Burning Down the Mouse

June 23rd, 2009

Luke Crane’s Mouse Guard Roleplaying Game (full-color 8″x8″ hardback, 320 pages, $34.95) is a work of staggering genius. Actually, it’s the work of two staggering geniuses, as it’s based on (and has lots and lots and lots of lush art from) David Petersen’s Mouse Guard comic. (Of course it’s gorgeous to boot: it’s by Luke, based on a gorgeous comic, and published by Archaia Studios.) Said comic pits talking, metal-working, valiant mice against the predators and dangers of … well, of everything larger than a mouse. Which is everything. Said roleplaying game pits the GM against the player characters, the titular guardmice: This is not a game of hand-holding and collaboration, any more than Nature is. Each bout of play starts with the GM’s Turn, in which active, harsh confrontation is the order of the day: the book urges the GM to “beat the crap” out of the guardmice. Test their Beliefs, prey upon their Instincts, force hard choices, and throw obstacles in their way. During the Players’ Turn, after all that stress, the players spend checks to pursue their guardmice’s goals or relationships, re-equip themselves, and get some individual spotlight time.

The game uses a focused, robust version of Crane’s excellent Burning Wheel engine, streamlined for quicker play and more brightly-colored characters. It keeps BW’s scripted combat, which can encompass everything from a desperate fight with talking weasels to a debate about how to ration grain during a hard winter. There is a particularly nice balance between a mouse’s Nature (you know, skittering around finding grain) and his Persona (his store of experience), and another poised on your Traits (from Longtail to Open-Minded): use them favorably and get extra dice; use them to trip yourself up and get more checks during the Players’ Turn.

The game is admirably complete in one book. It’s structured very much as “the only book you’ll ever need,” not just to play Mouse Guard, but for any roleplaying game, leading the reader from an introduction of the RPG concept, through a summary of the comic background, through setting up a Mouse Guard mission, and only at the very end creating a character. It’s gamebook as storybook, driving game as story, while keeping the fierce adversarial edge that makes such fun from old-school D&D to Agon. This edge suits the story: bravery when the whole world is against you. (Special kudos for recognizing that “the whole world” definitely includes the weather; the natural world is foregrounded amazingly well in art, rules, and flavor throughout. I would use this game to play in Middle-Earth, it’s so good at this.) The result is an optimistic, bold, metal-working game that talks clearly and knows what it wants — just like the Mouse Guard itself.

I Thought There Would Be News Of The Catastrophe

June 23rd, 2009

There is! My post-apocalyptic Savage Worlds setting, The Day After Ragnarok, is available from Atomic Overmind! Thanks so much for asking! Oh, you meant the State of the Industry report? Sadly, I had to delay assembling that so I could complete a new project. You might have heard of it: The Day After Ragnarok. In all seriousness, I plan to get to the State of the Industry between Origins and GenCon, which is to say, between the two major barometers of the State of the Hobby.

Is Paris Gaming? Salon du Jeu de Société 2009 Con Report

May 13th, 2009

Toward the end of April, I was fortunate enough to be a guest at the Salon du Jeu de Société in Montreuil, on the eastern lip of Paris. (Only its URL indicated its connection with GenCon France.) I attended through the benevolence of the French RPG publisher 7eme Circle, who translated and published my game Trail of Cthulhu in French, as Cthulhu. (My fellow guest was Jérôme Huguenin, that game’s startlingly gifted illustrator — he also illustrated 7eme Cercle’s new hotness, Kuro Tensei, which looks all apocalyptic and J-horrific.) I speak essentially no French, save that which accretes after a year of grade-school instruction, a decade of French horror films, and a lifelong fondness for good food. So of course I did two interviews there.

So what was the convention like? It was mostly a boardgame show held in one giant dealer’s hall. (I was informed there is a more RPG-focused convention in September. My calendar is open …) Asmodee, the main sponsor, used to publish RPGs but now mostly produces boardgames — plus ca change. Gaming happened primarily at company demo booths, but there were a dozen or so RPG tables set up in one section under the benevolent gaze of Grog. French gamers (based on my random sampling from the thousand or so attendees) are pretty much just like American gamers, although they smoke more — the only barrier was linguistic. The ’satiably curious can see photos of the festivities at the Sci-Fi Universe site, or watch a riveting video shot at the event.

