Encounter

I just discovered a new fanzine, Encounter, devoted to Mentzer D&D/Labyrinth Lord.  It's a nice, professionally done 'zine, and it's free.

The first issue weighs in at 27 pages full of gaming goodness, including an adventure for 1st to 3rd level characters.

In Memorium: Frank Frazetta

The news is spreading quickly throughout the old-school community that Frank Frazetta has passed away today at the age of 82.

Frank Frazetta is my favourite fantasy artist of all time.  His paintings, often more stylized than realistic, are packed with dramatic tension and emotion that I find lacking in many works of fantasy art.  Frazetta's style was an enormous influence on me in high school, when I hoped to become an artist, and many of my early paintings in my teens were blatant attempts to emulate that style.

One of his pieces that I have always found incredibly powerful is the painting, Spiderman, which I painstakingly copied in acrylics at the age of 15 and was very proud to have captured some of the emotion that Frazetta conveyed.

Another of Frazetta's paintings that was a great early influence on my artistic style was Death Dealer, made famous by the Molly Hatchet album cover:

The first time I ever saw Death Dealer I was awed by the feeling of menace projected by the painting.  This is, perhaps, one of Frazetta's best known paintings and it has been reproduced in a variety of media, including this miniature by Ral Partha (please forgive the crudity of the paint job - I was fourteen at the time):

So powerful and characterful is the image of the Death Dealer that Image Comics created a Death Dealer series based on the character:

I've never seen paintings that can evoke such raw, visceral responses in me as Frazetta's always have, and I doubt I ever will.  Today marks the passing of what I believe was one of the greatest artists of the twentieth century and I doubt I'll ever see another book cover that moves me as powerfully as the Frazetta covered ERB novels that I've managed to collect over the years.

I hope that I can get through the rest of the week without having to write yet another memorial to someone whose work I admire greatly and was influential in my development.

Session 4: Malash Thwarted

Last session ended with Bvar and Theon in the clutches of Malash the Magnificent, cleric of Balor, while Jin and his henchwoman, Caitlin, successfully escaped their pursuers and fled the dungeon.

Malash interrogated his prisoners to determine what they had seen of his operation and, more importantly, what they had reported to the outside world.  Bvar and Theon denied telling anyone anything, but Malash could not trust their assurances and sent for his torturer to determine the truth for certain.  Eager to avoid torture, Theon told him that what they might or might not have told anyone was irrelevant, since Jin was heading back to the Flaming Faggot, where he would tell everyone what he saw and organize a rescue party.

Thus forewarned, Malash organized a suitable reception, by way of an ambush, for any rescue party that might enter the keep.  Meanwhile he incarcerated Theon and Bvar in the dungeons prison cells to await their transport to the Temple of Balor where their fates would be decided by Malash's unnamed Master.

Meanwhile, back at the Faggot, Jin appealed to the sinister mage-priest, Frasck, for aid in the rescue of his comrades.  Frasck reminded Jin that it was he, Jin, who was beholden to Frasck and not the other way around, and if he couldn't prove himself to be a resourceful and useful servant, then Frasck would use the vial of Jin's blood to turn him into an amusing, albeit disturbingly unnatural, one.  Possessed of uncommon intelligence, Jin grasped the threat almost immediately and decided to look elsewhere for aid.

Fortunately, the Flaming Faggot is one of the best places anywhere in Faedun to meet dangerous men in need of coin and unafraid of getting their blades wet.  The trouble was that Jin, wisely, wanted to be certain of from whom they would wet their blades and take their coin.  He approached the lovely half-elven bar-maid Rhiannon and explained his plight, asking her opinion about trustworthy patrons he might hire.  The Flaming Faggot's resident minstrel, Euan Carvel overheard and immediately volunteered to accompany Jin, in hopes of chronicling an epic tale and making his reputation.  It was clear that he was also trying to impress the lovely Rhiannon with his bravery.  Next, he approached a lone Caemric ranger sipping ale and sitting quietly by the fire.  The ranger, named Daffyd, was uninterested until Jin showed him the cloak embroidered with the eye of Balor, and then agreed to go to Gogledd Keep and investigate the situation.  Last, a taciturn and sullen dwarf in threadbare garments but carrying a sharp-edged great axe was offered a share of great treasure in exchange for his services.  The dwarf, Garyn, agreed provided that Jin give him ten gold coins with which Garyn could get his armour out of hock at McTavish's Trading Post.

