Peter Mullen and the Ten-Foot Mule

I want to take the time to point out the cool art for the header image of this blog, by the inimitable Peter Mullen. Peter's art for games like Dungeon Crawl Classics is the quintessence of Old School-style gaming art. I rank him the equal of luminaries from the Golden Age of D&D, guys like Erol Otus and Dave Trampier, bringing that type of mood and sensibility into the present. When I considered commissioning a piece for this blog, his art was the first to leap to mind. It is both fresh and immediate, yet evoking the spirit of that bygone era of dungeon delving for its own sake, and mules dragged into the underworld to haul equipment in and treasure out. And, of course, some adventurer or other is bound to have concocted some spell or potion of growth or enlarge to conjure up a single pack animal that could take the place of many, thus saving a few gold pieces...though, perhaps, the implications of trying to squeeze such a large animal into a dungeon were not closely considered.

About the Mule: A Mission Statement, and Introduction

When I was introduced to D&D in 1979, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I was 13, and the world seemed vast and colorful, full of surprises. D&D had floated into my consciousness gradually; I'd heard of it, but had no clue as to where to find it, or, really, to even know what it was, exactly. Where I lived was a rural town becoming suburban, and hobby shops and bookstores were few and far between. Besides, I wasn't even sure what I would be looking for.

So it was like a bolt from the blue when a kid at school showed up with the Monster Manual. I didn't even know the kid, really, but I borrowed the book and took it home that night. I wasn't in the habit of borrowing anything, but this was too intriguing to pass by. That night, I was immersed in the book. I couldn't quite glean how to play the game using this book, but I knew I wanted to. I dutifully, and gratefully, returned the book the next day. That was my introduction to D&D "in the flesh," so to speak, and I was hooked.

Thinking back, it strikes me as odd that I never ended up gaming with the guy from whom I borrowed the Monster Manual. In fact, today I have no clue who it was, his name lost in the mists of time. I wonder if he stuck with it.

My imagination thus fired, I tried to figure out how to actually play. I had none of the books, and just a glimpse at this strange bestiary. I sat down and tried to recreate the monsters I'd seen in the Monster Manual, listing out all the creatures I knew from my already-ingrained love of mythology, fantasy, and science fiction. I thought I could divine the answers to my questions by doing so. That project soon proved fruitless. It was like back-engineering the Roswell saucer.

Luckily, I fell in with a few classmates who were similarly intrigued. Those early days were chaotic. What we started out playing was what would eventually be called Holmes Edition D&D. We tried to make sense of how the Monster Manual and the succeeding hardback books  - the Player's Handbook and the Dungeon Master's Guide - fit in. It wasn't long before we abandoned Holmes Edition and moved on to Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, embodied in those accumulated hardbacks. Oddly enough, though, I wouldn't get my very own copy of Holmes Edition until late 1979 or early 1980.

While each of us eventually had our own books, acquired at different times, it took me an agonizingly long time to get copies of my own. I finally got my hands on all three, completing the trilogy by early 1980. Still, by the end of 1979 we were playing full-on AD&D, or as close to it as we could get. Toss in some of the miscellaneous games we stumbled on then, from the Wild West of Boot Hill to the nutty post-apocalypse of Gamma World to the decidedly different "hard" scifi of Traveller, and it was an eventful introduction to roleplaying games. 

Let me swerve aside to mourn for the unmourned for a moment: I miss the late and apparently little-lamented Waldenbooks. That bookstore, the only one I had regular access to due to its presence on a mall that my parents were willing to frequent, opened up such a vista of learning and enjoyment for me. That was where I managed to lay hands on those three hardback D&D books, as well as many of the adventures, known then almost always as modules. A family-owned bookstore, the late and, around here, more lamented Baluk's, also became a conduit to further D&D books and, eventually, Dragon Magazine, as well as other games - it's where I found Traveller. But Waldenbooks was a stalwart part of my book-loving life for many years. And while it eventually succumbed to larger and more successful chains, for a while it could, and did, exist without also driving all the indie bookstores out of business.

Those early years had me scouring the bookstores and hobby shops I could get to, looking for whatever next book or module that would appear out of seemingly nowhere. I don't know who ordered the gaming stuff in these places, or what their method was. Looking back, it was pretty random. D&D exploded in popularity, so TSR's official material for the game was usually a sure bet to find. But more importantly, the game encouraged one's own creativity. The books became more inspiration for homebrewed material than holy writ to be adhered to.

So, now, this blog. Motivated by nostalgia for all of the above, as well as the advent of a new and widely-praised edition of D&D, I thought I'd jump into the D&D blogosphere. As the subtitle above says, this will consist of ruminations, as well as the exploration of memories and a few new ideas here and there. Why, as it also says above, "Old School"? Because that's a style of play I like, an era of gaming I look back on fondly. However, "Old School" means something different to everyone, and I'd like to try to define it for myself here, to perhaps grasp what it was that still appeals to me. Oh, sure, there's a ton of nostalgia involved. I know that. But there's something about fragile player characters, hog-nosed orcs, life-energy-draining undead, ten-foot poles, and (of course) pack mules, all inhabiting a dark and mysterious underworld, that fires my imagination more than almost any other game milieu. My intent here is to think back on what "Old School" is to me, and why I have that idea of what it is, and why it differs from that of others. But more on that later.

