Sporadic Blog Hop Challenge: First character death and getting a life

As I've mentioned before, though I thoroughly disapprove of these sorts of challenges, questionnaires and other group divulgence endeavours, I also can't quite resist them either.  So, while I'm not fully engaging the blog hop challenge, there are a couple of items on the list that I can't pass up.  So please sit tight and listen up, I'm about to tell you the fascinating tale of the death of... Elfrandel the Executor

He was my first ever AD&D character, a high octane elven fighter/ranger/magic user/thief/assassin/bard or somesuch insane combination of classes.  It was the end of summer 1981, 7th grade was only a few days away, and I had been bowing out of D&D sessions with the gang for the last month.  The combination of our hack 'n slash approach to dungeon creation and the omni-classed elves that everyone was running at the time had rendered gaming sessions into tedious dice-rolling marathons. 

But, I was starting to do other things instead of playing D&D, including joining the soccer (futbol) team.  On the first day of soccer practice I came home with a pain in my leg that would turn out to be a season-ending stress fracture, and was unceremoniously informed by my brother that my character, Elfrandel the Executioner, had bit the big one.  I wasn't even there for the event.   I assumed even then that the rest of the players had just gotten tired of running my dude for me and let me have it.  And I didn't really mind that the character was dead--I don't even think I asked how he met his end.

What did bug me is that they were essentially telling me that my D&D membership had lapsed, I was out of the club. Even though I'd been skipping out for half the summer, that had been me bailing on them, but now that they made it definitive, yeah, I was kind of hurt.  But, even though my soccer career didn't even last until school officially started, I still found plenty to do to entertain myself in junior high.  I was a class representative on the school social committee, "played" on the basketball team, though I shot 0% from the field for the entire season, was active in my church youth group(?!), served as a stage hand for the drama club (!?!), and even dipped my toes into the turbid waters of adolescent dating (!!???!); all kinds of  crap that I can't imagine was ever a part of my being.  So in response to how did I handle the death of my first character?  I went out and got a life.


Obviously, however, D&D and I were not finished with each other and it was the nexus of two events that changed the course of history: Christmas and puberty.  That year my mom, blissfully unaware that my D&D "phase" had been over for many months, got me a load of random D&D accessories, including the World of Greyhawk Folio.  The map and gazetteer suddenly grounded D&D in its own world, much like all the shoddy fantasy literature that I'd been devouring for the last year.  It gave D&D a big picture beyond wandering from town to town in search of dungeons so that we could wander from room to room in search of slaughter.  It gave us an idea of what to do with our high level characters.  I was re-hooked.

As for the puberty part, while poring over all my new D&D booty, my height doubled to 8-foot-4 overnight [I trust that my readership will surmise that a Hyperbole Alert is in full effect].  I became a moody prick, distanced myself from most of that extra-curricular crap, let my grades slide, and took a step back from the female of the species for next 4 years.  Instead, I re-focussed my energies on D&D.  And comic books.

In the winter of 1982, while keeping abreast of the X-men's dealings with the Krull, the Marvel's "Contest of Champions" and all the other important goings-on of the Marvel-verse, I churned out nearly 3,000 unfinished dungeons, filled out twice as many character sheets, [again with the hyperbole alert] and meticulously devoured every other word of the AD&D rulebooks; I had transformed myself into a sort of D&D golem using my newfound wisdom to finally crack the code of the enigmatic "percentile dice" that had befuddled our gaming to this point.

Actually, scrap all that.  Now that I think of it, Krasdale the Lizard Man died in action in July of 1981, pre-deceasing Elsinore by more than a month. How did I handle it?  I let fly a series of expletives, including my first ever use of the f-bomb.

A3 Aerie of the Slavelords: Bring the Chaos

It was mid-December of 1982, Donkey Kong reigned supreme at the arcade, Toni Basil's Mickey was rockin' the airwaves, and my old friend Byron the Chaotic was once again stationed behind the DM screens. Five months had passed since the infamous firefight in Hommlet and this time he was serving up A3 Aerie of the Slave Lords for our adventuring fare. Like V. of H., there's a town encounter area in A3, this time it's the hidden metropolis of Suderham. And much like our experience with T1, there's no way that anyone could have planned for the way things went down.  