Early the next morning Jin and Caitlin met the three hired men in the common room and set out immediately for Gogledd Keep.  Upon entering the courtyard they were caught in a crossfire of crossbow bolts from firing points within the keep.  They made quickly for the stairs into the keep's great hall only to be confronted by a rank of crossbowmen with weapons at the ready.  Miraculously, the volley of bolts all missed their targets, and the rescuers charged their ambushers.  The fight was long and bloody, and both Caitlin and Daffyd fell, injured, before the guards were overcome.

Meanwhile, back in their cells Theon and Bvar were yelling and kicking at the door and creating as much ruckus as possibly until, after repeated warnings to "shut it," the guard opened Theon's cell to deliver a much-deserved beating.  Theon immediately attempted to command the guard but was unable to dominate the strong-willed guard, and received a spear butt in the stomach for his troubles.  The guard continued to chastise the prisoner, raining blows upon him but, finally, Theon was able to come to grips with the guard and wrest the spear away from him.  The acolyte of Lir was finally able to slay the guard and free Bvar from his cell, just as Jin and the hired men from the Faggot arrived.

Taking the body of the slain guard below to the crypts, Theon gave it as a peace offering to the ghouls that dwealt within and negotiated with them for their aid in destroying Malash and driving him from the keep.  The four ghouls agreed to the proposal, having no love of the humans that had invaded their demesne.

The now large band assaulted the chambers held by Malash and his few remaining men.  Though weak in numbers, having killed so many guards, this was no easy fight as Malash's black armoured lieutenant proved to be a skilled and implacable warrior, while Malash called upon the dark majesty of Balor of divine aid.  After a lengthy fight the last of Malash's guards and, finally, his dread lieutenant fell and Malash, sensing the futility of continuing against overwhelming odds with his magic nearly depleted, called upon his dark god one last time to cloak the area in eldritch darkness and fled the dungeon after vowing revenge for thwarting the Master's plans.

The party lost no time in ransacking Malash's private chamber, which was opulently furnished and found a diamond-studded platinum necklace set with a large, rare fire opal that is certain to fetch a small fortune.  Even with having to give equal shares to Daffyd, Euan, and Garyn, every one is certain to be financially well-set for the near future.

On the return to the Faggot, Euan regaled the party with some of the history of the ancient Gogledd Keep, which figured prominently in the last stand of Gwyddno, High King of Llanvirnesse during the De Danann Wars and recited the lay known as The Last Ride of Gwyddno:

With honour they rode forth to battle,

following the course of Ildanach

to the ford of Gogledd Keep.

In the hills of Cyveni the foemen are spied;

the war cry is raised,

into battle they ride.

Gwyddno is stricken, pierced is his shield;

speared is the warlord

to fall on the field.

His guard rallied 'round to defend their liege-lord,

but valour means naught

to a blood-maddened horde.

At last all was silent on a field stained red

save the cawing of ravens

come to feast on the dead.

A cairn of boulders was raised on his mound;

the king laid to rest with his scepter and crown.

With honour they rode forth to battle,

following the course of Ildanach

to sleep forever more.

In Memorium: Dr. J. Eric Holmes

I was saddened to learn today, from this post on Grognardia that Dr. J. Eric Holmes passed away in March.  As most D&D enthusiasts know, he was the author of the original Dungeons & Dragons Basic Set.  This set, published in 1977, was based on the original D&D rules, but organized and clarified to better introduce new players to the hobby.  The basic rulebook was a springboard, taking characters up to 3rd level after which it was assumed that players would adopt either the Dungeons & Dragons rules or the new Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Game.