Descending into the Underworld: the Dungeon as Dark Funhouse and Unconscious Imaginings

I'm neither the first nor the most learned to note that the dungeon, the quintessential adventure setting for D&D, is a manifestation of the descent into the underworld found in many myths and legends. It's a subject I still find interesting, regardless of how well-worn it is.

The dungeon is a very practical setting for D&D. It's self-contained, finite, and presents a generally straightforward objective for player characters. It allows a Dungeon Master to control the environment in ways that would seem out-of-place or be impossible in another context.

Those prosaic qualities aside, the dungeon is also a good conduit for evoking a true feeling of adventure on the part of the player characters. Caves, holes in the ground, and ruins all contain an eeriness conjured by dark emptiness. Deprived of sight, our most-relied-upon sense, such places force us to rely on light sources that not only have a limited lifespan, but which also make us a potential target. The fact that such places are not inviting to human life adds to the mystery; what could dwell within? The darkness has long caused us to pause, to imagine, if only for a fleeting moment, that unknown others dwell there.

Evidence of the presence of human life, whether ruins of a long-gone culture or fossilized tracks leading into the depths of an ancient cave, deepens the mystery. Who built the fallen structures, or made the paintings, or delved into these trackless places, and why? Even without the presence of the supernatural, there is a haunting quality to these places.

The D&D dungeon is even more fraught with inherent fear and danger. Adventurers expect something to lie within, waiting for intruders. And the D&D dungeon usually delivers. These delvings are dream-like places, with hidden enemies and, often enough, skewed logic and, occasionally, the presence of magic to alter the laws of physics. In the D&D dungeon, evil wizards concoct malefic spells, the undead lurk beyond each corner, and fairytale monsters given strange forms make their homes. Much like carnival "haunted houses," these dungeons have a variety of horrific tableaus with which to challenge the courage of those who venture within.

Perhaps the oddest thing about the D&D dungeon is how popular they are in their respective worlds. Adventurers flock from all around to test their mettle within the confines of a particularly notorious dungeon. Often enough, the remains of previous expeditions and their members can be found, providing mute and ample evidence for the peril these places contain. Yet adventurers are rarely motivated to leave; the promise of treasure far outweighs the potential risk, at least in the minds of the greedy and overconfident.

When I was a kid and new to D&D, the dungeon was the most intriguing aspect of the game to me. The concept of an underground complex, with successive levels becoming more dangerous the deeper they went, blew my mind. It was, to me, such a strange idea, but strange in a way that made it incredibly fascinating. It seemed to have endless potential. Early D&D imagery and adventure design further bolstered the concept.

For me, two modules blew the lid off the limitations of what could be in a dungeon: Q1: Queen of the Demonweb Pits and S3: Expedition to the Barrier Peaks. Q1 opened up parallel universes as fodder for adventure, while S3 handed over space opera. Combined, the sky was no longer the limit, the universe beyond was just one of many. Both modules have critics. Q1 is often derided as not in line with the what came before it; pitched battles with giants and excursions into underworld cities of evil elves didn't seem to some, including Gygax himself, like they would culminate in the literal chaos of a demon goddess's mechanical spider fortress. S3 draws the dislike of those who eschew any hint of scifi in their D&D. And, honestly, I understand these stances. When it comes to D&D, though, I like the idea of the "wahoo" intruding into the world of heroic fantasy. Q1 and S3 were intrusions that left a lasting impression on me.

Though Gygax may not have been keen on Q1, that didn't mean he didn't enjoy a colorful spectrum of concepts stuffed into dungeons. His own Castle Greyhawk was a wild place, with portals to Barsoom and Wonderland, strange magics, and prisons for demon lords adorning the place. In many ways, Castle Greyhawk became the prototypical dungeon to me, sight unseen. The idea of Castle Greyhawk, forever unknown and unknowable, became an inspiration to me. What I imagined the place to be created a kind of mental blueprint that forever after informed my own adventure design. Perhaps, in that respect, it was, ultimately, a good thing that Castle Greyhawk would never see publication, at least not in full. The idea of it was of more use to generations of Dungeon Masters than an actual hardcopy. Don't get me wrong; I would have loved to see Castle Greyhawk arrive on my bookshelf. I treasure the various bits and pieces that have been brought to light and, in some cases, published. But as the prototypical dungeon (to me), it prompted more ideas and dreams than any book or boxed set ever could.

In the end, that's what the D&D dungeon is: a dark dream, a stray imagining, a nightmare given form. It's an exploration of our imaginations, where our fears and hopes are made manifest. From the darkest depths, our darkest depths, we march to face the perils within to bring the treasure to light.