have never met. I prefer playing in-person: more can be said, faster, and the game moves along at a rapid clip when everyone's around the table. I have a stable of voices I like to trot out for in-person games that are never used on IRC. For me, it's a suboptimal playing choice.

But I've been there for a long time now, going on three years. Before that I played on AIM because all the people I played with had gone to school (so had I) and that was the only way we could keep playing. I've discovered that there's a cult of players and GMs on IRC that disdain the use of dice in the game channel because it clutters up play. This seems to me to be an extension of the issue that people have in-person around the table: too much OOC chatter.

Fire and Thunder

Firearms have been incorporated into even our earliest wargaming roots. Recently, I have had the (mis)fortune* of creating a Pathfinder character. I discovered, much to my chagrin, the strange rules Pathfinder presents as being representative of early firearms... and I knew that I had a subject to discourse on.

Being a historian, I clearly like my games to emulate the world, rather than simply make reference to it. There is, as we have discussed before, a necessary tipping point where complex simulation becomes tedium and that tipping point differs for every individual. However, I would argue for a fulcrum somewhat closer to simulation than not, for the simple reason that it complicates things and, in situations where stories tend to be emergent rather than planned, complications are often wonderful. So what exactly is my problem with Pathfinder firearms?

Marketplace of Magic: Sindabras Weapons

Today I've got an article from the Grognard that was the first in the Marketplace of Magic series, meant to parallel the Bazaar of the Bizarre, which deals specifically with a magical material known as Sindabras or elf-silver. Yes, it is unique to the 10th Age but only because I put it there. Anyone can use it for any reason in their settings; there's not even much to divorce from it, as I think most of these items would make good generics.

After the cut you shall find Hamish Letterfriend's article on elf-silver and several elf-silver weapons!

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

So, finally back home from the sunny west (not that sunny) and the conference. New blogs to commence sometime next week once I'm settled in again.