The Darkling Princess

Our Land of Azurth 5e campaign continued last night with the party summoned to a counsel of the three rulers: Viola of Yanth, Desira of Virid, and Bellona of Sang. The PCs were informed of recent intelligence that suggested have her long deathless sleep, Nocturose, lover of the Witch Queen of Noxia might be awakening. None of them were sure who this event should it come to pass might tip the balance of the war as the Gloom Elf servants of the Witch Queen have been allies of the Wizard, but they want the party to get involved and find out.

Zabra, ever true to her alignment and her upbringing, makes inquires what might be in it for them. Alas, the rulers just appealed to the party's sense of right. Most of them have long ago resigned themselves to pocketing loot on the side, so they convince Zabra to go along.

They are transported across northern Yanth Country and the border at the Vale of Thorns into gloomy Noxia where the sun is eclipsed by Umbra, the Shadow Moon, by air elementals in the service of Desira. They are deposited at the entrance to the dark forest where the chapel where Nocturose lies in state is located. The elementals wish them luck and say they'll wait.

The dark canopy of the forest is full of stirges and the shadows are unusually thick. The trail is blocked by twisted treant who tells them that Nocturose's fitful spirit seeks a mirror that was shattered. With it reassembled she can fully awaken. He reveals to them in verse the locations of the mirror pieces. The party takes on the task of finding the mirror shards, though they still aren't sure of their purpose or their side here.

They manage to talky to gothy nymphs into giving up the shard that they have. Then they trade a +1 battle axe and a low level potion of healing to a winged morlock-thing for the shard he and his tribe have. Next, they descended into a dark pit and found a cace. Before they could locate a shard there, a voice challenges them from the darkness and a shadowy dragon moves into view!

This relates to the characters and concepts mentioned in the Dictionary of Azurth.

In Translation

Constructed languages, at least for naming, are a big part of fantasy literature. Evocative coinings like Minas Tirith, Lankhmar, Aes Sedai, An-Athair, Khaleesi, Tharagavverug, and sranc are an important part of the enjoyment.

In fantasy rpgs, however, even constructed naming languages can be tough for some players. Not only can names like Hrü'ü be hard for some to pronounce, but a number npcs with difficult/unfamiliar names may be difficult for players to keep straight or remember at all and so keep those players from fully engaging with the imagined world.

Tolkien, bitten though he was by the conlanging bug, offers a solution: translation.

We all know, of course, that we must imagine translation as having occurred so that we can read books and play characters in rpgs in our native languages and not in whatever language exists in the setting. Tolkien, unlike most authors, doesn't just leave this to necessary convention. He tells us that the book he ostensibly got the story of LotR from was in Westron and that the names of the Hobbits Bilbo Baggins and Peregrine "Pippin" Took (for example), are translations/localizations of Bilba Labingi and Razanur "Razar" Tûc, respectively.

Those nice details aside, Tolkien goes a step further. Other imaginary languages in his work beyond Westron get rendered as different, real languages: Rohirric, the language of Rohan gets translated into Old English, and names in the tongue of Dale and that of the dwarves get translated into Old Norse. This allows him to retain the "foreignness" of those other tongues from the perspective of Westron which has become mostly invisible since it's rendered as Modern English.

But he's not done there! Tolkien often chooses languages to "translate" into that retain the essence of the imagined linguistic relationship between his fictional languages. For instance, the names of the ancient kings of  Rhovanion are rendered in Gothic, preserving in Gothic's relationship to Old English something of the relationship of the tongue of ancient kings to Rohirric and Westron. This graph from Wikipedia shows it:

Chiswick Chap

I think this approach is a natural fit for rpgs. True, any use non-Modern English (or whatever the native language of your group is) might present difficulty for some players, but I think "coding" the use of unfamiliar languages to only certain groups both aids the memory and decreases the total number of unfamiliar things to remember. If Elvish names are translated as French (or Farsi, or whatever you like), well maybe the player still can't remember a particular elf's name, but they stand a better chance of recognizing names as Elvish.

There was a Dragon article back in the 80s that sort of hit upon this. The author suggested using a mix of Old and Middle English to represent the ancestor of Common. In my Azurth campaign, I have high elves speak in sort of the cod-Shakespearean manner of Marvel Comics' Thor to represent how their long lives left them behind current language changes.