I don't remember much of the subterranean activity in this module--another similarity to our experience with the V. of H--just something about riding down a salty slide on a toboggan made of beef jerky and finding an invisible sword in a tub full of vanilla pudding. Did that module have a pronounced food theme going on or was I just really hungry at the time?

What I remember most clearly is that, once we walked into Suderheim, some douchebag sidled up to the party and muttered some mumbo-jumbo about going to the “alabaster paladin” or somesuch meaningless bullshit and then slipped away before we could interrogate him further. As most of you know, this is a scripted encounter that is supposed to be just the first leg of a goose chase that the PCs must complete before they can get on with the dungeon.  But we didn't know what was up so we were all “Huh?! I ask him what the hell he's talking about.” and Byron was all, “He’s already gone, lost in the crowd” which annoyed us all, but especially my brother.  You wanna' piss off my brother, toss one of these gingerbread man encounters into your dungeon.*

Now, all of us players thought that we should have a reasonable chance to grab this dirtbag and smack some useful information out of him and, on a normal day, Byron would have agreed wholeheartedly.  But clearly the module said otherwise and, back then, defying the printed word of the Prophets of TSR was considered blasphemy--it was the DM's sacred duty to protect the work of the author be it Lord Gary or, as in this case, Sir Allen of Hammack whose machinations needed preserving. I could sense that our evening was about to be derailed by a prolonged and fruitless debate between DM and players when I suddenly heard myself saying “Why’s this prick gotta’ be so cryptic?  He wants us to go somewhere, why can't he just tell us where we're s'posed to go?**

 

Two arms, two feet, one eye: Chaos!

I don't want to take credit here for Byron's propensity for anarchy, but it was as if he suddenly realized the potential for mayhem in ignoring the text of the module and allowing us to run this jerk down. The expression on his phace changed from stony resistance to mischievous glee as the 8-pointed sigil of chaos flashed in his eyes and, instead of engaging my brother in verbal combat, he turned to me and said “Dread Delgath spots the bum slipping through a door in a building down the street.”***  The chase was on.

 

What ensued was a running brawl through the backrooms, alleys, and rooftops of Sonderholm as a mob of angry store clerks, unpaid taxi drivers and humiliated plate-glass deliverymen hopped on our trail seeking redress for our trespasses.  Ultimately, the chase concluded with a showdown in the parlor of a brothel--excuse me, "house of ill repute"-- where we escaped through a trap door with the assistance of the very same cryptic messenger who started this whole fracas in the first place.  When he eluded us again moments later--still without edifying us as to the significance of the "ivory paladin"-- we were too thrilled by what had transpired to notice.  

Which, as it turns out, is just as well because, only on reading the module now, 31 years later, do I find out that this is the very tunnel that the "ivory paladin" clue was, in its circuitous way, intended to lead us to in the first place.  But, rather than wandering around Sodergard, guessing the meaning of the clues, interrogating and bribing our way through a labyrinth of informants, we'd cut to the chase, quite literally.  Once again, Byron pulled off a vast departure from the "script" of the module that put us in exactly the right place to continue the adventure. Maybe it was just a happy accident, or maybe he was a brilliant DM disguised as a 13 year old kid. 

* I think the term was coined on the night in question.  As my sisters were in the next room cooking up a gingerbread house, the association seemed obvious. 
** I was trying out a Brooklyn accent back then.
*** Yep, that's the Dread Delgath of the classic, A-series pre-generated characters; I'm pretty sure the A series was the only published module anyone ever used the pre-jens for.

Elves in DCC

Before I get to the meat of this gratuitous and uninformative post, I will be addressing some topics interesting only to those who find fascination in things like blogging statistics and other points of douchebloggery.  If blogger.com's statistics are accurate, there are an awful lot of you.  Onward:

1. I had to take a break from the ol' blog over the Christmas holiday as there is a longstanding mandate from the Home Office that my final, year-end tally of posts must be a multiple of six.  As of the 20th of December I had hit 42 posts for 2013, so it was either crank out 6 more posts in 11 days--a pace that typically outstrips my productivity for an entire month--or take the holidays off.  I did not suffer much distress pondering this quandary.
2. This is my 175th actual, bonafide post. I know many thousands of you have been fervently following my Fraudulent Posts series, so I thought I'd let you all know.  Also, unless I actually start removing previously published posts, this marks the end of the reverse aging process; from here on out I can only go up.  
3. The Board of Directors has informed me that I should be reaching post #200 by the end of July.  Failure to meet this goal will result in docked pay, suspended health benefits, and cancellation of my Drones membership, so I better get at it.  Expect lots of pointless fluff in the first half of the year.