 As for many, this version of the Basic Set was my introduction, in 1980, to a hobby I've enjoyed ever since.  Included with the rulebook was a set of card-board chit numbers that could be punched out and put in a cup to use as a random-number generator for those of us who lacked those strange, yet fascinating, polyhedral dice, and the adventure module B2: Keep on the Borderlands.

Prior to buying this set my previous gaming experience consisted of various Parker Brother boardgames, such as Monopoly.  Needless to say D&D represented a serious departure from the sort of game I was used to playing, and I must confess that I had a hard time figuring out how to play it.  Unlike those who are introduced to the hobby by friends or siblings, all I had was my Holmes edition rulebook full of limitless possibilities.  I gathered a group of friends, equally ignorant, but interested in giving D&D a try and I ran them through Keep on the Borderlands.  It was a disaster.  I had no idea what I was doing and botched everything up badly.

Some of the people in that original session never played again but most, much to my complete astonishment, were bitten by the bug and eager to play again despite my abysmal performance as Dungeon Master.  The guys that stuck around formed the core group of friends that I played with, pretty much every weekend and almost daily on holidays all through high school; one of them I still play with whenever I get the chance.  Although we quickly moved on to AD&D, the Basic Set still has a fond place in my heart and seeing the magic-user and fighter confronting a red dragon sitting atop his treasure horde evokes happy memories of the many hours I spent flipping through that rulebook dreaming of adventures to come.

It's been rough, these last few years, as we have lost many of the pioneers of our hobby: Gary Gygax, Dave Arneson, Robert Bledsaw of Judges Guild, and now Eric Holmes.  These were guys that made my adolescence a very special time and I'm very sad that they are gone.

I'm incredibly gratified, though, that there is a small cadre of enthusiasts who, like the survivors of my first game, were bitten by the bug and now form the core of the Old School Renaissance, keeping alive the spirit of the game as it was taught to us by those who have now passed.  Hopefully some of us will pass our passion and style of play on to the next generation, and preserve the efforts and teaching of the pioneers of role playing from being relegated to the scrap-heap of history in an age when gaming is more about corporate branding than imagination and free-form play.

Game on!

Class Level Titles Revisited

One of the things about AD&D that I thought was really neat, and miss in subsequent versions of the game, are the old class level titles.  They added a bit of flavour to your character - you weren't just a 7th level ranger, you were a Pathfinder.

I was looking through my old AD&D player's handbook the other day, looking at all the old titles and thinking about introducing them to Castles and Crusades, and I decided that there were just too many titles for each class - a new one every level until at least 9th level.  This is an objection I recall, too, from my youth.  Having your title change each level seemed to rob them of some of their lustre and having to come up with so many different titles resulted in some that weren't necessarily appropriate for every character - every magic-user suddenly became a necromancer at 10th level, and ceased to be one at 11th?  That's a pretty narrow window of opportunity to be the creepy guy raising an unholy army of the night.

My goal in creating level titles for my campaign was to come up with just enough to recognize a character's rise in power and stature in the campaign and to make them generic enough to apply to any character, but also customized to my specific world.  I tried to avoid titles like Swordsman, or Swashbuckler.  Not every fighter wields a sword nor swashes a buckle.  So far, I've only come up with level titles for clerics, magic-users and fighters, which is fine because these are the only classes currently being played in my campaign.

Fighter

Level           Title
1                   Veteran
3                   Warrior
5                   Armsman
8                   Weapon Master
11                 Warlord

The fighter was the most difficult class to assign titles to, because a fighter can represent such a broad range of character types.  The titles described here represent the ranks recognized by Callovia's mercenary's guild and fighting men invested in their ranks are entitled to pay rates commensurate with their rank.  The rank of Weapon Master is bestowed only upon the most skilled practitioners of the fighting arts and are feared and respected throughout the land.  The rank of Warlord replaces the traditional title of Lord, since the latter is better reserved to denote social station than fighting skill.  After all, many who hold the title of 'lord' couldn't fight off a drunken kobold.  A fighter may only assume the title of Warlord after having established a stronghold and command of a company of men-at-arms.