Greyhawk: The Horned Society

The origin of the so-called humanoids of eastern Oerik is something of a mystery. They first entered history as mercenaries and foederati of the Suloise and Baklunish in their wars. When the conflict toppled both empires, the humanoid groups fell upon their former patrons as well as their enemies as every people scrambled for their own survivable. A confederation of hobgoblin comitatus and various allies of other humanoid groups settled in the steppe north of the Nyr Dyv between the Veng and Ritensa Rivers.

In recent decades, one or more high priests of a diabolic cult have managed to convert the fractious tribes and bring them under their sway, forming the Horned Society. While the name is applied in human lands to the region, only a portion of the humanoid tribes residing there are actually directly in the service of the Horned Society Hierarchs. Though much has been made of the superstitious fanaticism of humanoids, it seems likely that the Hierarchs rule as much by their success in delivering lucrative plunder through banditry and by canny manipulation of rivalries between groups. The theatrics employed by the Hierarchs, to say nothing of the invocation of diabolic power, likely serve as a deterrent against would-be usurpers, however.

Weird Revisited: Magical Revolutions

The original version of this post appeared in December of 2010. I've updated it with some newer thoughts...

We’re all familiar with the advance of technology and the shifting--sometimes radically--of scientific ideas. The ether theory gave way to special relativity; the crossbow gave way to the gun. So why is it we seldom see any advancements in the technology of magic, or magical paradigm shifts, in rpg settings?

Not that magic isn’t shown as changing over time, but it's almost always a fall from a more advanced state, even a Golden Age, to its current one. Mostly, though, this seems to just a change from more magic to less. Sure, this gives a convenient rationale for ancient magical ruins and magical items laying around, but there are other explanations for that stuff, surely.

Why can’t magic missiles be more powerful today than 100 years ago? Maybe old spells have completely fallen by the wayside due to improve defenses (maybe, though, those defenses have been lost too?). Or how about old magical theories giving way to the radical new theories of a Magus Einstein? Different magical schools/styles need not be equally valid views that just add “color”, one could be more true than the other. What would that even mean: more powerful spells? shorter casting times? higher levels attainable? bragging rights in the outer planes?

It turns out the manga (and anime) Frieren: Beyond Journey's End actually does some of this. A powerful demon early on is easily defeated because his formerly unbeatable attack has now become so well understood over the time he was sealed away that even relatively inexperienced mages know how to defend against it. It seems that in general, combat magic has gotten better over Frieren's (extended) lifetime, but a number of minor spells or things for noncombat applications have been forgotten.

 

Still though, that's the only example I think I've come across in the years since I wrote this post initially. I think there's a lot that could be done with the idea in gaming, particularly in a system like modern D&D with so many varieties of magic. 

Crunch and Complexity

Last week, consideration of the new HârnMaster: Roleplaying in the World of Kèthîra and a blog post I came across in defense of heavy rules sets got me pondering what constitutes complexity and/or crunch in a rpg. Though the terms are often used interchangeably, I feel like it might be worthwhile to differentiate them. 

Complexity I think speaks to the level of detail. Games tend toward greater complexity when they have one or more of the following:

• Multiple rule subsystems/exceptions to standard mechanics
• Multiple rolls required to resolve tasks/events
• Larger numbers of character qualities, particularly when they each have their own mechanics
• Figured/derived characteristics needed in play
• Tracking of multiple characteristics/variables
• Required consultation of charts

So what's crunch? I had initially thought of it essentially as math related: quantization, calculation, use of formulas, etc. Discussion with Ian of Benign Brown Beast made me reconsider. He viewed crunch as "character builds, optimal play, and interaction with the rules on their own terms (as opposed to thru the fiction)."

"Optimal play" and "interaction with rules on their own terms" are about approaches to systems, not the systems themselves, so I think those are separate phenomena. Perhaps they are a signal for the existence of crunch, though? Melding Ian's thoughts and my initial ones, I now think crunch relates to number of mechanical decision points within a system. This would show up on the player-facing side as character creation and tactical options, resulting in the potential for optimal builds in games like 3e D&D or Lancer. It also shows up in games intended to "realistically" (or at least consistently) model a wide range of genres or setting elements, like Hero System or GURPS.

In this way of viewing things, crunch can (and does) lead to complexity, but there are also factors that would lead to lengthier procedures but not necessarily options or decision points.

