Gygax & Arneson vs. Jobs & Raskin: The Unsung Co-Creators Behind Big Revolutions

Who and Who?

Most people in the gaming world know the name Gary Gygax, but fewer recognize Dave Arneson. Likewise, in the tech world, Steve Jobs is a household name—Jef Raskin, not so much.

But the parallels between these two pairs are worth considering.

If you’re curious about the early days of personal computing, Andy Hertzfeld’s site is an incredible resource. He was one of the original eight creators of the Macintosh, and his behind-the-scenes stories offer a glimpse into how the Mac came to be. You can even find the iconic 1983–84 photo of the team there.

Jef Raskin was the one who originally envisioned the Macintosh project—until Jobs took it over and radically changed its direction. Sound familiar?

In the early days of D&D, Arneson showed Gygax some of his early ideas. Gygax ran with them and expanded the concept into something bigger. The tricky part is: we’ll never really know how much of what became D&D was Gary’s and how much was Dave’s. My gut says it was a mix—each pulling from different sources, shaping the foundation together.

In both cases, one figure became the face of a revolution, while the other became a footnote—despite having sparked the original idea. And in both cases, the full story is messy. In Arneson’s case, legal disputes kept parts of it sealed. In Raskin’s case, his original vision for the Mac can only be glimpsed through later projects like the Canon Cat, a fascinating what-could-have-been.

None of this is to discount Gygax or Jobs. Gygax’s genius was in pulling together disparate influences into something greater. Jobs had a vision that changed the world. But both men stood on the shoulders of others—collaborators, visionaries, and unsung pioneers.

So here’s some food for thought: How do we measure creative credit? How do we honor the sparks and the flames?

I encourage you to read more about Dave Arneson and Jef Raskin. Let me know what you think. Am I way off, or closer than I realize?

Who and who, you may ask?

Most people in the gaming world know the name Gary Gygax, but fewer recognize Dave Arneson. Likewise, in the tech world, Steve Jobs is a household name—Jef Raskin, not so much.

But the parallels between these two pairs are worth considering.

Dave Arneson, co-creator of D&D

If you’re curious about the early days of personal computing, Andy Hertzfeld’s site folklore.org is an incredible resource. He was one of the original eight creators of the Macintosh, and his behind-the-scenes stories offer a fascinating glimpse into how the Mac came to be. You can even find the iconic 1983–84 team photo there, along with updates on where the team was as of 2012.

Jef Raskin was the one who originally envisioned the Macintosh project — until Steve Jobs took it over and radically changed its direction.

Sound familiar?

In the early days of D&D, Arneson showed Gygax some of his early ideas. Gygax ran with them and expanded the concept into something much bigger. The tricky part is: we’ll never really know how much of what became D&D was Gary’s and how much was Dave’s. My gut says it was a true mix
— each pulling from different sources, shaping the foundation together.

In both cases, one figure became the face of a revolution, while the other became a footnote — despite having sparked the original idea. And in both cases, the full story is messy. In Arneson’s case, legal disputes kept parts of it sealed. In Raskin’s case, his original vision for the Mac can only be glimpsed through later projects like the Canon Cat — an interesting “what might have been.”

None of this is to discount Gygax or Jobs. Gygax’s genius was in pulling together disparate influences into something greater. Jobs had a vision that changed the world. But both men stood on the shoulders of others: collaborators, visionaries, and unsung pioneers.

So here’s some food for thought: How do we measure creative credit? How do we honor the sparks and the flames?

In 1985, both Steve and Gary lost control of the companies they helped create. Perhaps a blog post for another time.

I encourage you to read more about Dave Arneson and Jef Raskin. Let me know what you think. Am I way off, or closer than I realize?

Peter Jackson and Faramir: How the Movies Missed the Mark on Tolkien’s Most Noble Character

As a family, we’ve been sitting down and watching the Lord of the Rings movies, and the kids have really enjoyed them. My son, being younger, has fidgeted around a bit, but my daughter has watched all the way through.