French games, from what I could tell within my Anglophone box, are primarily concerned with world and feel (consider Nephilim, In Nomine, and Qin, to name three French games with English-language versions), which may be part of the reason why they are (as a rule) far prettier than American ones. Given the relative sizes of the Anglophone and Francophone RPG markets, I haven’t the faintest idea how French publishers (very much including mine) support such gorgeous art and production quality. France also has an “indie” scene, if Johan Scipion’s Sombre is any guide — a stripped-down horror game with a number of similarly minimalist sub-games in planning or complete, among them Cthulhu DDR (”No Nazis, No Stasis” says designer Thierry Salaün).

I shan’t mention every game I saw there, but I will single out the upcoming 7eme Cercle game Devastra, which takes the long overdue step of “game-ifying” the legendary history of India, and Jean-Philippe Jaworski’s extraordinarily recondite game Te Deum pour un Massacre, a game about noble machinations surrounding the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in 1572, and the French Wars of Religion generally. (It has five supplements, I think.) Both are extraordinarily beautiful. Both assume a level of comfort with history and pseudo-history that American games mostly don’t.

Which leads me as if by predetermined column outline to the book Jouer avec l’Histoire, or Playing Games With History, which debuted at the show. Edited by Olivier Caïra and Jérôme Larré, this anthology presents essays by game designers and critics discussing the intersection of RPGs with history. Ranging from designer’s notes to “does making Nazis into orcs trivialize the Holocaust?” the book is probably years ahead of the state of the art in English-language RPG criticism. I say “probably,” because it’s not impossible to imagine someone putting together a similarly thoughtful, wide-ranging anthology for American games. (An arguable exception is Wardrip-Fruin and Harrigan’s “… Person” series from MIT Press, but that takes a primarily narratological approach.) Caïra is a leading ludological scholar in France, having published a broad sociological study of RPGs, Jeux de Role, with the prestigious CNRS (the equivalent of the National Science Foundation in the U.S.). He is also very generous with his champagne, which has no bearing on my appreciation of his scholarship.

Which, as I may have pointed out, I can’t actually read. But the typography is very nice.

Which is French gaming in a nutshell. Next, the State of American Gaming, such as it is, and such as I can suss it out.

Vegas Nerves: GAMA Trade Show Con Report 2009

April 20th, 2009

According to the Game Manufacturer’s Association (GAMA to its friends), which surely ought to know, attendance at the GAMA Trade Show was down 20% from last year. It seemed lower than that — perhaps 150 or fewer store accounts. Admittedly, they were the Pareto-optimal stores; any publisher here was talking to the best-run (only a good store will go to GTS without a free HeroClix Galactus as bait) and best-capitalized (only a store with a deep cash reserve can afford to send buyer staff to Las Vegas for three days) of their potential customers. Even in its 20% (or 30%) lower configuration, this may have been a gathering of 80% (or 90%) of hobby-chain sales.

Sadly, they had many fewer publishers in Vegas to sell them things — publisher attendance was more drastically down than usual. Fantasy Flight Games, Paizo Publishing, AEG, and Avalanche Press were only four of the big names missing from the show floor; White Wolf appeared only in the guise of its distributor, Wizards of the Coast brought its Book Expo cottage rather than its normal imperial palace, and Games Workshop had, if recollection serves me, a single banner and a card table. Your humble correspondent was the only representative of IPR at the show, which led to any number of amusing misapprehensions from retailers.

Was it merely the effect of the Current Economic Unpleasantness (Global Edition) or a new round of the Recurrent Economic Unpleasantness (Hobby Games Edition)? Hard to say — there were some new publishers there in fine fettle, such as boardgame supernova Bucephalus Games (23 games in 11 months!) and Bastion Studio, which had the first bubblings of what may well be the New Heat, namely Exillis, a skirmish miniatures game played with neat winged monster minis, an elegant map board — and an iPhone. Yes, the iPhone becomes your ruler, your rule-book, your dice, and your minis inventory all in one. While this specific game — fantasy monsters battling it out in medieval Europe — may not be the Next Big Thing, something very much like it very much will be. And only 150 retailers, at most, got to see it.