Two Lawful Neutral Religions

 My "Hidden Religions of D&D" posts got me thinking about a new way to view alignment in D&D, and that is not as personal ethics or even (necessarily) cosmic forces, but rather as placeholders for religions within a campaign setting. Old D&D gives us some detail on the generic "Church of Law" so it would be interesting to expand that idea to other alignments--however many one wants to use. 

A Lawful Neutral church would be one that holds to the supremacy of cosmic order. They would focus on the duties of individuals and society to uphold and harmonize with that cosmic order. Here are Lawful Neutral faiths that would represent these ideas in different ways.

Universal Harmony

This faith believes there is an Eternal Order that has always existed on some idealized plane, but through the process of Law that encompasses both the working of the cosmos and the virtuous behavior of the beings with that cosmos, must be made manifest. The obligations of the humanity in this work are laid out in the religion's holy text, the Formicarium.

The common person is urged to be content with their roll in life and work to make society as whole more orderly and harmonious. The contemplation of greater mysteries is left to ascetics who sometimes provide guidance on important issues to the communities they serve. Those involved in the legal system and the formulation of laws are likewise members of the clergy as law flows from and is a facet of perfect cosmic Order.

The Formicarium mandates that the ruler of a state should be a dispassionate vessel for law. Their job is to insure those under them proceed with honest and transparency, and punishment for transgressing the law is swift and impartial.

Upon death, adherents look forward to an ultimate oneness with the universal process, so that they neither suffer nor desire.

Zurthonism

Zurthon is viewed as the first principal, the transcendent god of time, space, and fate. Zurthon is sometimes called a "machine god"--a being without passion or compassion, and above concepts of good and evil. The faithful seek to divine the path Zurthon has predetermined for them from the beginning of the universe by the study of the Heavens. Zurthonist astrologer-priests plot a child's horoscope from birth. The faithful do not seek to avoid or change ill-fate but rather use this for knowledge to allow them to prepare for the future, the better to display their submission to Zurthon's divine plan. 

There are heretical sects of Zurthonism that view predetermination as an excuse for licentiousness or abandon (and thus become a cult of Chaotic Neutral), but orthodox belief promotes a stoicism in all things.

Ergodic RPG Setting Presentations

Going back to the Greyhawk Folio has made me realize how it differs from modern setting material and perhaps why I bounced off of it when I first encountered. I believe it falls into a category of published setting I would call "ergodic settings." Ergodic settings are analogous to ergodic literature, that is that are settings whose form of presentation requires nontrivial effort on the part of the reader to make sense or understand the setting.

I'll concede that "understanding" in this context can be kind of fuzzy. Different perspective DMs likely have different expectations and desires of a setting. I'm sure there are a lot of people that loved Greyhawk from the moment they encountered the Folio or the Wilderlands of High Fantasy, to name another setting I find ergodic. But I don't think that changes the quality of ergodicity, it's more about how much work you're willing to do (or have already done) to meet the setting where it is.

So what do I mean by ergodic? Well, Greyhawk in its initial present is brief, which is often touted as a virtue, but in that brevity its ability to develop an easy sense of place is impaired. It also consistently refuses to take the modern route of focusing on "juicy" details or hooks. It's not that there aren't things going on in the Flanaess, but as far as we know from the Folio, they aren't really things for low-level treasure seekers. When seeds of adventure are there, they tend to be more Game of Thrones clash of armies and intrigues. There's also perhaps a focus on wargame realism over fantasy. A careful read with an eye toward history can suggest Gygax's models and sources, but he doesn't make it easy, like say, Robert E. Howard or the first introduction to the Known World in Isle of Dread (which just tells you the inspiration, so you don't even get to feel smart!)

Well, I don't know the primary export, but these places seem cool!

 Wilderlands is similarly fairly opaque in that department, but at least you can read hexes with a crashed spacecraft, mermaids or giants. And lots of them. The Folio is dressing your set with backdrops and a few props, but with scant actual prompts for adventure and very little enticing fantasy spectacle. This is just the facts; you do most of the fantasy.

But modern settings require work because they are often too completist and too wordy! Getting through all that cruft requires work! Sure, but it's a different sort of work. It's the work of separating wheat from chaff, perhaps, or just the work of reading homework, it isn't the conceptual work of "what does this mean and what do I do with it?" The Folio approach makes it harder to distill "the good bits" for your own thing, if that's what you're after.