Last night we finished The Two Towers. As a quick aside, she likes (as I do) both Samwise and R2D2. There are a lot of parallels there, and maybe I’ll cover that down the road. But back on topic…

As we watched The Two Towers last night, I took another look at Faramir and how much Peter Jackson bungled the character — or at least the context of the character as written by the good Professor.

Tolkien is on record as saying that of all the characters, Faramir is the one he identified with most — a personification of his own values. Before I get into this, I’ll state upfront that I enjoyed the movies immensely. Most of the changes made sense within the constraints of film (the Elves at Helm’s Deep being a good example). I’m not a rabid purist, and no, all you fatbeards, Tom Bombadil still sucks and is entirely unnecessary, certainly for the movies.

I’m not that unreasonable. But in the case of Faramir, it looks like even Jackson realized he erred in the theatrical cut and tried to “correct” some of it in the extended edition of The Two Towers.

Peter Jackson missed the whole point of Faramir and the two sons, Boromir and Faramir. It’s easy to say, and I don’t think there will be much disagreement here. For those not in the know, here’s a quick recap, as these three characters all revolve around each other beyond their familial ties.

Denethor (played by John Noble)), the last Steward of Gondor. The Steward of Gondor is just that — not a king, but the caretaker of the throne. Flawed, slightly unhinged, and certainly no better for using the palantír, Denethor has major blind spots concerning his two sons. He can see no fault in his eldest and no use for his second.

Boromir (played by Sean Bean), eldest son of Denethor. Especially well portrayed in the movies by Sean Bean. He tries to claim the Ring from Frodo in The Fellowship of the Ring but dies protecting Merry and Pippin. In the end he realizes his error, but in his own way he shares some of his father’s flaws. I don’t see this as a fault. He is not weak in willpower per se — it’s just that he is no Faramir.

Faramir, younger son of Denethor, well portrayed in the movies by David Wenham. In the books Faramir is likeable, eager to please, focused, well-meaning, and above all just and even-tempered. He is also very much a martial character. But as written by Jackson in the theatrical cut, he totally misses the mark.

To what am I referring, in a roundabout way? In the extended DVD version of The Two Towers, where we meet Faramir, we see how badly Jackson failed to understand this seemingly minor character as Tolkien wrote him.

Faramir is depicted as succumbing to the power of the One Ring and willing to hand it over to his father. The problem is that Faramir was the one character Tolkien wrote who the One Ring had no sway over. Think about that statement for a minute. Of the entire myriad of characters that appear in the books, it is Faramir alone who is immune to it. (Bombadil doesn’t count — he’s so nonsensical he’s in his own category.) In the books even Sam considers the possibilities for the brief time he is a ring-bearer, but not Faramir.

With the extended version of the movies it gets worse, in my opinion. Jackson basically admits two things with Faramir. One, that the movie needed something else, with the shift of some scenes from Two Towers to Return of the King. So some of it was dictated by the needs of the film. Okay, on that level I understand what he did.

Two, he is on record (paraphrasing here) as saying “having someone immune to the power of the Ring lessens its effect.” (Double blink. Double facepalm.)

Well, Peter, maybe you missed the whole point entirely — even with the changes in your version of the story. In fact, if you had taken a step back you would have seen it plain as day.

Rather than have Faramir trying to prove himself in the movies (“a chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to prove his quality”), you should have considered who and what Faramir was. Instead of having Faramir trying to be just like his older brother and win his father’s love, it’s as simple as comparing the three and how Denethor treats his sons.

Consider that the “prized” eldest son fails and is tempted by the Ring, thereby not justifying the faith his father places in him. This makes it an easy contrast when his second son — the one he has no use for (“Do not speak to me of Faramir, I know his uses and they are few”) — is actually, at least in these terms, superior to his brother.

Instead of rushing to make Faramir the kid brother who desperately wants to prove himself to his father, it would have been better to use Faramir directly out of the books. It was such a simple, powerful contrast that I don’t know how he could have missed it. I think he fails to give the moviegoer credit here.

