When We Were Wizards- The Story of D&D, An Oral History of Dungeons and Dragons

 

I went into When We Were Wizards expecting the usual: a polished nostalgia piece about the “good old days,” a bit of myth-making, and the same recycled narrative about how it all came together like lightning in a bottle.

That’s not what this is.

This is very well done.

Production-wise, it’s tight. Clean narration, strong pacing, and it actually respects the listener’s time. No rambling, no filler. It moves. More importantly, it builds. Each episode adds weight instead of just circling the same talking points you’ve heard a hundred times before.

But where it really stands out?

It’s willing to get uncomfortable.

The story of TSR, and the people behind it, especially Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson isn’t told like a campfire legend. It’s messy. It’s human. It’s full of ego, missteps, clashes, and decisions that don’t always age well.

And here’s the part that’s going to ruffle feathers:

If even half of what’s presented here is true, then the online narrative that paints Gygax as some flawless architect of the hobby is complete nonsense.

Absolute nonsense.

This doesn’t diminish what he accomplished. Not even close. Co-creating D&D is still one of the most important moments in gaming history. That doesn’t change.

But this podcast does something a lot of people don’t want to do: it separates achievement from myth.

Gygax comes across as brilliant, driven…and flawed. Very flawed. Same goes for Arneson. Same goes for just about everyone involved. Which, frankly, makes the whole story more compelling, not less.

Because now it actually feels real.

What you get here isn’t a sanitized origin story. It’s a collision of personalities at the exact moment this hobby was being born. Deals, disagreements, credit disputes, business decisions; some smart, some questionable, some outright disastrous.

That’s the story.

And it’s a better one than the polished version.

Now, is everything in this podcast gospel? Probably not. No historical retelling ever is. There’s always framing, always perspective. But that’s not really the point.

The point is that it challenges the comfortable version of events.

And honestly? That alone makes it worth your time.

So where do I land?

This is one of the better pieces of RPG history content I’ve come across. Not because it tells you what you want to hear...but because it doesn’t. If you’re looking for hero worship, this isn’t it.

If you want something closer to the truth; even if that truth is a little inconvenient? Then yeah, this is absolutely worth a listen.

And to close? I have immense respect for Gary and Dave. That also does not blind me to totality of the story. 

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?

Who Inherits Old School? A Look at D&D’s Generational Divide

 

Buckle up...this one could get bumpy.

On the way to work the other day, I found myself thinking about succession—not in the Game of Thrones sense, but in the natural evolution of Dungeons & Dragons. Specifically, who are the heirs to the older editions of the game? Where does the torch pass, and when does that lineage end?

The Dungeon Master himself!

To even begin to answer that, you have to look at the early generations of players—those who played Basic or 1st Edition AD&D when those were the current versions. These were the gamers of the late ’70s and early ’80s, many now in their 50s and 60s (and now even older). A number of the original creators: Gary Gygax, Dave Arneson, are no longer with us. And with each passing year, the pool of gamers who experienced that era firsthand grows smaller. 

OD&D (as its called retroactively) got the ball rolling with the first iterations of the game and Chainmail that proceeded it. Those guys were the start of RPGs as we know them now.

Even 2nd Edition AD&D, the version many of us later adopters came up with, is now over two decades old. A whole new generation has emerged since then, shaped by modern design philosophies, digital interfaces, and the ever-growing influence of video games.

It’s easy to forget that there was a time when RPGs had no expectations or templates. Some of the earliest players were literally inventing the hobby as they went. Many of them were gaming when computers like the Altair were considered cutting edge( see below). Compare that to now; when the average new player likely encountered role playing first through a Twitch stream or a sleek, modern rule set like 5e.

Never had one, I had an Atari 800 XL!

As someone who was born in the early ’70s and got the Moldvay Basic Set for Christmas in 1981, I straddle a particular generational line. I’m certainly not one of the original "old-schoolers", but I’m also not part of the modern wave. I sit squarely in the middle: a "hybrid player" as I call them who grew up with Basic, 1st Edition, and eventually 2nd Edition, sometimes all at once.