This Strange Stars OSR has a good approach. Wonder who wrote this?

Now, this can be a virtue for the seasoned DM. It's easier to make it your own, perhaps, or even run it differently with the parameters that exist in different campaigns. And if all you need is the barest background to sink your dungeons into, it doesn't matter. But looking at the more recent DMs Guild Greyhawk presentations, there's more of an effort to put player-engaging material in, even as they hew fairly traditionalist.

Greyhawk: Rel Astra

Rel Astra is one of the major port cities of the Great Kingdom. It is an old city of the Aerdy, the original seat of the early Aerdian Church of Law and once a capital of an Aerdi kingdom until the crowning of the Overking. Once the Great Kingdom was declared in Rauxes, control of Rel Astra was given over to a ministerialis who served as constable and mayor in the Overking's name. The post continues, but it now belongs to a hereditary noble line whose interests have diverged from those of the Malachite Throne.

Like the lords of the Iron League region, the Constable's financial interests lie with the burghers and trade, and he resents the grasping and peremptory ways of the Overking. He is also wary of the covetousness of Medegia's Holy Censor.

While the more fierce-tongued members of the city's council urge swift action, the Constable chooses to slowly build his forces and bide his time.

The original Folio had an apparent editing mistake that listed Rel Astra as the capital of Medegia, so a thought it was worth making a nod to that in the history. Though the Folio never mentions it, the title of Overking suggests their were (at least once) subordinate kings. I figure there must have been multiple, petty Aerdian kingdoms that were united.

The Xmas Dagmar turned Krampus

Our Land of Azurth 5e game continued last night, a much-delayed continuance as we started a holiday-themed adventure before the holidays. It's fitting, though, that we got to finish it on Twelfth Night.

Sent to aid a village suffering from child-disappearances far to the north, the party suffered accompaniment by rhyming, snowman narrator as they ascended a treacherous mountain to find a secret workshop where kobolds were using the children as slave labor.

Defeating the kobolds, the children pointed them to where the evil mastermind laired. After puzzling over a trap made with colored lights, they confronted the villain--the Krampus!

He was a formidable opponent, and the opening exchanges suggested it would be a hard-fought battle. Until Dagmar the Cleric strove forward to attempt to turn the fiend. 

And turn him she did, despite his magic resistance. That bought them time and the fighters took advantage of it. When Erekose delivered the final blow, the Krampus exploded with a "pop" and a shower of confetti and glitter.

The children were returned home and the party was honored with a feast: roast beast and all the trimmings.

This adventure was adapted from How The Lich Stole Christmas.

The Fruitful Inconsistency of the Hyborian Age

The Encyclopedia of Fantasy (1997) describes Howard's Hyborian Age and similar imagined worlds as "fantasylands" in contrast to the more serious, Tolkienian worldbuilding of "secondary worlds." This perhaps undercuts the quite serious world-building Howard did in places like his "Hyborian Age" essay but also obscures the fact that all world-builders (Tolkien included) borrow or are at least derive inspiration from history or other works of literature.

Still, it's hard to deny that the Hyborian Age tends to wear its undiluted influences or antecedents proudly. Perhaps not as totally as say D&D's Known World or some other rpg settings, but to a greater degree than Middle Earth or most other literary fantasy settings. I can't be too critical of these game settings as it allows people to get a handle on different lands or cultures quickly, but it does strain suspension of disbelief for some folks.

The Hyborian Age does those similar gaming settings one better, however. In what I think was possibly Howard's best world-building idea (at least so far as things to steal for gaming), the overall action and theme of regions come through, even when his cultural inspirations are less clear. Visiting different Hyborian lands may not just mean travel through history with Fantasy Vikings here and a Fantasy American Frontier there but travel through different subgenres or modes of pulp/adventure fiction.

In his Conan yarns he gives us Golden Age of Piracy adventure stories, tales of the Crusaders and the Outremer, Frontier stories in the vein of the Leatherstocking Tales, and a few stories recognizable as just fantasy in today's genre standards. He does this often by dispensing with a lot of the historical things that led to these settings and situations and just gets down to the action readers (and presumably players) are looking for.