Your humble correspondent will be reporting next from medieval Europe — specifically from the Salon du Jeu de Société, aka GenCon France — next weekend. And then, from the Dark Ages known as the State of the Gaming Industry.

Dave Arneson, RIP

April 8th, 2009

Dave Arneson invented this column.

Dave Arneson invented the reason you read this column.

Dave Arneson invented the reason the website that hosts this column exists.

Dave Arneson invented “armor class.” He invented “hit points.” He invented the “cleric.” He invented the “dungeon.” He invented “so, last week you cleaned out the dungeon, and now you’ve heard about another, even scarier dungeon, over the ridge there.” He invented “everyone plays one guy, and I play all the monsters.”

Dave Arneson co-invented Dungeons & Dragons.

Dave Arneson invented role-playing games.

On a personal note, he was a friendly, generous person who genuinely liked games and gamers; seeing him at a convention, or a store appearance, was always a delight — for me, for the fans, and (as far as I could tell) for him. I had the good fortune to talk to him a lot at various shows; he was a demigod adept at playing a mere tenth-level game designer, or  first-level fan, but he also liked hanging out and talking about the Civil War, or his students, or what was going on in my life.

I first met him at GenCon 1997, right after Wizards took over TSR. He was sitting alone, near the Wizards booth, wearing a badge but otherwise inconspicuous. Certainly, there should have been throngs of worshipers bestrewing his lap with rose petals, or a shaft of light from the Fifth Heaven, or an honor guard of bugbears, or something. But I got to shake his hand and thank him for inventing my spare time, and my career.

And now he has leveled up.

Back in Blackmoor

March 5th, 2009

This column occasionally takes a little heat for being head over heels in love with the hippie elves of the “indie gaming community,” to which charge this columnist pleads emphatically guilty. But a year after Gary Gygax’ final leveling up, it’s time to look back at the original indie gaming community, which is to say at modern-day players of the original indie game: Dungeons & Dragons, B.C. (Before Corporatism). Forget 4e vs. 3.5 vs. Pathfinder — in the “old school” community, AD&D is still just a little bit too slick and citified for some folks.

I’ll have more to say on the storied rivalries — and eerie similarities — between indie elves and old-school dwarves in later columns, but I figured I should start out with an introduction to the whole concept. And who better to introduce me, and through me you good people, to it than James Maliszewski? James has written a lot of gaming material, of which I might select the Gear Krieg RPG as one of my personal favorites, but is perhaps best known now for his retro imperial-SF game Thousand Suns and — the reason he’s here now — his tetchy, diamantine, opinionated, finely-researched,  downright amazing blog Grognardia. From that pulpit, he’s become, if not the Pope of Old School, certainly its William Phillips, and he’s been generous enough to answer us some questions.

Kenneth Hite: Give us just a taste of your gaming history — where did you come from, and why did you ever leave the white box behind?

James Maliszewski: Truth be told, I never picked up the White Box [Colloquial term for the original three 1974 D&D rules books. -- KH] until many years after I’d already started playing D&D. I started gaming in late 1979, with the D&D Basic rules edited by Dr. J. Eric Holmes, which I used in conjunction with the AD&D Monster Manual I ordered from the Sears catalog with money my grandmother gave me for Christmas.

KH: I started gaming a few months before that, with exactly the same books.

JM: The Player’s Handbook and Dungeon Master’s Guide followed soon thereafter and AD&D, along with Traveller, were my two great loves gaming-wise until the late 80s, by which time both AD&D, then in its second edition, and Traveller, mired in an ill-conceived metaplot, lost their appeal for me.

I dabbled in a lot of games throughout the 90s, but none of them really caught fire with me. When Wizards of the Coast published 3e in 2000, I was ripe to return to my gaming home and plunged headlong into multiple years-long campaigns and even did some writing in support of the game. Fun as it all was, I nevertheless found 3e a bit too “heavy” for me after a while and was looking for something a bit more like the games I played in my wasted youth. Once it became clear that Fourth Edition was not going to be that game, I first gravitated toward Castles & Crusades and then to OD&D. ["Original" Dungeons & Dragons -- Although definitions vary, essentially D&D as it existed between 1974 and 1976. --KH] I’d owned a copy of the White Box for years, but I never had a chance to delve deeply into it, let alone play it, so I set out to do both. I haven’t looked back.