Cleric
Level          Title
1                  Acolyte
3                  Priest
5                  Prefect
7                  Templar
9                  High Priest

The cleric titles were fairly straightforward - I retained many of the traditional titles from the Player's Handbook.  I added Templar to the title list to reflect the cleric's position as a militant defender of the faith as opposed to a cloistered temple clergyman.

Magic-User
Level            Title
1                    Journeyman
5                    Arcanist
7                    Warlock
9                    Sorcerer
11                  Wizard
13                  Initiate of the Inner Circle
15                  Adept of the Inner Circle
17                  Master of the Inner Circle
20                  Archmage

The magic-user titles, which are the only ones to go as high as 20th level, reflect the recent history of Faedun.  After the devastation wrought by the Drachmari shadow-mages during the Unseelie War a century ago, the Aquitanian church knights of Mithras declared that magic was the sole province of the gods and their servants and thus began a purge of mages within the kingdom.  This spread to a Faedun-wide crusade against arcane spell-casters.  Mages were hunted down one by one, and their libraries burned.  The wizard, Azerak gathered together the survivors of the purges and took refuge on an island off the coast of Callovia, there to build an unassailable fortress and haven for arcane study.  Azerak was appointed to the position of Archmage, and ruler of the Isle of Wizardry.  The spark of magic, nearly extinguished in man, is now slowly being rekindled.  Newly-graduated mages are granted the title of Journeyman and assigned the task of gathering lost arcane lore.  A Journeyman can only graduate to the title of Arcanist by making a significant contribution to arcane knowledge whether by researching new avenues of magic or recovering lost knowledge.  Arcanists are the working rank of mages, and slowly ascend the hierarchy as their knowledge and power grows, finally attaining the rank of Wizard.  Only those Wizards whose knowledge extends to the deepest mysteries of magic and who begin to comprehend the true nature of the cosmos are inducted into the Inner Circle.  There can be only one Archmage, who must be a minimum of 20th level.

I've tried to give the titles some significance in the game world and are accompanied by a commensurate level of respect and recognition.  As other classes come into play I'll develop level titles for them as well to reflect their stature within the campaign setting.

Hit Points and Healing - My Own Dim Perspective

I find myself appreciating the wisdom of many of D&D's rules a lot more now than I did when I was young.  Among the many concepts that I didn't quite 'get' in my youth was the rationale behind combat and hit points in D&D.  Sure, I'd read several of Gary Gygax's articles in The Dragon, such as "Realism vs. Game Logic" from issue #16, and "Much About Melee" from issue #24, so I knew that the game's combat system was deliberately designed to be abstract, but I never really understood how well it reflected both practical game mechanics and reality until much later.  Let's face it: at fourteen I didn't have the perspective of life experience with which to judge such things.

It was not until much later, when I began competing in traditional karate, that I truly understood the wisdom behind the melee combat and hit point mechanics in D&D and how well they balance pragmatic simulation with realism.  When facing an opponent of roughly equal skill there is much maneuvering, feinting and adjusting as you try to put your foe off balance both physically and psychologically, and long periods of time can elapse between true attacks.  Condensing all of the action in a one-minute combat round into a single die roll keeps the combat moving quickly, while providing a reasonably accurate simulation of the fight.  Compare this to a system, like GURPS (which I also enjoy), where the combat round is one second long and every swing, feint, parry, and dodge is accounted for.  This makes for a highly tactical combat system, but fights take a very long time to resolve.  This is great for some types of campaigns, but for high-octane sword and sorcery action I prefer D&D's abstract combat mechanics.