Vague or passing homologies are all he seems to need to get going. He doesn't worry about establishing a Christendom or an Islamic World--or even really a Holy Land to get his Outremerish setting. He handwaves some former colonies (now independent) of Koth (which is vaguely Italic maybe, but hardly Imperial Roman and with a capital whose name is borrowed from the Hittites) on a borderland coveted by Turan, and he just describes the players, setting, and action in a way that the vibe of crusades and Crusader Kingdoms comes through, regardless of the background differences.

Likewise, "The Black Stranger" deals with pirates and a treasure, sure, but to drive home we are now in Treasure Island territory, he dresses Conan for the part:

The stranger was as tall as either of the freebooters, and more powerfully built than either, yet for all his size he moved with pantherish suppleness in his high, flaring-topped boots. His thighs were cased in close-fitting breeches of white silk, his wide-skirted sky-blue coat open to reveal an open-necked white silken shirt beneath, and the scarlet sash that girdled his waist. There were silver acorn-shaped buttons on the coat, and it was adorned with gilt-worked cuffs and pocket-flaps, and a satin collar. A lacquered hat completed a costume obsolete by nearly a hundred years. A heavy cutlass hung at the wearer's hip.

Does this undermine the essential Medieval character of the Hyborian Age? Probably! Does it weaken one's ability to think of it as a sustained and complete world? Could be! Does it make it clear "we're now on the Pirates of Caribbean ride, behave accordingly?" Yep!

I feel like this tool can be put to good use by GMs. Even ones that are more interested in setting consistency perhaps than Howard. Even small details can do a lot.

Classic D&D Adventures in Real World Settings

 Lately I've been thinking about how well some classic adventures might adapted to real world settings. By real world, I mean historical fantasy--I'm not thinking of throwing out magic. Some monsters or at least, their abundance might be sacrificed, though. Harryhausen fil-esque beasts would be fine; tribes of orcs or goblins would likely be reskinned.

There are, of course, a number of dungeoncrawls which could take place pretty much anywhere with a little work. Here are a few that I recall with more distinct locations:

The Sinister Secret of Saltmarsh: Given that we're told the setting of this one is meant to evoke a south-coast English town, the obvious placement for me (inspired by Captain Clegg) would be the set on the southeast coast of England in the area of Romney Marsh. Of course, that's not the only option. The Low Country would work, too. The significant presence of lizard men in the area might need to be reskinned as something else, but maybe having this have to do with Deep Ones off the coast would work?

Beyond the Crystal Cave: This one reminds me of The Tempest (though it's probably the similarity of the name Porpherio to Prospero and the island location that does that) so I would place it on Prospero's Island in the Mediterranean, which could be Pantelleria as some have suggested or a completely fictional Mediterranean isle.

Aerie of the Slave Lords: My initial thought on this one was the Barbary Pirates, but that name is usual reserve for pirates that are a bit later era than might be the sweet spot. Fortunately (in this context only!), slave trading in the Mediterranean was quite common in the Middle Ages. You don't have to go to an "evil" nation like a Pomarj, you just have to go to Venice.  Some Mediterranean port could be a stand-in for Highport, and a fictional mediterranean volcanic island in the Companian volcanic arc would be the sight of the slaver's secret base.

Anyway, you get the idea. 

Greyhawk: Medegia

The See of Medegia is a territory ostensibly within the Great Kingdom of Aerdy that is under direct sovereign rule of the Holy Censor of the Aerdian Church of Law. Though the reach of the Censor's ecclesiastical authority has diminished with the decline of the Great Kingdom, he remains one of the most powerful and wealthy rulers in the eastern Flanaess.

The Church of Law has ever tied to the Aerdi, their kings, and kingdom. While the various Hierarchs of Law of the Flanaess were independent, they were in communion, and the Hierarch of Medegia was invested as Holy Censor, guardian over the doctrine of Law and moral guide to the Malachite Throne and the entire Kingdom.

Most Medegian church houses, including its great basilica, were originally dedicated to Pholtus, the Blinding Light, though Legalism being a transtheistic faith, this was not true of other churches in other lands. Today, the iconography of Pholtus persists, but the stern-faced deity is little favored by the current Holy Censor, his most senior clergy, or the other highfolk of the land. The Divine Law has varied manifestations and champions, so why should they not pray to Zilchus, whose doctrine of material prosperity for the faithful is more amiable to their wealth and privilege?