And I think that "middle-ground generation", players like me—might be the last true link to the wild, formative years of tabletop role playing. This is for no other reason of timing of our age.

We were there for the late bloom of 1st Edition, with all its quirks and contradictions. We embraced Unearthed Arcana, the Wilderness Survival Guide (somewhat) and all the other modules and side books that added flavor to our sessions despite their flaws. We transitioned into 2nd Edition when it launched in 1989 and treated it not as a hard reboot, but a continuation. We didn’t draw stark lines between editions; we mixed and matched freely, long before the idea of edition purity became a talking point.

Sure, purists might argue that only the earliest wave of solely 1st Edition players are the real inheritors of “old school.” But I disagree. That later wave, those who played Basic and 1st and 2nd concurrently, were the last ones who treated those versions as living systems, not museum pieces. We were the ones who grew up with the original rules. We may not have written them, but we lived them.

And then came 2000...and everything changed.

That year marked the release of 3rd Edition, and with it, the true dividing line between old-school and new-school D&D. It wasn’t the 1989 launch of 2nd Edition that splintered the player base. It was the OGL, the d20 boom, and the re-imagining of the game as a more balanced, codified system. It introduced a new design era, one heavily influenced by the structure and sensibilities of video games, MMOs and tactical skirmish rules.

From that point forward, the DNA of D&D started to shift. Not for the worse—but certainly away from its roots.

So who, then, are the true heirs to “old school?"

This awesome art made a huge impression on an 8-yer old gamer...

In my view, it’s the "hybrid generation": the kids who played Moldvay and Mentzer versions of Basic, who experimented with 1st and 2nd, who witnessed the transition but were shaped by the era before it. We’re the ones who were some of the last who grew up on when D&D was scribbled maps, inconsistent rules, and house-ruling everything from initiative to encumbrance. We’re the ones who saw the pulp inspirations firsthand, (but not necessarily the pulps themselves). Those who read The Sword of Shannara and The Hobbit before we even heard of Vance, Lieber, or Moorcock. Our aesthetic and influences were already a generation removed, but the game wasn't per se.

We were the last generation raised solely on print modules, on Dragon Magazine articles, on clashing art styles from Elmore to Otus. We didn’t just play D&D, we absorbed it in all its chaos, contradictions, and creativity. When we eventually aged out, the game moved on without us. But the memory of what it was that remains with us and all at a time before the rise of the internet.

So yes, the OSR (Old School Renaissance) has taken up part of the mantle. But it’s not the same as having been there. You can emulate the rules. You can recreate the vibe. But you can’t replicate the culture of discovery and experimentation that surrounded the game in its early years. Fans who superscribe to OSR have their own place in all this in my pinion it simply differs on the the lineage.

Eventually, even we hybrid players will be gone. And when that happens, the link to the original age of RPGs, warts and all, will be gone too. What’s left will be interpretations, homages, and inspired re-imaginings.

Still, it’s a fascinating position to hold: one foot in the origins, the other foot in the modern age. Not the pioneers, but the last of their direct descendants. It also mirrors a lot of Gen Xs experience in life so probably not too surprising.

And maybe that’s not such a bad place to be.

Edition Wars Redux: D&D vs. Pathfinder and the Cycle of Schism

VS.

Taking a short break from Warhammer, I wanted to share some thoughts on the current rift brewing between modern Dungeons & Dragons and Pathfinder. Not as a partisan—but as an outsider. I say “outsider” because I’m not really on either side. No one in this fight is on my side, and frankly, I don’t have much skin in the game.

I don’t play either version

Not my cup of tea either...

Pathfinder is, for all intents and purposes, the natural continuation of D&D 3.0/3.5 after Wizards of the Coastpivoted sharply into 4th Edition territory. Paizo wisely stepped in and offered a home for those cast adrift by 4e’s direction. Thanks to the OGL, they could legally build on the previous edition’s bones—a twist of fate that’s nothing short of poetic. And from all accounts, Pathfinder has done very well for itself.

