A Visual Tour of Boyhood Influences

The post below originally appeared on this blog in September, 2013. I'm reposting it here in the spirit of Anne's post about formative influences on the DIY & Dragons blog.

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We are, of course, the sum of our experiences. When it comes to how we view fantasy, we are each a crucible in which our influences are made molten and then shaped into something new. Our early influences are at the core of our imaginative alloy.

I’ve been tracing the early fantasy visuals I was exposed to and attempting to unravel where each fits into how I imagine. 

How do you judge what was an important early influence? This is my (undoubtedly shoddy) rubric: if you look at it now, you still feel a visceral reaction to the possibilities it hints at. 

Below are the early influences I still find wonderful, and what I think they taught me emphasized in bold type.

As near as I can tell, the run of the "I...Vampire!" story in The House of Mystery comic was my first exposure to a lurid gothic aesthetic. I still find the cover pictures to the left, with its suave-but-dangerous vampire supping on blood amidst a veritable field of guttering candles to be absolutely enthralling. It was likely this same cover the started my lifelong interest in all things gothic. Whatever I learned from that is about commitment and following a muse wherever it will lead you. Get obsessed, and stay obsessed.

My first D&D book wasn’t a game book at all. Instead, it was The Forest of Enchantment AD&D storybook I bought from the school book sale in elementary school. This scene of ren faire bards and druids vs. sword & sorcery warriors and wizards set an important tone: in fantasy, anything can be mixed. Do not bat an eye; do not cry about maintaining a narrow "milieu!"

 

We didn’t get the paper at my house when I was a kid, but when I was at my grandparents’ house I would try to piece together the narrative of Prince Valiant comics from whatever Sunday papers they had forgotten to throw out. There would be gaps in the story, of course, but that didn’t make my interest in it wane at all. I still believe that it is okay to have "gaps" in your game’s story.

The mini-story books that came with the first bunch of He-Man toys were also terribly captivating. The cartoon was a massive, sanitized disappointment after the weird sword & sorcery aesthetic these comics deployed. It seemed like the creative team didn’t feel the need to check their weirder impulses: a skull-faced would-be conqueror? A barbarian on a giant green tiger? A space cop entering the fray? Yes, yes, and yes. Let weirdness be your permission slip.

Speaking of He-Man, I could spend all day looking at this decal for the dungeon of Castle Grayskull and wondering what each of those beasts entailed. The monsters you see are only half the story; there are also the monsters you never see fully–those are the ones that stay with you.

A friend of my mother's gave me a tarot deck illustrated by David Palladini one year for my birthday. I still have it, although at this point the cards are worse for wear and one of them is marred by a strange purple stain that I can only assume is some sort of eldritch infestation. And yet, these strangely pale denizens of a time shrouded in mists and all the mystic trappings of post-New Age aeonizing still compels me. Incorporating resonant symbols is a useful shorthand.

The Dragon’s Lair video game was always broken and unplayable at Chuck E. Cheese, but that didn’t stop me from watching the demo loop over and over again. It was all action scenes, really; remember action and keep things moving.

The Sorcery! books were the intermediate step between Choose Your Own Adventure and D&D for me. They were chock full of grotty, weird John Blanche art. These were definitely the gateway drug that led me to play Warhammer in high school. Sometimes it’s okay for your character to die horribly–as long as that is entertaining, you’ll be moved to start again from the beginning. Also, it’s also okay to fudge things to get to the end!

My first D&D book was the original AD&D Monster Manual. (Orange spine--come on, I'm not that old.) To be completely honest, when I got my hands on the Monster Manual I had no idea if I'd ever get to play D&D, but that was immaterial. What really mattered was having a book chock full of gribly illustrations of monsters. I could say something here about the valuable lesson of mistakenly using the monster stats in the Monster Manual with the B/X rules (we had no idea they were separate product lines), but what I really want to say is this: there are only two things that matter in life--monsters and hot chicks.

My aunt gave me the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark books. The art by Stephen Gammell is utterly amazing. I will never get over this stuff. The pictures are all from well-worn campfire tales–but even though the shape of those stories aren’t surprising, the art does surprising, haunting things with them. You can do new things with old ideas.

The cover art from my first Lovecraft books was done by Michael Whelan. I love the limited palette, even though the art still unsettles me to an extent I'd rather not measure. It’s liberating to do a lot with a limited pool of color.

The summer I started playing D&D was also the summer I was reading Moorcock’s Elric books. In my mind, D&D was mystical and hazy and effete and decadent like the covers of these novels. I was never really struck by the murderhoboism that many others latched onto. Elric does not survive a funnel; Elric does not die to some kobold in a dirty little mine. Instead, Elric lived and breathed through an epic cycle that took place far away from the world of mundane cares. Escapism is one of the finest things.

