Know, oh
resplendent readers, that the tale before you is set in a time when
the ancient littoral civilisations, the ancient empires of the West,
had reached their considerable peak of cultural achievement.
Let me tell you something, it is an epic, lords and ladies. And there will be
elves.
Well,
perhaps I'm not being entirely straight with you. To be honest, it is
a story about stories of
adventure, heroism and all that lah-dee-dah. Stories and the people
who tell them. Make them anew, break them, and cast their defiance
into the sharp and pointy teeth of chance with ten and twenty-sided
dice.
The
illuminated will recognise from the above description that this a
story of own Great Game – call it role-playing, call it Dungeons &
Dragons if your lawyer permits, or just call it gaming for
simplicity's sake. Even, if you're prone to hyperbole, call it the
pinnacle of our culture and the ultimate synthesis of all
disciplines. Some may bestow that accolade elsewhere, there are those
who may speak of some affair with glass beads, and wild and hairy
heretics may even speak of Boggle or Whack-a-Mole. We, however, shall
have no truck with such ludic (and ludicrous) deviation.
Was I
addressing an audience of the scholars and aesthetes of the Game, no
further explanation from me would be required. Yet I have been asked
to spin this fancy for a broader audience. An all-to-predictable
gesture by my commissioners and sponsors. Sex it up, they say. Make
it a five-volume epic with a name ending in -iad, they implore
(Old-ropiad, perhaps).
In
response, I sigh, and remind myself that while in theory I have a
duty to none but my Muse, in practice I have very real duties to my
cats, my landlord and my ex-wife, in roughly that order of priority.
So,
role-playing.
Let's give you a couple of definitions to be going on with.
So,
first, your theatrical definition, darlings and dramaturges. If I
were to say interactive storytelling to you, what does that do for
you? Well, try this: humans have always told one another stories.
What we tend to forget in this Age of the Paperback (and the coming
Age of the Kindle) is that a story is not just something you buy on a
three for two deal in a well-known bookshop but a collective
experience.
What if
we're all back around the camp-fire (or the kitchen table) telling
each other a story, each playing different characters? Collaborating
in the creation of a shared world, in whatever genre? Both spectators
and actors, or spect-actors,
to use a neologism from radical theatre. If you can dig that, then
the rules and the polyhedral dice just become a way of resolving that
old question – can my favourite character do that? Can he jump the
ravine? Can she cast that spell? Can he make the Kessel Run in less
than 50 parsecs? No big deal.
With me?
No? Okay, if that tripped too many of your hot buttons for
pretension, try this second attempt. Imagine a co-operative board
game where all but one of the players work together to explore a
dungeon, a haunted house or space station. They find treasure, fight
monsters and become more powerful. The remaining player designs the
dungeon or whatever and controls the traps and monsters.
Then take
away the board and the pieces and ask all the players to run the game
in their heads, with the ... ah ... dungeon
master describing the
situation and the others having their characters react to it. Here,
in what you might call the war-gaming tradition in role-playing,
tactics are paramount and rules matter, while character is a nice to
have, not an essential item.
You can
probably tell from this where my own sympathies lie without me having
to spell them out for you. Just don't get me started on W**** of
W**craft and it's on-line bastard brood.
What,
you would have my name too? Such things have power, you know? [Pause]
Do you know, I almost said that with a straight face, but I was never
any good at poker. All I'm saying is that the pointy hat and the
beard come with the role, and you won't find me wearing them in the
bar later. Read what I said about the compromise
between art and commerce.
So if
it's all the same with you I'd rather keep my name out of this. But
apart from that you're in safe hands. I know my THACO from my AC, my
Azathoth from my Agadoo. *
What? Do
I look like I was there for Temple of Elemental Evil the first time
around? Cheeky sod! Let's say I remember second edition and stop
asking personal questions, okay?
Any
more questions? Good. So, what are you waiting for? Speak, friend and
enter!
(*) The only way Lovecraft could have topped the image of a blind,
idiot, formless god at the centre of the universe writhing to the
feeble piping of an unseen flute would have been the vision of it gyrating to the horrific refrain of 'Agadoo-doo-doo / Push
pineapple shake the tree...' Sanity checks all round, I fear
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