I can’t state it any better. Jackson created a wonderful set of movies and I have no doubt about his zeal. But on this one thing he whiffed — and whiffed badly. He and his wife/writing partner Fran (who took an excessive glee in my opinion) in mangling some key parts of the story missed the point of Faramir entirely.

Perhaps even more so than Frodo,, Faramir has a Galahad quality to him. Faramir was designed to be immune to the Ring, but for a reason that Jackson missed entirely. Faramir succeeding where Boromir failed highlights the differences between the two brothers and the flaws in Denethor’s powers of observation.

Jackson could have used this masterfully but didn’t. Denethor grossly underestimates Faramir, and as a result highlights his own failings all the more — and by contrast, those of Boromir. If there is any doubt, consider this:

Page. 280, The Two Towers, The Window on the West- "But fear no more! I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo." 

One would think that this is hardly open to interpretation, Peter.

The changes to Faramir greatly alter his character and cheapen him in my honest opinion. In essence, he is dumbed down simply to keep things consistent in the movies. Most moviegoers will never know of this, but for those who have read the books it leaps off the screen as a clear example of missing the mark on a small but important part of The Lord of the Rings. No wonder some have dubbed him “Filmamir.”

For more about Faramir and some details on Jackson’s thoughts on why he changed the character in the movies, check here: http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Faramir or here: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Faramir

What is your take on Faramir in the Lord of the Rings movies? 

THAC0: The Great Divide? What the Hell?

F (ExTSR) is Frank, as in Frank Mentzer, longtime cohort of Gary Gygax, writer of the Red Box (1983) of D&D Basic and one of the few active folks from the advent of TSR and the role-playing age on Dragonsfoot (which is now no longer the case).

There are people who think of THAC0 solely as a 2nd Edition AD&D creation when in fact according to Frank it predates 1st Edition and may even have been in common parlance around the time of the Lake Geneva Campaign. And again for those that don't know the Lake Geneva Campaign was THE grand-daddy of them all in terms of RPGs campaigns; it was the one that Gary DM'ed and well, pretty much wrote AD&D as we know it.

Now on to THAC0 itself: THAC0 stands for "To Hit Armor Class (Zero)."

In 2nd edition AD&D in melee combat, one rolls a d20 and compares it against their THAC0 score. For example if your THAC0 score is a 18 and you roll a 14 you would hit Armor Class 4. In other words, straight up on the die with no modifiers THAC0 represents the roll you need to hit AC 0 on a d20. In a nutshell that's all there is to it. So why is it that people look like this when you bring up the subject of THAC0 in gaming circles?

"Is it THACO or THAC0? I don't see the difference...

Seriously, simple math is that hard folks? The only argument that I can see possibly being made is for a unified mechanical rule of later editions which THAC0 is not. But, then again 1st and 2nd Edition has lots of wonky bits to it anyways. 3rd edition and later did tidy up stuff, but abandoned this one when it wasn't broken. Plus I'm not a fan of a single mechanic simply for its own sake, but can see the utility in some systems.

Maybe its the seemingly "weird" subtractions say for speed factor where lower is better. Sure AD&D (both 1st and 2nd) are not consistent whether high or low rolls are good or bad.

But the next time somebody starts squawking about the "difficulty" of simple math and unified mechanics being superior just point out they can, you know...do math. For the older grognard crowd point out that THAC0 appears in their "Ye Olde Holy Book" aka the 1st edition Dungeon Master's Guide written by Gary Gygax. For those who want to save vs disbelieve its right there on pages 196-214.

Be prepared to save vs. long winded diatribe regarding about how Gary didn't really like it. Dudes... shut the Hell up, it's in the freaking book, your book no less.

And if you are having issues? Here is a great breakdown of how THAC0 works.

The Definition of Badass? One name: Tom Cody

 

Start with a killer tagline:

“A Rock ’n’ Roll Fable. Another time, another place.” Check.

Make your entrance to a moody, neon-drenched soundtrack? Check. (Guitar by none other than guitar god Ry Cooder? Hell yes.)