Despite the Holy Censor's roll as advisor to the Overking, neither the indolent Hierarch nor his flattering and generous orthodoxy are favored at court. Ivid is rumored to have become enamored of an antinomian heresy wherein, as a divinely favored monarch, he is above the precepts that bind others. The Censor is, of course, concerned, but not overmuch, so that his enjoyment of his position isn't soured.

The Hidden Religions of D&D: Druidism

This one isn't so much hidden, but hey, when you've got a series title, you gotta stick with it. Unlike with the Church of Law which has been obscured by tme, I think people have a good idea of what Druidism in D&D is: it's neutral and associated with Nature. In the Greyhawk setting and other places it's the "Old Faith" standing in perhaps for pre-Christian beliefs of Europe but without the Christianity.

I think there's another way to go, though, completely consistent with what the original works tell us about druids.

Druids first show up as monsters in the Greyhawk supplement. We are told they are "priests of a neutral-type religion." They can shape change and attractive barbarian followers.

They become a class in Eldritch Wizardry where they are described again as Neutral and "are more closely attuned to Nature, serving as its priests rather than serving some other deity." Mistletoe is holy to them, and they protect plants and animals.

Neutral may well just have been meant to imply unaligned here--not taking a side in the conflict between the civilizing force of law and the destructive forces of chaos: "I am not altogether on anybody’s side, because nobody is altogether on my side, if you understand me: nobody cares for the woods as I care for them," as Treebeard would have it. But maybe it's not just the woods the druid cares about?

Unlike Law and Chaos which seem to be transcendent and come from extraplanar forces, maybe Nature in this context is the cycles and balance of the material world? Given the description in Eldritch Wizardry, it seems likely to me that the religion of the druids is pantheistic with Nature (or the material plane) being an immanent divine force or deity. It could be animistic with everything in the natural world having a separate spirit, but it might also be monist, where divine Nature is the only true reality.

I think then that the druid's neutrality is a somewhat militant sort. The dualism of Law vs. Chaos is contrary to their understanding of the unity of all things; the strong, opposing polarities are nonsensical if existence is governed by cycles. Worse, these ideas from the Outer Planes would be alien intrusions on the harmony of the world.

Appendix M: A Weird Medieval Fantasy Reading List

 And the M is for "Medieval." I've read some dark and/or weird fantasy set in the Middle Ages of late, and I figured I'd put them together in a list with some complimentary works for those that might be interested.

12th Century:

Mitchell Lüthi. Pilgrim: A Medieval Horror. A German Knight and his companions agree to smuggle a Holy relic out of Jerusalem for the Pope but wind up transported somewhere else by a gigantic sandstorm and confronting cosmic horror.

Clark Ashton Smith. “The Maker of Gargoyles" (In 1138, gargoyles come to life and terrorize the city of Vyones), “The Holiness of Azédarac” (a priest travels through time from 1175; in the future he discovers a sorcerer as managed to get declared a saint). 

13th Century:

Clark Ashton Smith. "The Colossus of Ylourgne." In 1281, a necromancer and his disciples take revenge on Vyones with an undead giant. 

14th Century:

Christopher Buehlman. Between Two Fires. In 1348, as the Black Death ravages France, a disgraced knight and a young girl may be the ones who can keep Lucifer and his legions from bringing about Hell on Earth.

Jesse Bullington. The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart. In 1364, A pair of German brothers from a long line of graverobbers embark on quest to make their fortune looting the crypts of Egypt. They encounter monsters, magic, and madmen along the way.

Clark Ashton Smith. “The Beast of Averoigne.”  In the summer of 1369, a comet heralds the arrival of a strange beast to ravage the lands around the Abbey of Périgon.

15th Century:

Jesse Bullington. The Folly of the World. In the aftermath of the St. Elizabeth's Flood, three conspire to take a treasure from a town beneath the water. 

Greyhawk: The Iron League

by Anna Meyer

The Iron League was a separatist alliance formed in 447 CY for mutual defense against the Great Kingdom. While the members made much rhetorically of the demoniac apostasy and madness of the Naelax, the League's greatest concern was economic. None of the trading cities wished to allow the profligate Aerdy nobility to root like pigs in their accumulated wealth.

The association's core members had histories stretching back to ancient, Suloise, maritime city-states. While the Aerdi gained suzerainty over the region, the regional lords were content to allow a great deal of local self-rule (so long as they benefited from the ongoing trade), and in time became intertwined with the Suloise population through marriage and alliance with the local oligarchic families. Intra-region conflict between local nobles, powerful families and guilds was a more pressing concern until the Herzog's heavy-handed treatment prompted the member states to set aside their differences. At least for a time.