You will notice that I mentioned that the lengthy period of give and take in melee applies to combatants of roughly equal skill.  A superior fighter will quickly outclass his opponent, and this is reflected in the D&D rules by allowing fighters extra attacks against opponents with less that one full hit die.  This represents the relative difficulty such opponents will have in avoiding the attacks of a more skillful foe.

I really like the rationale behind hit points, too.  I didn't used to, though, and I remember chuckling at a cartoon, probably in Murphy's Rules, depicting a D&D fighter yawning in boredom as someone stabbed him repeatedly in the chest with a dagger.  It's comforting to know that I'm not the only one who didn't understand hit points.  Considering them to represent not the amount of physical damage one can withstand, but a measure of skill, endurance, and luck reflects real combat reasonably well.  The only times I've ever been injured in fight were when I was too exhausted to adequately protect myself.  There have been occasions when I was too tired to even lift my arms any more.  This is a condition that I call 'sword-dragging tired' after the final fight scene between Liam Neeson and Tim Roth in the movie, Rob Roy.  Neeson's character staggers across the arena floor dragging his sword behind him, too exhausted to lift it.  He's only suffered minor cuts up until this point, and isn't really hurt, but he is physically and mentally worn out and is down to his last few hit points.  He can't defend himself anymore and it is clear to all that the next blow will kill him.  This is a great cinematic example of how hit points in D&D work.

So my question, which I'm sure has been the subject of innumerable internet forum debates, is this: if hit points don't represent real damage, why does it take so long to recover them?  There  have been plenty of competitions that have left me 'sword-dragging tired' and down to my last few hit points, but after a good night's sleep, aside from a little minor stiffness, I felt perfectly refreshed.

I've been using a house rule for healing for some time now, that seems to work quite nicely and evokes the sword & sorcery genre - after all, how often do you see Conan lying bed-ridden for two weeks, recovering from his latest adventure?  I consider a character's starting  hit points at 1st level to represent his capacity to withstand physical damage - thus any damage dealt to a 1st level character is a wound, and these hit points heal at the normal rate.  Hit points gained at subsequent levels are a reflection of increased skill and endurance, and any hit point loss that does not reduce a character's hit point total below his 1st level starting value represents only fatigue, and these hit points are recovered relatively quickly.  In dangerous and uncomfortable settings, like camping out in the dungeon, a character recovers 1 hit point per hour of rest.  If resting in a safe comfortable environment, a character will recover 2 hit points per hour of rest.  If resting at an inn with cold ale, a comfortable bed, and a willing wench to warm it, the character will recover all non-wound hit points in the course of a night.  I reckon that no matter how badly off Conan, Fafhrd, or the Gray Mouser are, a night of drinking and wenching always puts them to rights.  This rule also helps encourage sword & sorcery genre conventions.

I am well aware of the irony of recently admitting my past ignorance of the rationale behind certain D&D rules while at the same time invoking a house rule to "fix" one of the tried and true rules of the game.  To quote Gary Gygax:

"I do admit to becoming a trifle irritated at times to read an article in some obscure fan magazine or a letter to the editor of some small publication which attacks the game - or claims to be sure to improve it if only their new and 'improved' rules are followed.  My irritation is, I hope, only impatience with those who only dimly perceive the actual concepts of the game, and not my wounded vanity."

I have no doubt that my problem with the rate of natural healing in D&D reflects my dim perception of the concepts of the game.  Most of  my other problems with the rules have been - why not this, too?  After thirty years I'm still not getting it, so until I have an epiphany and come to truly understand the rationale behind the game's natural healing rate, I'm going to stick with my house rule for the time being.  It works well for me, reinforces the sword & sorcery genre and, I think, sticks to D&D's spirit of realism and pragmatic abstraction.