Kick the crap out of some outclassed punks, slap a knife-wielding chump like you’re Ike Turner, take his blade, hand it back… and do it again? Check.

Out-awesome the Honey Badger? Out-kick Chuck Norris and the internet combined? You better believe it.

That’s Streets of Fire. That’s Tom Cody.

Cooler than cool, tougher than leather, and walking straight into legend.

Suffice it to say: the sheer bad-assery of Tom Cody can barely be contained by Streets of Fire — arguably the greatest movie of the 1980s (and let’s be honest, possibly all time). The beatdowns he dishes out are many, creative, and deeply satisfying. And here’s the thing — he’s an anti-hero you can actually root for. Why? Because unlike the try-hard brooding types, Cody isn’t rebellious just to stick it to “The Man.” He’s not doing it for the ’tude. He’s doing it because someone’s gotta clean up the mess.

He steps off the subway in a trench coat — and unlike the cosplaying try-hards at your local game store, he actually pulls it off — then immediately proceeds to lay waste to the Roadmasters for threatening his sister. (See above for details on the ass-kickery/bad-assery.) The knife-slap scene is cinematic gold, and the ensuing skull-busting with a hat rack? Chef’s kiss. Just to drive the point home, he tosses them through a plate-glass window like yesterday’s trash… then jacks their ride for good measure.

Tom Cody doesn’t walk away from trouble. He walks into it — and leaves a trail of wreckage behind.

The whole crux of the plot? Tom’s got to rescue Ellen Aim — played by a 20-year-old Diane Lane who somehow manages to look both like the girl next door and a rock goddess at the same time — from the clutches of Raven Shaddock and his goons, the Bombers. Raven, by the way, is played by Willem Dafoe in full vinyl-overall menace mode. And if Tom Cody is the baddest man in town, Raven is the unhinged yin to that yang — pale, intense, and the kind of guy who probably hisses when he talks to himself in the mirror. 

Raven, by the way, is played by Willem Dafoe in full vinyl-overalls menace mode. And if Tom Cody is the baddest man in town, Raven is the unhinged yin to that yang — pale, intense, and the kind of guy who probably hisses at his own reflection in the mirror.

Naturally, Ellen is Tom’s old flame. So when his sister writes him a desperate letter begging for help, he shows up like a trench-coated avenger.

Enter Billy Fish — Ellen’s sleazy, whiny promoter/manager/placeholder-boyfriend — played by Rick Moranis in full proto-Weasel mode. Billy, realizing his golden goose just got snatched by a biker gang that makes the Misfits look like the Monkees, coughs up 10 grand to hire Tom. Big mistake? Big win? Both.

Before kicking off the mission, Tom swings by Pete’s garage — and Pete’s got an arsenal that makes Commando look like a yard sale. Tom arms up, Max-style, only cooler — and with actual personality — and rolls out with McCoy (Amy Madigan), a tough-as-nails ex-soldier who drinks hard and punches harder. Together they head off into the neon-noir city in the Roadmasters’ stolen ride, which is still the coolest vehicle this side of the Batmobile.

Destination? Torchie’s — the Bombers’ grimy HQ and dive bar of doom. What follows is pure Cody: infiltration, devastation, and an unreasonable amount of explosions. But first, he pauses for a classic “look through the window” moment as the synthy love theme swells and he gazes at Ellen in captivity like some kind of rock-and-roll knight. Then it’s back to business.

Despite being outnumbered something like 1,000 to 1 (give or take a few leather-clad creeps), Cody wrecks house. McCoy chips in, sure, but let’s not kid ourselves — this is the Tom Cody show. Explosions. Butterfly knife action. More explosions. Ellen gets rescued. The Bombers get humiliated.

But before they ride off into the neon-lit night, Raven steps out of the shadows for some classic villain banter. It’s tense. It’s theatrical. It’s shirtless. Foreshadowing? Absolutely. That’s your Chekhov’s sledgehammer moment right there.

The real showdown? Oh, it’s coming. And it’s gonna be glorious.