Inappropriate Caligula, Revising Lovecraft, Women Running From Houses

 

The Oddly Inappropriate Spec TV Commercial for Never-Produced 'Caligula' Action Figures

- Richard Metzger, Dangerous Minds

Rising Lovecraft: The Mutant Mythos

- Paul St. John Mackintosh, The LA Review of Books

Loads of Women Running From Houses: The Gothic Romance Paperback

- Yeoman Lowbrow, Flashbak

Songs for the Dead

I've been working on some stuff for publication, which means I've been in need of background music. For the kind of mindset I like to work from, nothing really beats this recently posted King Diamond set that captures the unimpeachable Abigail album in a live performance:

Not My Ravenloft: Languages

With the imminent arrival of Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft, I wanted to revisit a series of posts I started, but never finished: Not My Ravenloft, a series where I talk about how I ran the setting in a way that was often in opposition to its presentation in the official supplements.

Ravenloft is easily my favorite of the official D&D settings. However, there are some bits in the setting that I just don't use, for one reason or another. Today I want to talk about the languages introduced in the third-edition Ravenloft Campaign Setting book and why I see them as a misstep.

Languages

Prior to the release of the third-edition Ravenloft Campaign Setting book, little attention was paid to the role of language in the setting. In the second-edition version of the setting, it was assumed that, as in most D&D settings, the majority of the land's residents spoke a common tongue. The Common language, I feel, is one of D&D greatest innovations in terms of playability. It makes the linguistic aspect of communication simple so that everyone at the table can speak as though their characters expects to be understood in the vast majority of situations.

It's unrealistic, of course, that everyone speaks a language in common, particularly given how far apart different nations and territories can be in fantasy settings, but it also means that the players get to receive and relay a maximal amount of information when they interact with NPCs. There generally isn't a language barrier to get in the way of roleplaying, and if a language barrier does rear its ugly head it's actually noteworthy and special because it runs against the norm established by the presence of the Common language.

The third-edition of the Ravenloft setting retconned Common from the setting. In its place, a number of number of languages that covered specific domains were introduced: "The Dread Domains are home to widely differing and often isolated cultures. Thus, no Common language has arisen." 

This was a disastrous idea, in my opinion. It is entirely possible, should the players create characters with no languages in common, that they will not be able to communicate with each other. And the potential slowdown in every roleplaying encounter where you have to check to see who speaks what is the wrong kind of nightmarish for a Gothic setting.

Romanov Costume Ball, McKamey Manor, Vampire Savior

 

Dazzling Color Photos of the Legendary Romanov Costume Ball of 1903

- Nancy Bilyeau, The Vintage News

Tennessee's McKamey Manor: Torture on Demand

- Megan Seling, Nashville Scene

Vampire Savior – 1997 Developer Interview

- Shmuplations.com

Not My Ravenloft: Outcast Ratings

With the imminent arrival of Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft, I wanted to revisit a series of posts I started, but never finished: Not My Ravenloft, a series where I talk about how I ran the setting often in opposition to its presentation in the official supplements.

Ravenloft is my favorite of the official D&D settings. However, there are some bits in the setting that I just don't use, for one reason or another. Today I want to talk about the Outcast Rating mechanic introduced in the third-edition Ravenloft Campaign Setting book, although it should be noted that similar mechanics have existed for the setting since the Realm of Terror box set.

Outcast Ratings

Outcast Ratings are a numerical disadvantage of varying severity assigned to nonhuman player characters attempting to interact with people who are unlike them. The Outcast Rating also provides a bonus to intimidation against people who are not your "kind" if you are a nonhuman.

I think I understand where this mechanic is coming from. It wants to present Ravenloft's brand of dark fantasy as one where the common people who inhabit the land are superstitious and xenophobic peasants. However, I feel like this butts up against another idea that the setting tries to establish: the people of Ravenloft are worth fighting for. It's difficult to get worked up enough to put your life on the line fighting monsters on behalf of ignorant bigots.

In my Ravenloft games, fantasy racism isn't a trope I want to give undue prominence. I figure that since it isn't unusual for the mists of Ravenloft to pull strangers of all ancestries into the land, the people who inhabit the land might be a bit more used to encountering unusual humanoids from abroad. Although the average farmer in Mordent may not have ever seen a tabaxi or loxodon before, I don't take it as read that they will react with fear and revulsion. I'm not saying that bigotry doesn't exist in my games; it's just not an idea I want to emphasize enough to warrant mechanizing.

Also, I don't really like how the Outcast Rating mechanic tramples on certain character concepts. There's no point in playing a charismatic race or a class that relies on charisma if you're always going to be fighting against a mechanic that won't let you be good at the thing you signed on to be good at.