Confessions of a Born-Again Old-Schooler

What the heck is 'old-school,' anyway?  There are lots of different opinions, and definitions vary widely throughout the old-school community.  As far as I am aware there is no consensus on what exactly the term means with respect to gaming.  There is discussion of 'old-school games,' again with little consensus of what makes a game 'old-school,' and there is 'old-school gaming,' which, to my mind, is something else altogether.  It is upon the latter expression that I wish to expound.

To me, old-school gaming isn't about a particular rule-system or game mechanic, it's a philosophy; a style of play that emphasizes the active involvement of players in the game, and the freedom of the game master to adjudicate situations without being hindered by a restrictive set of rules that dictates what is or is not possible.  This is a style of play that those of us of a certain age will remember from our youth and that has, sadly, fallen by the wayside in contemporary gaming.

Remember when we were kids, venturing into our first dungeon?  It wasn't a series of "encounters" calculated to provide an optimum "challenge rating," it was a dynamic environment filled unknown dangers and fabulous treasure for those bold, daring, and clever enough to win it.  Remember proceeding slowly through the claustrophobic corridors, far beneath the surface, lit only by flickering smokey torchlight, carefully mapping the path so as to find your way out?  I remember the palpable tension.  I remember the thrill of the unknown, and I remember facing threats far beyond the ability of our low-level characters to defeat in combat.  In order to not only survive, but to thrive and win those fabulous treasures we had to think.  Fair fights were for suckers and thinking outside the box was the modus operandi in the adventures of our youth.  Our characters didn't live or die, win or lose, solely on lucky or unlucky die rolls in a carefully balanced and scripted encounter, but rather because of the skill, or lack thereof, of we, the players.

A more contemporary style of play, exemplified by Wizards of the Coast's 3E and 4E rpgs, resolves nearly everything by a die roll to determine if the character succeeds.  Player skill has been all but eliminated, which by extension reduces active player involvement in the game.  Similarly, since these games attempt to codify and regulate every possible situation, the game master's role as adjudicator has been greatly reduced.  Thus players have been reduced to dice-rolling observers of their character's fates, and game masters are no more than Dorito-eating automatons.  This is in diametric opposition to the way that D&D was supposed to be played.  Gary Gygax intended for D&D to be a thinking person's game that provided intellectual and creative challenges for the players, not their characters, to overcome.  Likewise, gaining levels in D&D was a reflection of the player's skill, a hard-earned reward for having overcome many dangers and obstacles over long periods of play.  3E replaced this type of play with a series of carefully structured and balanced 'encounters' each designed, not to provide a serious challenge, but to deplete 'x' % of the party resources, and that each character would gain a level after every 'y' encounters.  What a bland and formulaic way to play what should be one of the most exciting games ever made.

I'm as guilty as anyone of having wandered off down this path, adopting the newly published 3E after a nearly 15 year hiatus from D&D.  I jumped headlong into the d20 system, playing it for many years and even writing articles about it.  Somehow I didn't even notice how 3E had changed the way I played - probably because I was too busy trying to keep track of NPCs with two-page long stat-blocks filled with feats and abilities from half a dozen different classes and whatever templates had been applied.  With all of that to juggle it is easy to lose sight of the fact that players are now making 'search checks' instead of actually searching for traps, treasure, or secret doors; or the nebulous 'knowledge dungeoneering' check instead of relying upon their own knowledge and experience.  Perhaps the worst offenders of old-school tradition were the social interaction skills, such as bluff and diplomacy.  With these you could dispense with a lengthy and amusing role playing interaction by rolling a couple of d20s to determine how it all turned out.  It used to be that if a player was trying to persuade an NPC he'd make a persuasive argument and leave it to the GM to determine how successful it was - no dice needed to be rolled.  If you wanted to distract your opponent, you'd think up a clever distraction instead of relying upon a successful 'bluff check,' to resolve the attempt.