The ride back? Oh, just your standard post-rescue hell-ride featuring cop cars, roadblocks, and Tom Cody going full Mad Max on a motorcycle. He doesn’t just dodge the law — he shreds it. One second he’s gunning through the night like a leather-clad ghost, the next he’s lighting up squad cars like it’s the Fourth of July.

Then, just to flex, he stops a moving bus with his bare hands. Because of course he does. Who needs physics when you’re built out of raw narrative dominance? He and Ellen trade words, fire, and unresolved romantic tension — and even though they’re on the same side, it’s clear their ride-or-die status hasn’t quite synced up yet. She’s got rockstar fire, he’s got trench coat rage. It’s messy. It’s great.

"What did I do that was so wrong?" Tom: "Nothing..."

 

Back in Richmond, the aftermath unfolds. Cody gets the girl — the unreal Ellen Aim, and shows her what a real street knight looks like. The ten grand? Just a footnote. He grabs only what’s needed to pay McCoy her cut, because class. And because Tom Cody doesn’t do this for the money. He does it because he can.

And then? Then? It’s time for that long-awaited showdown with Raven. Not a brawl. A reckoning. They meet like modern gladiators under industrial floodlights, and Cody puts him down — hard. Could’ve ended him. Doesn’t. Because Cody’s that guy. He’s the guy who walks the line and still somehow stands taller than the rest.

And as the final act plays out, we get the bittersweet farewell: Cody kisses Ellen goodbye while she sings “Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young” — a volcanic eruption of Jim Steinman bombast that sounds like Meat Loaf got struck by lightning at a prom. It’s Wagnerian Rock at full tilt — so glorious it should come with a health warning. 

As sung by Ellen Aim 

“I've got a dream 'bout a boy in a castle
And he's dancing like a cat on the stairs
He's got the fire of a prince in his eyes
And the thunder of a drum in his ears
I've got a dream 'bout a boy on a star
Lookin' down upon the rim of the world
He's there all alone and dreamin' of someone like me
I'm not an angel, but at least I'm a girl.” 

To quote Kung Fu Panda: “Ahhh!!!!… he’s too awesome!!!!!!!”

So forget brooding capes, magic swords, and regenerating mutants. Tom Cody doesn’t need healing factors or destiny. He needs a trench coat, a pump shotgun, and a reason.

That’s it.

Alignment? Chaotic Good (with strong Chaotic Neutral vibes). Class? Level 15 Fighter. Weapon Specialization? Hat racks. Butterfly knives. Motorcycle-based law defiance. And most of all? Ass-kicking.

Tom Cody. The definition of badass. End of story.

Redwall: A Heartwarming Classic Fantasy Read for Kids and Adults Alike

I've had this book on my shelf for years after picking it up for a dollar at an old bookstore. I didn’t actually read it until last summer, and that was a major mistake on my part. It was the perfect easy, comforting read after finishing A Dance with Dragons by George R.R. Martin.

Brian Jacques does a great job, understated by no other way to say it: The Redwall series is well done.

Now that my daughter is reading at an ever-increasing rate, I think it’ll be on her radar soon. I’m really looking forward to sharing it with her. It’s a wonderful introduction to fantasy: well-told, not overly violent (very cartoonish in that regard), and full of heart.

The story follows the classic “unlikely hero on a voyage of self-discovery” trope. In this case, it’s a young mouse named Matthias instead of Luke Skywalker. There are even interesting parallels: the ghost of Martin the Warrior guiding Matthias is reminiscent of Obi-Wan. Instead of a galaxy far, far away, the setting is Redwall Abbey and its surrounding countryside, populated by mice, rats, badgers, birds, and other creatures, each with their own distinct perspectives.

Brian Jacques was incredibly prolific, writing 22 books in the main series plus several more set in the same world.

Right now I’m starting Mattimeo. If you haven’t read the Redwall series yet, I give it a strong thumbs up. This first book in particular gets 4 out of 5 stars from me.