And now for your irregularly scheduled bloggledygook.

Like everyone else, I love the DCC RPG and usually trip over myself trying to find new ways to praise it.  But I'd like to start the year out on a negative note so I'm going to gripe about DCC instead.  Specifically, elves in DCC shall be the topic of my gripery today.

Everyone knows that elves are the least interesting PC race to play in any fantasy adventure game as they are universally portrayed as repressed and sanctimonious dullards that are loaded with special abilities to make up for their utter lack of personal charm.  However, there is one singular advantage that makes them the preferred race of all players: they can cast spells while wearing platemail.  Wisely, DCC in their infinite wisdom, came up with a counter to this perk: elves find the touch of cold steel--more specifically, iron--unpleasant to the touch.  But before you even start contemplating the horror of an elf forced to cast spells whilst bereft of metallic armor, DCC--obviously bowing under pressure from the always potent pro-Elf-lobby--immediately backpedals with this statement: 

These guys would be an improvement.

"At first level, an elf character may purchase one piece of armor and one weapon that are manufactured of mithril at no additional cost."  

So, when they graduate adventurer school, elves all get a stack of Mithril vouchers purchased at a fraction of a penny to the dollar. Nice work, DCC; in a single swipe, the only meaningful disadvantage to having an elf is swept out to sea. 

Of course, the ramifications of this should be made pretty clear the first time that the party encounters a gang of mithril hunters.  Seeing as any elf wearing metal armor or wielding a metal sword will be an easy source of wealth, there's gonna' be a whole economy based on slaughtering elves for their protective pelts and weaponry.  Much as ivory hunters have decimated the elephant population in this world (also habitat encroachment, but that doesn't serve my point very well), elves in the DCC-verse will find themselves constantly beset by gangs of mithril-seekers both amateur and professional.

Also, there's the imperious douchebag pondering a magical codex in the illustration on the elf page (p. 57?).  He looks like every cheesedick, preppy, teen villain that came out of Hollywood in the 1980s. If that smug prick--who is wearing, it should be noted, platemail--doesn't keep your players from running elves in your campaign then I don't envy you. 

d12 Dice Chucker Resolutions for 2014

Following Hill Canton's lead, and borrowing The Dungeon Dozen's format, here's a list of highly unlikely projects that I am endeavoring to complete in 2014 ... along with a consolation project that's just maybe a bit more likely to happen. 

1. Complete even one of the modules from my publications list   ... or make a map of Holmsmouth, the de facto setting of of the ATM and IBS series of urban adventures.
2. Dismantle Kickstarter   ... or continue to ignore its existence.
3. Compile my Moathouse-Sample Dungeon thesis for my colleagues over at Zenopus Archives et. al.  ... actually this one seems pretty reasonable as is.
4. Complete the T2-5 Against the Cabal of the Tamaracks series of postmodern Hommlet sequels ... or at least post my T1 modifications.
5. Pay more attention to G+  ... or convince Rients to get his head back in the blogging business.
6. Make DiceChuckathonCon V a reality ... or get the old gang together for the occasional game every now and then.
7. Achieve global domination ... or submit application for Canadian citizenship.
8. Finish off my Appendix N reading list ... or finish The Aeneid.  And maybe The Iliad.
9. Complete the ol' Gigadungeon ... or hack it up and publish it piecemeal.
10. Get in a hockey fight ... or learn to skate backwards. (see #7 above)
11. Complete my revised History of Oerth  ... or re-format my annotated Oeridian timeline
12. Rave like a madman about some oft-ignored quirk of the AD&D rules  ... or--wait a minute--that's what I do all the friggin' time. Who put this one in here?

 

Bilbo Tittlemouse: Beatrix Potter and the Unexpected Party

So my kid recently brought home a Beatrix Potter book called The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse from his school library.  This book is remarkable for a few reasons, one being that this particular copy has apparently occupied the shelves of his elementary school library since at least 1971--it's rare to find books there that have been on the shelves since the late 90s, much less the early 70s.  However, another aspect of this book is even more noteworthy to me and perhaps some readers of this here blog: the story is a near-exact blueprint of the first chapter of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit.