Although the League was founded primarily for military purposes, it did possess a confederal civil government. The ruling council, composed of representatives of the individual states, was fairly limited in its power outside of military matters, but was given the ability to control custom duties and adjudicate disputes between regions.

This is a follow-up to this post. I drew inspiration for the Iron League from the Lombard League and communes of North Italian and their relationship with the Hohenstaufen Holy Roman Emperors. Given their Suloise history and their climate (Hot summer Mediterranean, according to Anna Meyer's climate map), I felt like their Suloise history might well amount to something like the Phoenician city-states. Visually, the continental states would look something like Sicily, Southern Italy, or parts of the Iberian Peninsula, except the Lordship of the Isles which is more humid and more like Florida.

Thinking Greyhawk

Over the past month, I've been reading some historical fantasy (Between Two Fires and His Black Tongue), some straight historical stuff (rpg supplements from Codex Integrum and the season on Frederick II of the podcast History of the Germans), and most recently, taking a real look at the World of Greyhawk (1980) folio.  All this stuff knocking around in my head led me to believe it might be interested in borrowing an old idea from Miranda Elkins and doing a series of blog posts developing a version of Greyhawk derived from the folio, with a Medieval history sort of feel.

I'll be using the 1980 folio as the only "canon" though I'm not opposed to taking material from the 1983 boxset and the Dragon articles written between and around the time of both publications. I'm trying to avoid more recent Greyhawk material. In keeping with the other recent inspirations, I'm going channel the historical wargamer Gygax over the pulp fan Gygax, and also I'll be using some of the ideas derived from examination of the pre-Greyhawk implied setting of D&D.  

L. Sprague de Camp: Most Gygaxian Fantasy Writer?

I don't know Gary Gygax's preferences in regard to authors of fantasy fiction, but I feel pretty strongly that L. Sprague de Camp (1907-2000) is the closet in sensibility to Gygax himself, at least in the earlier days of D&D. 

De Camp makes several appearances in Appendix N. I haven't read all of these works, but the ones I have read demonstrate some characteristics I get from Gygax's worldbuilding and from his early fiction that I have seen. There is some content similarity (like universe-hopping, crossovers with the works of other authors, and hierarchical planes of existence), sure, but what I'm mainly thinking of is more of a structural or attitudinal alignment. 

For one thing, I think it's fair to say that Gygax's work shows a concern with realism and degree of pedantry around certainly topics: Extensive list of polearms, obscure terminology, etc. De Camp gives us an extensive exegesis of REH's naming in the Conan stories and also an analysis of the same stories' technology. He wrote a series of Sword & Planet stories (the Krishna series) that makes a point of addressing the unrealistic elements of Burroughs' and others' similar stories.

It seems to me there was a logic to Gygax's D&D work. I'm sure this is in part due to it being in a game where you have to be prepared for player action, but it resembles the application of rational consideration of elements in fiction as in the Harold Shea stories or The Carnelian Cube.

Both men also have a fondness for humor in their fantasy. While this isn't an uncommon trait and is found in the work of a number of Appendix N or adjacent authors, I feel like use of anachronism for humorous purpose is something found in Gygax's work that also occurs in the Harold Shea series. Less than totally heroic or unheroic protagonists (often the humorous effect) probably describes a lot of D&D, but also several of de Camp's Krishna novels and his Reluctant King trilogy.

As to Gygax's later work, I've only read a couple of the Gord novels and that was decades ago, but I don't recall them being particularly de Campian. Maybe his sensibilities shifted over time or perhaps they reflect a desire to better compete in the fantasy market that existed in the mid-80s. Still, I think on balance, the similarities are there.

The Hidden Religions of D&D: The Church of Law

Thinking about rationalization of the implied setting of D&D, not in the way of industrial magic or anything like that (though I've done that before) but in the direction of how the implied setting of D&D might point toward its religions or belief systems. Sure, there's the explicit fantasy polytheism, but as others have pointed out, it's undermined by the (at least up through AD&D) presentation of the cleric class as vaguely sort of Medieval Christian and by the fact that historical polytheism didn't work like D&D thinks it does. As Delta puts it:

...D&D claims to have a polytheistic religion, but you've got both the politics and the critical Cleric class set up as in the medieval Christian world, and nowhere else.