(One quick note for new readers: the series jumps around in time. Check the wiki or publication order if you want to read chronologically.)

The Shortest Print Run in D&D History – And Why I’m Not Golf-Clapping at 4e’s Funeral

So long 4th edition, we hardly knew ya!

To be quite honest, I really don’t care what edition (or game) someone wants to play. 3rd edition D&D? Castles and Crusades? Lamentations of the Flame Princess, or anything in between? It’s not my cup of tea to rain on someone else’s parade. Now if we are talking FATAL then yeah, that goes out the window.

Enter the anti-2e crowd.

Suffice it to say my opinion of them is about as high as a kobold in good standing, which is to say, not much. And now that leaves the abuse that’s sure to come your way. My best defense against these clowns is a good offense.

With that said, I feel a strange kinship with 4th edition D&D fans right now. A four-year print run for the “current edition” of D&D is shockingly short. Wow, the shortest of them all actually. 4th edition has officially taken the mantle of whipping boy.

I’m not going to golf-clap at the funeral in classic grognard style, though. Your game might not have been my game, but I have a good deal of sympathy for you. My best advice: go on the offensive. When grognards tell you your edition sucks, point out the very real flaws of 1st edition AD&D (there are plenty). Don’t let them fool you. Initiative, horrible organization, psionics, and more, there’s plenty of fodder there. And this is from someone who likes 1st Edition very much.

Am I promoting edition wars? Some might see it that way. But I like to point out that most of us 2e folks were generally “live and let live”… until we got online and ran into the rabid neck beards (see definition #6). Then we learned real quick. Want proof? There are people online who actually believe Terrible Trouble at Tragidore is somehow representative of 2nd edition module quality.

Meanwhile, they’ve never laid eyes on the run of Dungeon magazine from issues #18–81, which rank among some of the best modules of all time. Modules like The Iron Orb of the Duergar, The Mud Sorcerer’s Tomb, and Kingdom of the Ghouls are insanely great to name but a few.

If you stay the course for your favored edition, then by all means do so, and don’t let anyone tell you different. Your game is not my game, but I can’t help but feel a kinship. Your edition is now going to be the least supported of them all:

• 0e, Basic, 1st, and 2nd are more or less interchangeable despite what anyone may think.
• 3rd had a mountain of material, and Pathfinder can easily fill the gap.
• That leaves 4th on its own island…

I say this because it looks like 5th edition is (allegedly) going back to its roots. Time will tell there.

In closing its going to be a lonely road, but if it's your course steer it: "Second star to the right... and straight on until morning."

(Yes I know it's from Peter and Wendy.)

Here We Go Again: 5th Edition D&D and the Familiar Edition Churn

 

 

Normally I’m the type of guy who will let things play out rather than rush to condemn. But the recent announcement of 5^th Edition over at the Wizards of the Coast website made me throw that approach out the window.

I’m generally a “live and let live” kind of guy, but I also like to call out idiocy when it rears its ugly head. All over the web people are talking about what the announcement means. The main question I keep coming back to is simple: Did D&D really need a new edition?

My answer is no. And this isn’t some reactionary knee-jerk response. Wizards has managed to screw up D&D — or succumb to edition churn — at an ever-alarming rate. Take your pick. In fact, it might be both. This is simply the latest chapter.

"I come in brown AND I "squirt."

Some will say, “How can you know it’s going to be bad before you see it?” Sorry, but I didn’t have to reserve judgment to know that Justin Bieber, the Microsoft Kin, Google Buzz and Wave a ave, and the Microsoft Zune were going to be craptastic. Some things are just born to suck.

First, some history is in order for those not in the know. Wizards of the Coast is not the originator of the game. Wizards is a subsidiary of Hasbro that subsumed TSR, thereby acquiring the rights to D&D.

The history of D&D is a sordid one stretching back to its roots in the 1970s. Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson are credited with jointly creating the game, but a sealed settlement and both men being deceased means we may never know the full details of what actually went down. Enter the Blumes, and later Lorraine Williams, and you have a situation where the main creative driver of the game never really had control — or had it for exceedingly short periods of time.

