In our last episode, I talked about the three classic game modes of old school (A)D&D: the Dungeon, the Wilderness, and the Domain. In discussing these, I use words like “adventure” or “module.” It’s worth taking some time to talk about these terms, because I’ve found their meaning has changed a bit over time.
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| Well, you could have mentioned that earlier! |
Adventures and Modules
Many modern RPG “adventures” (i.e the mass-produced, published type,) tend to follow a narrative structure, with encounters or set pieces being presented to the players in three (or more) acts, usually in a sequential manner. While they may include (small) dungeon and/or wilderness maps, these seem to exist largely to serve the linear narrative.
If you remember what I said about the three game modes, you know that the Dungeon (and later the Wilderness,) are where “adventures” take place. What does this mean in the old school sense? Simply put:
One adventure = one session of game play
Every time you, your buddies, and the hobo get together to explore the Temple of the Snake Cult, (and hopefully make it back to town,) that is one adventure. Later on, getting an expedition together to follow the treasure map to the heroine Serpica’s resting place somewhere in the Northern Marklands, (and getting lost,) that’s another adventure (of the Wilderness type.)
In modern rulesets, these tend to be called “location-based” adventures. Therefore, you could say that old school adventures are, in general, location-based. As I mentioned in my last post, it doesn’t mean that there are no stories in old school (A)D&D, but these come to be as the players interact with the adventure locations in play, rather than being presented to them and/or enforced. That, dear reader, is what is colloquially called a railroad, and I have crashed a few in my time.
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| Choo! Choo! |
This marketing quote from Goodman Games’ original Dungeon Crawl Classics adventure modules (for Third Edition) describes what old school adventures are succinctly, even if tongue-in-cheek:
"Remember the good old days, when adventures were underground, NPCs were there to be killed, and the finale of every dungeon was the dragon on the 20th level? Those days are back. Dungeon Crawl Classics don't waste your time with long-winded speeches, weird campaign settings, or NPCs who aren't meant to be killed. Each adventure is 100% good, solid dungeon crawl, with the monsters you know, the traps you fear, and the secret doors you know are there somewhere."
Much like in Game of Thrones, no one has plot protection in old school games - not the player characters, and certainly not the NPCs. Did the players one-shot the big baddie you planned to be their long-time nemesis? Too bad. Create another one (“…you killed my father, prepare to die.”) Did Suki Lyewalker the cleric of Law fail to fulfill her destiny? Tragic. Little Timmy needs to roll up another character or fork over the gold to get raised and maybe try again.
The campaign world is meant to be "rekt" by the player characters, but they in turn can get "rekt” by the campaign world. That is the “story” of an old school (A)D&D campaign. Sometimes epic, often comical, and certainly fun (otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.)
But I digress. Let’s talk about early adventure modules. Keep on the Borderlands, Tomb of Horrors, The Village of Hommlet. You know: the classics.
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| Today, on OSR Theatre... |
These were called modules because they were...well, modular. You can grab any one these and place them anywhere in your “sandbox,” or wilderness map. As such, you’ll note they are pretty much all location-based.
Many of these started as one-shot, tournament modules for conventions, which were later adapted as published products for the home consumer, so they might come with pre-generated characters and even scoring systems in some cases. Most, like Tomb of Horrors, or Ghost Tower of Inverness, have a more competitive level of difficulty because of these tournament origins. They were not for the so-called ”filthy casuals” of the time.
Keep on the Borderlands, and Village of Hommlet (both by D&D co-creator Gary Gygax,) are interesting exceptions. They are both starter modules meant to show a new GM the ropes, and present alternatives to the typical megadungeon, while still sitting firmly in the Dungeon mode of play.
Keep has the Caves of Chaos, which is a series of progressively more difficult monster lairs, that the players can enter in any order (at their own risk!) The eponymous Keep is an example of a home base for the players, keyed much like a dungeon, so the players could feasibly adventure in it. I’ve heard the Keep described as the “murder-hobo” dungeon for anti-heroic players to rampage through.
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| The Jewel Merchant was having a going-out-of-business sale...yeah... |
In addition to the Keep, there is a small portion of the wilderness between it and the Caves, with a few keyed locations as well. This includes a Cave of the Unknown, which could become the entrance of a starting GM’s megadungeon.
Village of Hommlet follows the same format, with Hommlet as a home base (and murder-hobo dungeon,) and the addition of Rufus and Burne, two retired adventurers building their own love nest stronghold, that represents law an order for the Village, and serves as an example of the Domain mode that players can aspire to.
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| And here, Rufus, is where we'll plant the eldritch rose garden! |
Finally, it has a nearby bandit lair, the Moathouse, which turns out to be something more insidious, and foreshadows the dungeon Temple of Elemental Evil (later completed by Frank Mentzer.)
I believe both Keep on the Borderlands and Village of Hommlet are unique (and excellent) examples for the novice because they present small tastes of the three classic modes of play combined.
The Campaign
I didn’t talk much about the campaign as a whole in the last installment. Many modern RPGs refer to a campaign as the player characters' adventures strung together as an overarching narrative, like a TV, novel, or movie series.
In the old school sense, a campaign is made up of the three modes of play combined into an ongoing, living world. Blackmoor and Greyhawk were essentially the OG, massively multiplayer roleplaying games (MMORPGs.) The players “logged in” by showing up at the place of play and decided in that session what they were going to do: “raid” the Dungeon, trek the Wilderness, or perhaps make war among their Domains, Clash of Clans style. It was the GMs job to be the “server,” slowly creating the world (and adventure locations) one piece at a time as needed. Like my state-of-the-art, 2000’s Pentium struggling to run Everquest.
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| Do you want to know what the Matrix is, or are you looking at the Keith Parkinson cheesecake in the blue dress? |
This kind of play is what is today called a West Marches campaign, and it probably grew out of style as game groups changed from interest clubs of many players (such as in colleges) to just a few friends getting together every weekend.
As a side tale, I’ve had multiple RPG campaigns over the years with different players as I’ve moved around a lot over my life (military service can do that.) Alas, I’m not one of those lucky few that has enjoyed decades-long campaign sagas with mostly the same group of players.
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| Not really. That’s pretty awesome for you! |
Learning about West Marches-style campaigns set off that light bulb in my head: if you run your campaign in this style, you can have a consistent world that grows over time, albeit with different groups of players. The antics of these different groups can then shape your world’s history. Neat!
Conclusion
Learning what these terms mean in an old school context helped me understand how old school campaigns are structured. In the past, starting an (A)D&D campaign was often creatively difficult because I thought I had to come up with some sort of narrative, in media res situation to “hook” the players and start things off, not to mention some overarching plot for them to follow. These days, I find it much easier. I create an interesting adventure location (Dungeon,) a bit of the surrounding Wilderness, a rumor table to entice the players into checking them out, and let things grow from there via gameplay.
Next time, we’re going to talk about rules, resolution systems, and whether (A)D&D needs “skills.” (Spoiler: the answer is a suprising, and resounding "maybe.")
See you then!
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