KH: Give us a sense of the old-school field — what should newcomers to it know, do, and read?

JM: “Old school” is a broad and slippery term, especially when you’re dealing with a hobby whose enthusiasts come from many backgrounds and even generations. As colloquially understood, old-school games are generally those produced between 1974 to 1984 or thereabouts. [And modern games intended to emulate those games' rules and feel, which we'll get to below. -- KH] There are some outliers and anomalies here and there, but that decade pretty well encompasses the vast majority of the games considered “old school.”

Games of this vintage are notable primarily for two things. First, their rules, even the very complex ones, are much more explicitly meant as guidelines — aids to the referee and players in adjudicating in-game situations rather than the final word on any topic. Second, old-school games place a larger burden on the player, as opposed to the character, when it comes to overcoming in-game challenges.

There’s always been a community of gamers who prefer these old games and their approach to the hobby, but it’s only been in the last few years that they’ve started to organize and get in contact with one another in a significant way. That’s why there’s suddenly all these forums and websites and blogs dedicated to them popping up all over the place nowadays.

If someone were interested in learning more about these games, I’d recommend they drop by forums like Dragonsfoot, Knights & Knaves Alehouse, or Original D&D Discussion, among many others and interact with the people there. Old-schoolers have a well-deserved reputation for being a prickly, opinionated bunch, but we’re also happy to answer sincere questions from gamers looking to learn more about our mysterious ways. I’d also recommend reading Matthew Finch’s A Quick Primer for Old School Gaming, which is a free PDF that talks at some length about these topics.

KH: Why old-school gaming now, for you and for others? What specifically makes this kind of fun your kind of fun?

JM: There are lots of reasons. In my own case, as I said, I was tired of the overly complex, deracinated game that D&D had become in its later editions. I wanted a game that was more “primal” and in touch with the early days of the hobby, as well as more consonant with the pulp fantasy literature that inspired it in the first place. So, naturally, I gravitated back to OD&D. My story seems to be one shared by a lot of old-school fans, so there must be something in the air. And of course there are lots of gamers who never stopped playing the older games. These are the guys and gals who were already out there, waiting for us Johnny-come-latelies to join them.

For me, the appeal of these games lies in their open-endedness. They’re very free-wheeling, almost improvisational in nature, and pretty much demand that you engage them actively in order to be able to make heads or tails of them. There’s nothing passive about playing OD&D, because the rules, as presented in those three little brown books, are unclear and indeed incomplete in places. But there’s magic in those lacunae and it’s exactly this that makes it all so enjoyable for me and others.

KH: What’s your sense of the size of the “old-school” community? Is that different in scale from the size of the old-school market?

JM: I honestly have no idea of the size of the community. The Original D&D Discussion forums, where I hang out, have about 400 members, of which maybe a quarter are very active. Dragonsfoot, on the other hand, has about four times as many members. My old-school blog, Grognardia, gets about 1100 unique visitors daily, but many of those people aren’t old-schoolers as such, but gamers who find my idiosyncratic scribblings amusing enough to stop by. So, I’d say that the community is larger than one might expect, given that most of these games are long out of print, but still pretty small compared to, say, the number of people who play the latest edition of D&D. The market for old-school products is probably smaller still, since old-school games encourage a do-it-yourself ethos that many of its players really take to heart.

KH: What’s your personal favorite of the emulator systems — and does it beat its rivals on any metric besides sincere imitation?

JM: My personal favorite is Swords & Wizardry, which is an OD&D emulator. What it does best, I think, is nicely capture the succinctness of the original game — the rulebook is only 74 pages long. It’s also more like a “tool box” than any of the other retro-clone games, since, like the game on which it’s based, each referee needs to make judgment calls about how some aspects of its rules will be interpreted in his or her own campaign.

KH: What do the others accomplish nonetheless?

Labyrinth Lord is a pitch-perfect emulation of the Moldvay/Cook/Marsh rules from 1981 — those 64-page rulebooks with the groovy Erol Otus art. [The Basic and Expert sets. -- KH] Those books were many gamers’ first encounters with D&D and LL is for them. OSRIC [Old School Reference & Index Compilation! How Gygaxian is that?! -- KH] is my beloved AD&D reborn, so if that’s what you’re after, it’s the game for you.