1st Edition succeeded in spite of the efforts of those fighting against Gary (as near as I and others can figure). TSR went belly-up in the ’90s through mismanagement (again, largely Lorraine Williams promising to “show how real companies are run”). But I digress. Wizards snatched it up, only to be bought by Hasbro in turn. There you have it: a game of IP hot potato where the name itself became more important than the content.

And there is one of the main reasons Wizards of the Coast is churning out yet another edition of D&D. (For those counting: 3.0 in 2000, 3.5 shortly thereafter, and the miserable failure that is 4e in 2008.) The IP is simply too valuable to ignore, and the best way to exploit it is a new edition. There, I said it.

My suspicion is that this endless edition churn is about money, plain and simple. First off, I have no issue with a company wanting to make money — people have families to support, I get that. But call it what it is.

It’s no different than the Iraq War. Had Bush Jr. just said the real reason we went in was to get rid of Saddam for trying to whack his father, I’d have been fine with it. Instead we got weapons of mass destruction. Wizards is in the same boat: call it like it is, guys.

4e went out the gates destroying everything that came before it Attila the Hun style — and they did it gleefully. The only problem with scorched-earth tactics is that you ravage the countryside… and then you get a peasant revolt for good measure. That revolt’s name was Pathfinder. As I wrote about last year, the Pathfinder rift vs. 4e was the biggest shift since the 1st/2nd edition transition. The difference is that the move to 2e was a minor tremor compared to the earthquake of customers jumping ship to a competitor.

You created the madness that led to your own fractured customer base.

Edition churn is nothing new. D&D never reached truly self-sustaining numbers even in its heyday, so the only way for publishers to stay afloat is new editions. I’ve talked about this before at Dragonsfoot — the game was always a rather wobbly business model, and it has repeated itself nearly every iteration. In my opinion, the model is not sustainable and requires a reboot every so often to survive.

So now we get to the crux of all this: 5th Edition D&D, which is supposed to be the big tent that brings everyone back in to play. Do they really think we’re that dumb? That their olive-branch “D&D détente” is anything more than a PR move?

Had they really been interested in offering a D&D for all editions all along, they would have done so. Instead they took the approach of trying to force customers to the new edition by cutting off support for the old, reasoning that with no official material we’d come crawling back anyway.

Except that didn’t happen. The peasants banded together, formed their own communities, wrote their own material, and said “thanks, we’ll go it alone.”

The problem only became dire once the money spigot turned off and Wizards was forced to look around for new (old) customers. Prior to the 4e debacle they were doing just fine and wrote us off as lost causes. As I wrote last time, they had already lost the Pathfinder crowd. Those people weren’t coming back, and the industry couldn’t attract enough brand-new players to make up the difference.

So somewhere in the bowels of Wizards someone had a “come to Jesus” moment. Hypothetical Marketing Employee: “I know, let’s release a new edition that promises an old-school feel! Even better, we’ll market it at all those folks we discarded years ago. I’m sure they’ll buy whatever we shovel out. Better yet, they’ll be so grateful!”

Yeah… good luck with that, WotC.

Given my background and interest in computer history, there is one recent company that Wizards of the Coast is doing their best imitation of: Quark. The parallels between QuarkXPress losing the desktop publishing wars to Adobe InDesign are eerily similar. For a good read on the subject, check this article from 2005. It talks about Vista, but look past that and focus on Quark’s history: they made every customer-related mistake in the book and invented a few new ones for good measure. Worse, they didn’t realize it until far too late and alienated a ton of people in the process.

Sound familiar?

Wizards should have read up on this, because they followed the same failed strategy to their folly. Basically, put Wizards in place of Quark, and Paizo with Pathfinder in place of Adobe, and you have the same story in the making. Or as I like to say: “Same circus, different clowns.”

Next up, I keep hearing about the “big tent” approach for 5th Edition D&D. Big tents don’t work, because by their very nature they are a compromise. And compromises, by definition, mean no one walks away from the table truly happy.