Another consequence of the ever-growing feats, classes and abilities associated with 3E was the amount of time that the GM required to prepare for each session.  I remember spending all of my spare time between sessions statting out NPCs and thus the game was very difficult to run 'on the fly,' which was my preferred style of play.  Prior to adopting 3E, I had been running GURPS for many years, which is a very GM-friendly system, and I'd often sit down at the gaming table with no adventure prepared for the evening, trusting in my ability to wing-it and make up whatever characters or creatures I needed on the spur of the moment in order to follow the player's lead.  That all fell by the wayside with 3E; everything was plotted out from beginning to end and, ultimately, resulted in a lot less freedom for the players to do what they wanted.  Deviating from the plan meant a huge headache and an anxiety attack for me, whereas it was par for the course with earlier game systems.

My disenchantment with 3E and its style of play began to grow after the arrival of a new baby and my subsequent reduction of free time (most of which was used for sleep).  I began to resent the amount of time I had to spend to prepare for each session, and resented it even more when much of the prep work went to waste, as it often did.  I recall spending most of an entire weekend creating an awe-inspiring multi-classed and templated vampire lord for a set-piece encounter.  When the player's characters encountered this NPC they all won initiative and killed him before he got a single action - I didn't even get a chance to make the cool expository soliloquy I had prepared.  Personally, I am of the opinion that it shouldn't take longer to create an NPC than it does to kill him.

My disenchantment with 3E, its cumbersome play style, and 'tyranny of the d20' continued to grow until I just couldn't play it anymore and went looking for a new game system.  I'd followed the development of the upcoming 4E for a while, but quickly decided that it wasn't for me.  When I finally discovered Castles & Crusades it was like coming home; it felt like the D&D I remembered from my youth and had a simple, elegant, unified system mechanic that I found intuitive and easy to apply.  I'd found my system and re-discovered my roots as an old-school gamer.

Unfortunately, C&C can be a bit of a tough sell to players who grew up playing MMOGs (Massively Multiplayer Online Games) and whose only rpg experience is one of the WotC games.  For some, gaming is all about super-powers and the endorphin rush of fast leveling.  When you consider that a World of Warcraft player can gain seventy levels in just a few months of dedicated play, it must seem intolerably slow to have to play for several years to attain a mere twenty levels.  Likewise, MMOG play requires very little active engagement or creativity.  I've actually read books while fighting MMOG combats, cycling through the attack sequences without needing to pay attention to the screen.  MMOG quests are usually straightforward and you can always consult Thottbot to find out exactly how to complete them without any thought whatsoever.  Little wonder that an old-school game that requires you to think, has no 'kewl powerz,' and a comparatively glacial leveling rate has a tough time competing with WotC's MMOG-inspired games.

Here, I bear my share of guilt, having introduced new players to role playing by way of 3E and indoctrinating them into a lazy style of play that is very difficult to break out of.  I've tried running my C&C games as a sort of methadone clinic for 3E addicts, incorporating some of the rules from the d20 system, but slowing weaning the players off the junk, bringing the game more in line with AD&D over time.  In retrospect, I think this was a mistake - looking back I see that I tend to make a lot of these.  I should probably have started off running C&C with its rules as written instead of introducing them gradually, which is undoubtedly confusing.

Old habits are hard to break and I often fear that I've not adequately communicated what 'old school play' is all about.  There has been progress, but if my players knew how much treasure they've passed up for lack of looking, they would cry.  All too often they leave a room, after slaying its inhabitants, without taking the time to search it.  This, too, is a habit deeply ingrained from playing 3E: if there isn't a treasure chest with a flashing neon sign saying, "loot me!," one expects to be asked to make a search check.  I still hear "I search the room," from players from time to time.  That's nice, but it would be nicer still, and far more successful, to elaborate.

Fortunately, I've come across the Quick Primer for Old School Gaming written by Matthew Finch, author of Swords & Wizardry.  This explains the 'zen moments' of old school gaming far better than I ever could.  If you are new to old school play I highly recommend reading this excellent introduction to what it is all about.  Even if you are, like me, an expatriate old-schooler returning to the fold, the primer is full of inspiration and well worth the read.

Happy searching!