Seasons Greetings from the Mad Archmage

As promised in my last post on the matter, I'm bringing you the latest holiday adventure news from  The Castle of the Mad Archmage by Joseph Bloch, aka. Greyhawk Grognard.  When we left off, our intrepid adventurers had, after slaughtering most of an orc outpost, formed an uneasy alliance with the surviving members in order to take on a hobgoblin posse on the 3rd level.  Since my memory of the exact events has eroded considerably, this will be a succinct report.

Bob and I decided that having a mission--in this case, killing off hobgoblins to foster an alliance with orcs--was not what where we wanted to take this game.  So we developed an exit strategy: the orcs drew up a rough map of the adjacent terrain, led the party down to the 3rd level, and... slunk away at the first sign of trouble. But not before they slipped a shiv into Quisling's ribs.  Quisling, an orc that we charmed during our assault, survived the attack and was very thankful to the party for nursing him back to health and saving him once again--or so he believes--from the treachery of his own clan.  He's such a sincere and trusting chap.

It was at this point that Godraviel, the elfmaid who had charmed Quisling in the first place, could handle the crushing guilt no longer and revealed to him the truth of the situation.  That is, he was under a charm spell and that we had killed his former colleagues and lied to him in order to secure his assistance in defeating the rest of his clan.  She told him that she was releasing him from the spell so that he could choose his own fate.  Since he was not actually released from her spell--I decided that it is not actually within her power to do so--and since she was so sincere in her speech, the end result was to further Quisling's infatuation with the elfmaid.  We rolled up his stats and made the orc a full fledged party member.  Now we have to figure out the characteristics of the Orc character race in S&W...

In the end, we did honor our deal with the orcs by killing the 12 requisite hobgoblins, but it cost us dearly, as Brodsky the cleric was left for dead and Glebberd the Halfregnome and Polvo the dwarf--who, through their quick wits and upbeat personalities have overcome their diminutive stature and become the very heart and soul of the party--were nearly done for as well.  On our way back to the surface, we ran into the Bandits again from our first encounter, and, pointing out that

• we still didn't have anything worth stealing, and 
• we would be back later, 

they agreed to let us pass, though they insisted, for inventory reasons, that Quisling must remain in the dungeon.  A quick sleep spell to even the forces and some tough talk from Polvo about where they can shove their dungeon rules, and the bandits agreed to let us pass, though, in order to allow them to save face, we paid 10 GPs for Quisling's liberation, and agreed to leave still-heavily-wounded Sigurd in their custody to assure our return to the dungeon.  Little do they know that everyone in our party hates Sigurd. 

From here on out, I'm running the bandits not as opportunistic ruffians preying on honest adventurers but as legitimate dungeon bureaucrats in the employ of the Mad Archmage.  Responsible for such things as dungeon inventory, revenue, and customer service, they can be counted on for dungeoneering assistance to adventurers--extra torches and the like, limited dungeon intell, or even a bunk to rest the wounded in--but who also require an accounting of monsters killed and traps sprung for re-stocking purposes; and exact a tariff for anything removed from the dungeon edifice.

Assassination Origination

So the inspiration of this here string of posts on the AD&D Assassin class level titles is finally at hand; we've reached the eponymous 9th level: Assassin.


The word assassin is derived from the word Hashshashin, a term used in Syria--not the Lendore Isles as some would have you believe--to describe a fanatical sect of Islam called the Ismailis who were a small but troublesome religious/political force in the 11th-13th centuries.   Lacking a powerful army and considered heretics by the Muslim establishment of the day, the Ismailis holed up in a few castles in an isolated valley in northern Persia and dissuaded their numerically superior enemies from invading by murdering key political figures.  Though the cult was centered in the mountains of Persia, the term assassin is believed to have come about in reference to the Syrian branch of the group that the Crusaders came in contact with.  Hashshashin means "outcast" or "rabble" but also was associated with users of the psychotropic herb hashish.  And although most Assassin scholars believe that it is its meaning as a pejorative term for outcasts that originally inspired the application of the word, the western world has latched onto that hashish connection and had a blast with it ever since.