But for many long-time gamers like me, D&D stopped being “our game” long before Pathfinder ever hit the scene. Some folks fell off with the release of 2nd Edition. For me, it was 3rd. I bought the core books, gave them a go, and found them… meh. Then 3.5 dropped not long after. It felt like a video game on paper. Over time, it began to resemble World of Warcraft more than Dungeons & Dragons.

What finally sealed it for me was the creeping prevalence of phrases like “character build” and “optimized path”. If your tabletop RPG revolves around those concepts, you’re either going to attract MMORPG players—or you’re already emulating that structure, consciously or not. That isn’t inherently bad—but it is a far cry from the games many of us grew up with.

Now, this isn’t to say older editions didn’t have powerful characters or min-maxing, but that wasn’t the point. Today, characters are often designed with end-game blueprints in mind. There’s a roadmap to becoming a specific “build.” What you play matters less than what you build. And for me, that’s a shame. Don’t get me started on equipment overload.

Now before anyone places me as an old-school purist; hold up. I’ve played 3.0, 3.5, and enjoyed d20 Star Wars quite a bit (honestly, more than the West End d6 version). I don’t hang out on the Knights & Knaves Alehouse, and I’ve disagreed with my fair share of Dragonsfoot arguments. I’m not anti-WoW or anti-modern gaming. If I had more free time, I’d probably play the hell out of it. I truly believe people should play what they love.

But not everyone feels that way. And that’s where this schism starts to resemble something eerily familiar.

We've Been Here Before...Twice

his whole D&D vs. Pathfinder showdown? It’s basically the 1989 edition rift all over again—but magnified.

Back then, Gary Gygax was forced out of TSR after Lorraine Williams took the reins. When 2nd Edition dropped, it came with the baggage of her reputation. A lot of players rejected it not because of radical rules changes, but because of who was behind it. And to be fair, mechanically, 1st and 2nd Edition aren’t all that different. It was more about the drama behind the scenes than the game it

Sound familiar?

Back then, the fan-base fractured into edition loyalists. Now, we’re seeing a repeat—but this time, it’s companies going head-to-head. Wizards of the Coast vs. Paizo. D&D vs. Pathfinder. And just like last time, lines are being drawn, and sides are being taken.

Except now the stakes are higher. The editions are more divergent. The business models more aggressive. And the player base more fragmented than ever.

Wizards of the Coast pulling a bait and switch?

 

The Market Is Shrinking—and Splintering

Some in the Old School Renaissance like to believe that retro clones and classic games are on the rise. And sure, in a niche sense, they are. But let’s not kid ourselves: the market for any tabletop RPG is smaller than it was in its 1980s heyday. And within that smaller market, we’re seeing further division. Instead of unity, we get micro-communities and echo chambers.

The irony is that D&D, once the 800-pound gorilla of the hobby, now feels more like QuarkXPress circa 2002—slow to adapt, vulnerable to competitors. Could Pathfinder be the InDesign of our hobby, quietly taking over while the original giant stumbles?

It’s possible. Pathfinder is gaining steam. Paizo has momentum. Wizards has the name, but that’s starting to feel like an anchor more than an asset. Worse, Wizards' strategy around “Essentials” and rumored plans for a new edition feel like confusion, not clarity.

If 5th Edition ends up being yet another hard turn from what came before, they risk alienating what's left of their already fractured fan base. And if the goal is just to get people to re-buy books again and again, well… eventually, players notice. 

Same Circus, Different Clowns

At the end of the day, we’ve seen this before. The fan base fractures. The “wars” get fought online. And somewhere in the background, players just want to roll dice and tell stories.

So maybe it’s not a Kid Rock song—but it does feel like déjà vu. Once again, we’re at one of those once-in-a-generation turning points for the hobby. Last time, the split was ideological. This time, it’s corporate. And as usual, the players are caught in the middle. 

As a (mostly) disinterested observer, I’ll keep watching. Neither company is making what I want—but maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s the lesson here: the industry doesn’t need to serve me anymore. But it does need to decide what kind of game it wants to be—and who it wants to keep around.

Because if things keep splintering like this, there might not be many left.