KH: Is there an “old-school” designer (original or retro) whose work you’ll buy sight unseen? How about a modernist designer?

JM: I think Matt Finch comes the closest to being the guy whose work never fails to inspire me, though I could say the same of James Mishler and Rob Conley. Over the last couple of years, I’ve fallen out of touch with contemporary game design, so I don’t think there are any modern designers whose work I’d buy sight unseen. I think very highly of writers like Erik Mona, James Jacobs, and Jason Bulmahn.

KH: What can the old-school movement learn from the various modernist schools — from the D20 creativity boom, from Heinsoo and Mearls’ 4e, from the various indie movements, from Exalted — or from the supplement-driven “bronze-age” line design methods of GURPS, HERO, and the World of Darkness? What can it teach them?

JM: I think the one area where modern games beat the tar out of old-school games is presentation. Most modern games are much better organized; they’re written with an eye toward intelligibility and clarity. That’s a huge improvement over, say, OD&D, the precise interpretation of some of whose passages is still debated today. Of course, that improvement can sometimes come at a price. Modern games are often a lot more focused on rules as the final arbiter of in-game actions, which can lead to a more “mechanical” play style that I find less enjoyable. I also think modern game design is too focused on selling gamers more products to the exclusion of all else. There’s a certain sense in which the old-school movement is an implicit rejection of the very consumerist model of game design we see nowadays.

KH: James, what purpose did you think Grognardia would serve when you started out? What purpose do you think it serves now?

JM: I originally started the blog on a whim, as part of my grappling with the fact that Gary Gygax had died less than a month earlier. His death hit my unexpectedly hard; I felt like I’d lost a close relative, even though I’d never met the man in person and the extent of my connection to him was primarily through the occasional exchange of emails as I was having my Damascus moment about old-school gaming.

I had hoped that I might be able to “talk out loud” on a variety of topics and that I might get a dozen or so likeminded people with whom to share my thoughts. I ended up with a lot more than that, much to my surprise. Grognardia seems to have become a gateway for a lot of people who decide to poke around the old-school community and see what we’re all about. For good or for ill, many people see the blog as the “face” of the old-school movement, which is at once flattering and exasperating. My main virtue is that I’m very prolific and can turn a good phrase now and again, but my perspective is my own and it’s a highly idiosyncratic one in many cases. One of the joys of the old-school community is that it’s highly individualistic and no one of us, no matter how articulate we may be, speaks for us all. So, I see Grognardia as simply one voice among many, albeit a loud and opinionated one.

KH: You wrote a bunch of D20 Modern stuff back in bubble times, and your current work with Thousand Suns more reinvents Traveller than D&D; do you plan to publish any major opus in the old-school fantasy field?

JM: I do, in fact. My partner in crime at Rogue Games, Richard Iorio, and I are hard at work on a RPG called Shadow, Sword & Spell. It’s our take on the “humanistic fantasy” of the 1930s through 1960s — Howard, Leiber, Fox, Vance, Pratt, De Camp, and so on. Like Thousand Suns, it’s intended as a “tool box” game, so that each referee can use it to create his own vision of the swords-and-sorcery genre. The full game is scheduled for a Fall release, but a playable preview should be available at GenCon this August.

KH: Thanks so much for chatting (tapping?) with me, James.

JM: You’re quite welcome!

And there you have it — we’ll look at some of the more idiosyncratic and interesting of the old-school releases in future columns. But one of the more idiosyncratic and interesting features of the old-school movement is how many of the games are available as free PDF downloads, so go explore the surrounding hexes and find those treasures for yourself!

San Ramon Holiday: DunDraCon Con Report 2009

February 16th, 2009

Every year at this time, I flee Chicago in February for the sun and safety of the Bay Area, which responds by dumping nine inches of rain on me all weekend. Fortunately, I spend much of that weekend indoors at DunDraCon, one of the oldest continuing roleplaying game conventions in existence. And it is continuing; attendance was right at 1400, a little bit down from last year, unsurprising given the current economic degringolade.