Anyway, the cult was formed by a man named Hassan-i-Sabbah, among other spellings, who took control of an impregnable castle known as Alamut, and gathered around himself a throng of devoted followers who were willing to obey his every command.  They were trained  in the fine arts of duplicity and sent out into the world to gain the trust of various persons of interest to the Assassins, usually folks with titles like Sultan, Vizier, or Imam.  Once they'd inveigled their way into the homes of these dudes as household servants, body guards, or even trusted advisers, they lived a life of faithful service to them, never betraying their origins until such day that the signal came from Alamut, at which point they would cram a dagger through their erstwhile compadre's ribs.  They often kept up their ruse for years or even decades and, depending on how things worked out, the signal might never come.  Deep cover, my friends.  Indeed, there is very early usage of the word assassin that implies not a hired killer but a person of unsurpassed devotion.

Once the devotee had done the deed, the assassin did not generally slink away into the night; no, getting caught was, more often than not, part of the job.  By submitting to capture and execution, the assassins did more than just kill the leaders of their enemies; the combination of their skill at subterfuge and complete devotion wreaked havoc on their enemies psyches as well.  A culture of paranoia spread like wildfire, and speaking out--much less taking military action--against the Assassins soon fell into disfavor. 

Most of the useful information in this post is derived from the book The Assassins by Bernard Lewis, originally published in 1968 by Basic Books, Inc.  New York.  It's a somewhat scholarly tome describing the religious and political events of Islamic world during the time of the Assassins.  Also, the wikipedia entry for Hashshashin is pretty informative.

Assassination Irritation: Twofer

It's been more than 2 weeks now since my last entry on the assassin level titles, and--despite the fact that at least one person has confirmed interest in this topic, thank you--there's a good reason for the delay: cutthroat and executioner.  Everyone knows what they mean, there's nothing particularly interesting about the etymology of these terms and, most importantly, every time I look for an intriguing cultural reference, I fall asleep at my keyboard.

But rather than avoid them forever--especially since I've already written up level 9--I'll lump them both down in one dose and move on with life.

Cutthroat: a race of sharp throated people.  The men of this tribe were known to hone their throats to such fineness that they used them to shave.  Or whiddle implements from wood.  Also the name of an arts journal.

Executioner: one who wears a black hood but no shirt.

Actually, this one is mildly interesting because it really just meant someone who carries out some action, much like how "executor" is used today to describe the guy who carries out your will after you go off to Valhalla.  In time it came to be primarily associated with executing a sentence of death on whatever poor sap/evil cutthroat whose head was to be relegated to the wicker basket. 

On a related note, my first AD&D character was an elf named Elfrandel the Executor.  In my defense, I pronounced it "ex-uh-cuter" instead of the more traditional "egg-zek-you-ter." 

I only just now found out that Executor is also the name of one of those big space ships that those dudes who got choked by Darth Vader drove around in.  And George Lucas was probably not 11 when he named them.

Assassination Constipation: Dynamite with a lazer beam

Despite the fact that no one gives a rat's ass, I continue to nibble away at the AD&D Assassin class level titles one by one, week by creeping, tiresome week.  Now here we are at level 6: Killer.  Up there with murderer in terms of originality, but it's got more juice to it.  While a murderer can be any amateur who kills someone for any reason, a killer is someone who's practiced at it and perhaps even enjoys it.  Indeed, "killer" has taken on the meaning of adroitness at some particular skill, a la "lady killer."

Also, it's the name of a live action role playing game by Steve Jackson.

Now, I could have have been really lazy and kept in the hockey theme and used Killer Carlson as my pop culture connection, but that seems kinda' trite.  Instead, here's Freddy Mercury for ya:

Red Box of Snooze

It was a cold, gloomy November day yesterday--perfect D&D weather--so I wandered over to my local nerd store to see what's brewing and what do I see but the red Basic D&D box staring at me.  I'm savvy enough to know that this is not the same game I knew in the 80's, but rather the Wizards of Renton have come up with a new marketing scheme in hopes of recapturing a crowd of aging, former players who maybe don't care for the new D&D look, what with its anime-inspired heroes wielding clumsy-looking weapons.  That sounds like me, right?  So, yeah, I picked it up and looked it over, and, at the righteous price of $20, I seriously considered it. 