Some have countered with “Well, what’s the alternative?” I postulate that maybe there isn’t one. The genie is out of the bottle. It came out in 1985 and isn’t being stuffed back in anytime soon. There is far too much damage to repair and far too much baggage.

And on top of all that, I’m still not convinced a new edition needed to be created in the first place.

On the subject of style of play, I keep hearing that 5th Edition will have a “retro feel.” Well, no kidding? What else are they going to say? Until I see it with my own eyes, color me skeptical. Are they going to admit it plays more like World of Warcraft than traditional D&D?

And if we really need a D&D version that has that old-school feel, then just pick up a copy of Castles & Crusades. No matter what the d-bags and naysayers like to paint it as, it delivers that old-school feel.

Again: is a new edition of D&D needed? Again, no.

Want retro with some new rules? Here it is.

 I should hasten to add, as I’ve stated on Dragonsfoot, that I have no beef with how people want to get their D&D/role-playing entertainment. Go scratch your gaming itch however you want. Unlike some of the ass-hats in the OSR community (some of whom are now quietly deleting their flame-bait, frothing neckbeard incendiary bombs on various sites), I won’t tell a newer gamer that they’re “wrong” for liking what they like. I’ve had that hurled at me for endorsing 2nd Edition, and I’m not passing it on to others.

I’m a big proponent of newer gamers playing what they will look back on fondly years later as their “golden age of gaming.” My game is not their game, and I’m fine with that.

But that leads to the overall point: Why even do this?

By its nature, a modular approach is going to mean that even if you somehow got everyone to stop playing their current edition and move to 5th, they’re still only going to buy the parts that recreate the game they actually want. It also limits who will buy any given add-on. Or, put another way, this is what TSR did with all the campaign settings back in the ’90s that helped lead to its demise.

Wizards will (whether they know it or not) put everyone into separate buckets. It was Bill Slavicsek who said: “It’s raining money outside and you want to catch as much of it as you can. You can either make a really big bucket or waste your time and attention by creating a lot of really small buckets — either way, you’re never going to make more rain.”

In this case, Wizards is hoping to get some people who haven’t spent money on them in years to do so. Call me foolish, but while this is similar to the 1st/2nd Edition split, it’s far worse. It’s like they forgot the whole episode that led to the decline of 2nd Edition. At least 1st and 2nd are nearly compatible.

And that is about the only area where Wizards has a shot with me personally: stuff that I could use with my existing 1st/2nd Edition material for adventures. I’m highly unlikely to buy the core rules. Maybe that is their intention, but either way it’s unlikely that all players will belly up to the same table.

"Still need some help lugging this! Where's Nodwick?

Tangentially related to all this is the matter of style, look, and feel. To me this has never been a major issue the way it is for some. I’ll admit I’m not a fan of the manga dragonborn/tiefling goth assassin/warforged “over-sized weaponry, armor, and more gear than a U.S. Marine” aesthetic (see left), but it’s not enough to make me refuse to buy something on that alone.

Grognards need to get over the fact that nudity was going to be excised from the game, as were its more violent elements, in any edition that came after 1st. 1st Edition was created during the free-wheeling 1970s. The conservative 1980s were a reactionary phase, and thus the more toned-down feel of 2nd Edition was very much a product of the times. In short, don’t expect it to look like it did in First Edition.

I must confess that Bill Willingham was my favorite TSR artist back in the day for either First or Second Edition, but I don’t expect he’s getting hired back anytime soon.

In closing, a version of D&D designed to appeal to all players of all editions is likely going to satisfy none of them. I hear talk of a modular approach — a core game with optional parts you can add? What, you mean like people have been doing since RPGs began?

While I may end up being wrong about this, I don’t think that will be the case. And if I’m to shift my opinion on this and open my wallet, then Wizards of the Coast had better be bending over backwards to make up for the treatment we (I’ve) received as customers since 2000.

Until they do, I’ve got this, mixed with First Edition — and Wizards can’t do a thing to stop me.