And it is a roleplaying game convention; at DunDraCon, the RPG is king and all others must follow in its train. (That said, boardgaming boomed this weekend as it seems to be doing all over.) Anchored by the booth of Oakland’s amazing Endgame store (part-owners of IPR and thus proud sponsors of this very column), the dealer’s room still draws a few manufacturers: local boy Chaosium, former local Hero Games, plus Goodman Games, Troll Lord, and Flying Buffalo. Robin Laws’ Mutant City Blues RPG (short form: CSI: Gotham City) debuted here and sold out immediately, as it well deserved to (and since it is published by Pelgrane Press, likewise an IPR-owning company, that is all you will hear of it in these pixels despite its wonderful premise, deft rules, and gorgeous layout); the other standout debut at the show was probably Urban Fantasy Hero by the redoubtable Steve “Writes” Long.

The truly great thing about DunDraCon, even more than the intermittent sunlight and the commendable RPG focus, is its dedicated seminar track. The con reliably packs a room for discussions of such things as alignment, real-life weapon wound trauma, and city design, all for the purposes of bettering your RPG experience — it’s far more like an SF convention than a game con in that respect. Those conventions, and DDC, prove that a market for such discussions can be built; the reason that a game convention might want to turn its attendees into interested, intelligent consumers of their hobby can be left as an exercise for the reader. Or perhaps as the topic for a seminar somewhere.

Dry Bones Gonna Rise Up

February 8th, 2009

Consider this the most comprehensive playtest review in history. I’ve probably logged more hours playing one or another form of Chaosium’s Basic Role-Playing engine — the core of Call of Cthulhu, RuneQuest, Nephilim, Stormbringer, Superworld, and Ringworld, to mention only the games that I’ve played with it — than every other RPG system combined. Including, I should add, using it as a “generic” engine for games from wild multiversal action to steampunk to Westerns to space opera to, well, occult horror investigation. I’ve also, for what it’s worth, written plenty of rules for it professionally, mostly for Nephilim and for Mongoose’s latest iteration of RuneQuest.

So I was glad to see that Sam Johnson and Jason Durall did a pretty darn good job of creating a core book for the game I’ve been running, off and on, for the last 25 or so years. Basic RolePlaying: The Chaosium Roleplaying System (399 pages, black-and-white softcover, $39.95) takes all those Chaosium core books and filters them down into one generic RPG system. Surely everyone knows by now how BRP works: human character stats go from 3-18 (the new book offers point-builds as well as random rolls), skills go from 0% to 100% (the new book has rules for skills over 100% now), you roll percentile dice under your skill, and bang. Armor subtracts from damage, and you can get as crazy as you want with hit locations, but it’s still basically “d100 and a cloud of dust” with characters that are almost always gratifyingly fragile in combat. That, and the robust skills engine (this book’s skill list is a macedoine of Chaosium’s greatest hits), let the game explore other sorts of scenes besides fights. Magic? Depends — this book has superpowers, mutations, magic (a la RQ), sorcery (a la Stormbringer or CoC), or psionics (a la ElfQuest). Pick and choose, or mix and match. Gear, likewise; monsters, again likewise, taken from other Chaosium games and generified. Most of the specific Chaosium games have specialized mechanics and rules; most of them are somewhere in here, usually as optional rules. (The best? The passions mechanic from Pendragon. Use it.) But the core is the same game we’ve all been playing since 1978, when Steve Perrin looked in his white box and said “I’ll bet I could design better rules than this.

In my experience, BRP remains excellently suited for any game in which combat is dangerous and something important reliably happens outside combat. It breaks down for demigods, but it breaks cleanly — there’s not enough rules to become cumbrous. BRP is also excellently suited for the modular attachment of any other, non-Chaosium game mechanics that you happen to like: at one time or another, I’ve added Ars Magica magic, GURPS advantages and disadvantages, and the old Marvel SuperHeroes superpowers (I’m not a fan of percentile superpowers) to BRP with less trouble than it took to type this sentence. (Not for the same game, I hasten to add. Although…) In short, it’s the cleanest, simplest, easiest generic system around. This is not to berate baroque (GURPS), complex (HERO), challenging (FUDGE) generic systems — but it’s nice to have a really good loaf of white bread, too.

And now it’s in one book, not 20.