But I didn't pull the trigger.  While there were prominent non-gaming reasons for this--I was saving my shekels for mundane books of professional interest at a nearby bookstore--a big factor was that I'm a Holmeser, and by the time Frank Mentzer's "Red Box" set came out--or, as we called it at the time, 3rd Edition Basic--I was deeply enmeshed in AD&D and frowned on that juvenile--though admittedly slick looking--offering.  As a result I only ever played the Mentzer version for short snippets at school with Johnny-come-lately friends who got the red box for Christmas.  I certainly never deigned to familiarize myself with its subtleties--and haven't bothered to this day. Indeed, I was already an edition snob.

Beginning in 8th grade and stumbling along until 10th, I played in a long series of lunch-time micro-sessions usually using Mentzer rules.  These games were attended largely by novices which only served to exacerbate our inability to get into a gaming flow before the 5th period bell signaled us back to reality.  Our characters never developed beyond dice-wielding stat-golems, our dungeons just so many lines of carbon scratched on the backside of old math homework.   We sought out other stat-golems of questionable malevolence to pulverize with our dice and did nothing with the treasure we gained as, again and again, we failed to bring a single adventure to any semblance of fruition.  These sessions would go on for a few weeks or so before we lost interest.  Then, weeks or months later, having forgotten how dismal the previous sessions had been, we'd start up again with a whole new set of characters and a thermos full of as-yet unvanquished hope to wash down our PBJs on Wonder bread. 

It is telling that I have no memory of any of the dungeons I ran, characters that I played, or even a single in-game event that occurred during these sessions, though I can still recall in great detail characters and events from my home game that occurred in years previous.  And it will likely come as no surprise that most of those friends who played during lunch didn't stick with the game for any length of time.  And as I found out yesterday, I still to this day associate the Red Box with tedious D&D played by disinterested kids; worried more about the upcoming French vocab quiz than  how to gain the treasure of the Many-headed-hydra.  I wonder about those friends wherever they are now; should they happen upon the same red box will it inspire poignant memories of lost youth? Or thoughts of adolescent boredom and gaming malaise?

Assassination Apparition: Thug

So we're up to Level 5: Thug.  To research today's post, rather than read up on the cult of Thuggee that plagued travelers in India for centuries by infiltrating caravans and then, when the time was right, murdering them to a man and making off with their goods, I spent the better part of the afternoon watching hockey fights on Youtube.  You just can't go wrong with Bob Probert, may his fists rest in peace. The consummate professional, he never looked back from a fight; once the last punch was thrown he just skated off and did his time.  You definitely got the impression that the fighting was never personal, and this is important to consider if you're entering the assassin trade.  It's a business; you take the job, you do the work, you move on.  A detached sense of morality is crucial.


Two of the heavy weights:







If you are interested in the Thuggee cult, check out Pierce Brosnan in The Deceivers, or, if you're one o' them literary types, read the book of the same name--written by John Masters--upon which the film was based.  I actually watched this movie a few years ago whilst on a Brosnan bender that included Matador--a great movie on the topic of assassins.

Assassination Amoritization: Murther most foul!

"Congratulations my son, your latest accomplishment has merited advancement to the 4th level of assassinry," says the Guildmaster, "you are now--wait for it--a Murderer!"
"Murderer?!  I paste the innards of the heir-apparent all over the Baron's private bed chamber and I get to be a character in an Agatha Christie novel?  This guild is for douchebags.  I'm outta' here!"


For further reading: Ray Bradbury's prescient--if non-assassin-based--short story of technology-induced sensory overload, "The Murderer."  Nah, don't bother.  I mean it's all right but nothing special.

I'll try again tomorrow with Thug; much more meat there.