It's the tale of a woodmouse--the titular Mrs. T--who finds numerous uninvited guests mucking up her tidy home in a hole under a hedge.  The interlopers--mostly bugs of various sorts, though also a bloated, inconsiderate frog--make all manner of ruckus, demanding food and/or shelter and leaving footprints all over her well-kept home.  Eventually she expurgates them all and spends an entire fortnight cleaning and securing her domicile against future invasion.  Once she's accomplished this feat she throws a party for her other mouse friends, which the frog attempts to crash with only partial success.

The comparison with Thorin and company is obvious, but it's really the description of the house itself that is most evocative of Bilbo's home, describing the tidiness and vast number and purpose of rooms littered throughout the subterranean passages.  Significantly, her home is described as sandy, something which Bilbo's hole full of larders and parlours and pantries was described as most certainly not being.  Also, her description of the spider seems like it might have had an influence on the malevolent rendering arachnids received in Tolkien's work.

The book was published 27 years prior to the publication of The Hobbit.  Seeing as Tolkien fathered several children in the intervening years, and since this was probably the only children's book available in England back then--besides the other 400 books in Potter's catalog; apparently she was the Dr. Seuss of the pre-war era--it seems entirely unlikely that Tolkien was not intimately familiar with this story.  Maybe the academics have already chewed this connection to pieces, but if not, here's a freebie to any student of 20th Century British Literature looking for a thesis topic.  You can thank me in cash or money order.

200th Post!

As some of you may recall, I fraudulently hit the 300 post mark a few weeks back thanks to blogspost.com's practice of counting as-yet-unpublished drafts towards your total.  It took me a while, but I've finally managed to whittle down my bloated library of unposted drafts so that I now only have 200 posts!*  If I keep at this, this whole blog will have ceased to exist by the time the puck drops for the Winter Olympics.

* For those keeping score, this is actually my 172nd published post.

Incidental Christmas Movies

WARNING: This post has jack-squat to do with D&D.

Are you in the Christmas swing but you don't want all the treacle that usually comes with Christmas entertainment fare?  Or perhaps all the Yuletide flicks have vacated the shelves of your local Blockbuster? More importantly, why do you still have a Blockbuster card?  Don't you know that the last store shutdown during the Taft administration?

Anyway, next time you settle in for a wintry night's entertainment, try one of these Caveman's Classic not-really-Christmas Movies out for size.  None of these movies is really about Christmas; in fact, you may've seen 'em all and never noticed that they take place during the Season of Greetings at all. 

First Blood (1982)--I must've seen this one 23 times before it dawned on me that there were Christmas decorations up in the police station--can they do that anymore?  Also, before he went all dicklord on John Rambo,  Sheriff Dennehy was running around town wishing everyone a Merry Christmas.
Three Days of the Condor (1975)--Again with the Christmas decorations, and I vaguely recall that, before she crossed paths with Robert Redford, Faye Dunaway was supposed to be heading off to Vermont to spend Christmas with her dude.
French Connection (1971)--Gene Hackman explores the darker side of the Yuletide by going undercover as Santa Claus.  Also: if anyone knows of a better car/subway chase than this one please clue me in.
The Conversation (1974)--Hackman and Fredo Corleone* spy on Shirley Feeney while Christmas carols play in the background.  Later, Hackman goes to a Christmas Party with Terry Garr.  Han Solo also makes an appearance in this one.
On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969)--Yes, even Bond almost got into the Christmas Spirit once.  This was the first Bond flick to acknowledge the snowier climes--notably, it took Lazenby to get us there; was it in Connery's contract that he would only film in the Caribbean?  Anyway, the ladies up at Blofeld's mountaintop allergy treatment clinic decorate a Christmas tree at one point. 
Batman Returns (1992)--My wife insists that the second Batman installment of the Michael Keaton era took place at Christmas time.  It did feature the antarctic-themed villainry of Danny DeVito's Penguin so it seems appropriate that a wintry Gotham City serve as backdrop. 

* Here's some Imdb wisdom for you: John Cazale, who played Fredo in Godfather I & II, only appeared in 5 movies; Dog Day Afternoon and The Deer Hunter completing the quintet.  All 5 were nominated for best picture Oscars.  Dude was batting a thousand before his untimely demise at age 42.