Choose Your Own Tragedy

December 29th, 2008

I got a copy of Kevin Allen, Jr.’s Sweet Agatha (envelope containing one 32-page full-color digest book and one 11×17 instruction sheet, $16) at GenCon, but I had to wait awhile to review it. I wanted to play it with my wife, who is as devoted to true crime and tragic drama as she is uninterested in roleplaying games. So it took awhile to convince her that this was something she wanted to do. The day after Christmas, she gave in. Now she wants to play it again.

“Play” isn’t quite the word, but neither is “read” or “build” or even “tell,” which is probably closest of the four. Many indie RPGs are not sandbox games — go anywhere, tell any story — but quest games — go there, tell that story. At their extremes — Bacchanal, Polaris, Jeepform — they depart from the RPG as she is understood and become something kindred but unlike: “co-op narratives,” or “directed storytelling,” or “scripted improv.” The designer has become the director; the play’s the thing, and the players merely strut and fret. Sweet Agatha is one of those, except the designer has no script, no narrative, and no direction. It’s a sandbox game disguised as a quest — Agatha has disappeared. Thirty pages of evocative, strange, elliptical photographs and notes and codes and pieces of her life are there for you. As you read them, you cut out “Clues,” which are no such thing. They are narrative Lego blocks, and there is no blueprint, only a color scheme. One player — “The Truth” — picks three blocks for each of nine or ten scenes. The other — “The Reader” — decides what to make of them, and where to go next, for ten scenes until the end. It’s an exquisite corpse, and indeed, Agatha may well be just that. Or she may be a ghost, or a UFO abductee, or a flake, or a drug dealer, or a time traveler, or a spy, or a murderer, or a Gnostic deity, or a nice girl who got lost. What Kevin provides is all flavor and feel; you decide the direction and the payoff. (There’s a brilliant meta-conceit planted in the booklet to give you some directions from Kevin — or Agatha, or God — if you feel the need.) While I was playing, I realized this game has amazing replay potential, getting richer as you play it more. (There’s 67 Clues provided; at most, any one game will only use 30.) As you recognize fragments of past tellings, you assign unwarranted meaning to them, as if you could re-watch Twin Peaks for the first time. This is all down to Kevin’s uncanny ability to exactly hit the notes of half-memory, half-insight, to paint the canvas without revealing the picture.

Every so often, someone wishes that gaming still had a shared universe, that all gamers could still trade stories about our own private Keep on the Borderlands. It would be no bad thing if all gamers knew where — or if — they found sweet Agatha, at last.

And So, Having Escaped the Pit

December 16th, 2008

At GenCon in 1998, James Wallis released an RPG, or perhaps a storytelling game, called The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen. He graciously gifted me a copy, and I read it in about 20 minutes, as it was very short, and I spent the next three days bullyragging everyone I saw into buying it, as it was very good. Although it got me quite a nice dinner (the first of many, as it happened) from James Wallis at the time, it has caused me no end of inconvenience at later GenCons, because the number of games I can read in 20 minutes is pretty minimal, and the number of such games I subsequently demand that everybody buy on pain of being ejected from the company of civilized people everywhere even moreso. Despite this, thanks to the home-run I hit back in 1998, people at GenCon still insist on asking me what the must-read game of the show is.

Well, next year, at least, I can and shall say it is the new, expanded edition of The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen (128-page, black-and-white, digest-sized softcover, $19.95; PDF $10.95), from James’ Magnum Opus Press, published by Mongoose’s Flaming Cobra imprint. For those who don’t know the Baron’s game from its previous incarnation, it is a game of competitive storytelling. In response to a request (”Tell us, my dear Baron, how you came to right the Leaning Tower of Pisa”), you tell an extraordinary tale of your exploits; other players pay to interrupt, or you pay to continue uninterrupted. Lies are settled by duelling. The winner (the teller, by acclamation, of the best story) pays for the next round of drinks, and play continues until closing time. The new edition contains, in addition, two variants: “Es-Sindibad’s Game,” which alters the interruption and story-requesting methods with an intriguing waft of Arabian Nights style (story requests are now collaborative, and the once-verboten “But were you not killed?” is, in this version, the only allowable interruption) and “My Uncle the Baron,” a version of the game for the younger set.

Like the original, it is illustrated by Gustave Dore, who obviously has a bright future (or past) ahead of him as an illustrator. Also like the original, it is magnificently funny, brilliantly clever, and a mandatory purchase on pain of ejection from the company of civilized people everywhere.