Is there a more interesting and perhaps more realistic way weave together the elements presented? I think so.

Note that Clerics of 7th level and greater are either "Law" or "Chaos", and there is a sharp distinction between them.
- Gygax & Arneson, Men & Magic

OD&D mentions Law and Chaos with regard to a cleric's orientation. To me, this suggests a system of belief with a dualist cosmology. (Perhaps this is the actual state of the cosmos, but it doesn't have to be!) This is a moral dualism, as the two opposing forces or principles are in conflict. This could be interpreted (and perhaps is by some sects or particular faiths) as ditheistic with two gods or groups of gods in opposition, but I also think the broader, philosophical tradition could embrace transtheism, where the existence of Law and Chaos is a greater and more important truth than the existence or nonexistence of god-like beings/powers. 

The church of law is syncretic, incorporating deities as it grows as agents, exemplars, or aspects of Law. No doubt there would be historic disagreement (possibly even conflict) over just how much deference and attention these powers are rightly due.

Clerics/priests, given the hierarchical structure presented in OD&D, are important in public rituals and ceremonies of the belief system but are also likely interpreters and scholarly experts on Law. Each of these Patriarchs (and Matriarchs, probably, though OD&D doesn't mention them!) is independent and self-governing but in fellowship with the others (generally). Initially a Patriarch would be a charismatic leader who attracts followers, but presumably the church they founded would have a mechanism of choosing a successor. 

Patriarchs are the final arbiters of the commandments of Law within their area, but the Patriarchs of the various churches might vote to decide points between them, or perhaps different interpretations would reign in different jurisdictions. Another aspect of the high clerical function extremely relevant to adventuring is calling for and supporting crusades/jihad against Chaos. 

Speaking of Chaos, it does seem a bit odd it is presented with a hierarchical clerical structure identical to Law's. One possibility is the "anti-clerics" are sort of Satanists and just performatively mock the church of Law, but another possibility is that "Chaos" only speaks to its ultimate goals or cosmological beliefs, not to its organizing principles. It's also possible (even likely) that the Church of Law applies the name Chaos to a diverse group of belief systems that don't agree with it and often don't agree with each other. 

Early Modern Magic

I read some interesting stuff this week on magical belief in the early modern era. Specifically, magic used for protection from weapons, surely a common interest of soldiers of the era and D&D adventures alike.

A Historical Fencer's Primer on Late Medieval and Early Modern Magic

From the German Wikipedia, the concept of "Gefrorner" which meant to be invulnerable to harm.

And finally, a scholarly article: "Invincible blades and invulnerable bodies: weapons magic in early-modern Germany" from the European Review of History.

Kiss of Blood (part 1)

 We had our first session of They Came From Beyond the Grave! last night adapting the Call of Cthulhu adventure, Kiss of Blood.

The cast:

• Tony Kovac - San Francisco cop whose vacation in the Old Country is anything but relaxing. (Jason).
• Jess Barrow - Half of the occult folk-rock duo, Fata Morgana, gifted with second sight. (Andrea)
• Dean Starkey - The other half of Fata Morgana. A guy used to gettin by on his wits.

The three Americans arrived in Karloczig, Wystdovja Vale, (in Slovenia, on the Adriatic) for different reasons. Kovac was going to get a vacation and help local cops out on a case as a favor for a friend. Dean and Jess had been booked to play the local festival around Walpurgis Night. None of them imagined they'd wind up working together to find a missing girl. Well, the players did, the characters, not so much.

While Kovac discovered Inspektor Hochmair wasn't exactly overjoyed to have his help. Jess and Dean met Gustav Homan, the father of the missing girl, Matilda. They also heard that there were a lot of disappearances around the village of Karloczig, but the local Burgomeister doesn't take them seriously. There are legends about the castle Heidenstein up on the hill. It's cursed, it's said.

That night at the festival, Jess sees an eerie, mysterious woman, perhaps watching her, but the woman disappears before she can point her out to Dean.

After a night of attempting to out-drink Hochmair, Kovac is awakened early by a knock on his hotel room door. There's been a body found. Hochmair takes him to the office of the coroner (and doctor) von Kluge. The woman is young and brunette, but she isn't Matilda, but someone from out of town. She has been mutilated, as if by some animal, her throat ravaged and her body partially exsanguinated.