When I first started roleplaying, back in 1975, there were no modules. Instead, people spoke of "dungeons" - as in, "Say, we're going to play in Steve's dungeon on Saturday - want to join us?" The idea of going on an adventure was firmly inside the frame of a larger campaign. Some people had elaborate set-ups, with kingdoms, history, background - even different races to play. Others were focused on the site of adventure; everything else was superfluous. If players came and went, so did their characters.
So when I picked up a copy of Keep on the Borderlands just the other day at Frugal Muse Books, I found myself remembering some of the reaction of "old-timers" to the idea of stand-alone adventures: "why would you want that? I mean, it's not even written for your campaign." Up until 1977 or so, almost all of the material produced for D&D had been published in The Strategic Review, The Dragon, or Judges Guild material (the latter being more recent). Which resulted in lots of interesting monsters, magic items, elaborations on the rules, and all of it got picked apart and then kitbashed by referees for their own games. What this meant for the players was that the narrative of adventure emerged from play, and wasn't predetermined by a series of modular pre-fabricated interactions.
So it seems to me that the period of 1974 to 1977 could be marked as being fundamentally different from roleplaying after 1977. It's that kind of gameplay I want to see explored further in the Old School Renaissance. Put another way, think about this - how would you design an adventure to share with others that didn't have a "greased rail" approach, like so many adventures written at the time?
D&D and Traveller
36 minutes ago
>>So it seems to me that the period of 1974 to 1977 could be marked as being fundamentally different from roleplaying after 1977.
ReplyDeleteIn some ways, yes. Before packaged modules, were there any common experiences gamers could use to communicate with other gamers? It seems to me that DMs talking about how they approached Keep on the Borderlands, and players talking about their experiences in that module, make for more productive communication.
I also don't understand some people's fetish (I can't think of a better word for it) of only running their own creations. Running something different than you would ever create yourself is something I love about modules. Takes me out of my comfort zone as a referee and forces me to adapt to other styles, and it gives the players a new challenge as longtime campaigners can easily learn to 'read' a referee, and running someone else's module takes that away.
>>Put another way, think about this - how would you design an adventure to share with others that didn't have a "greased rail" approach, like so many adventures written at the time?
Describe a location or situation. Detail what happens if the PCs get involved, and also detail what happens if they don't. Don't make the "if they don't" results world-ending or campaign-wrecking so as to really punish players for not going along.
Seems simple to me.
"In some ways, yes. Before packaged modules, were there any common experiences gamers could use to communicate with other gamers?"
ReplyDeleteSure - the dungeon itself. How to design them, what made them tick, why were they there, what happened. The dungeon was the frame of reference, not an adventure. Using the same module might have made communication easier, but I'm not sure about more *productive*.
"Takes me out of my comfort zone as a referee and forces me to adapt to other styles, and it gives the players a new challenge as longtime campaigners can easily learn to 'read' a referee, and running someone else's module takes that away."
Oh, sure - but one clear difference I've noticed is that referees in the past would grab a published adventure, and if they didn't like something, they would switch things around, add in stuff, change it all up.
"Seems simple to me."
Me, too - but why is it that some many published adventures don't do this? It's a mystery to me.
More sandbox and setting, less story. Isn't that a central part of the propulsion behind old-school?
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