#Alarums & Excursions

[oldschoolfrp]

Standoff: dragon breath vs bazooka in a confined space (Scott Ruggels, Alarums & Excursions 144, July 21, 1987)

[shaneplays]

Before TSR published a Dungeons & Dragons character sheet the fan community stepped in, with the first fan-created sheet appearing in Stephen Tihor's Haven Herald fanzine in May 1975 and Alarums & Excursions publishing Jack Harness's character sheet in July. Soon after Wee Warriors released the first commercially available D&D character sheets with the Character Archaic, which was distributed but not published by TSR. In 1977, TSR finally published its first character sheets. Important record keeping… on THAC0 Thursday!!

[vintagerpg]

This is one of the oldest of the relatively small niche of books about RPGs: Fantasy Role Playing Games (1981), by J. Eric Holmes, the same Holmes who shepherded the original Basic Set Dungeons & Dragons into existence.

In the early 80s, a bunch of these types of books came out; they were sort of introductions to the idea of RPGs, mixed with brief how-tos and overviews of the market. This is probably my favorite of the ones I have read. The first third or so of the book is an overview of the key concepts of how to play, complete with transcripts of game sessions and a sort of read-along dungeon. Holmes shines, though, when he gets to the history of Dungeons & Dragons, in which he was a firsthand eye witness for a time. The immediacy of his account is engrossing, even if he is an unabashed Gygax cheerleader.

He follows this with a look at other games on the market (including big ones like RuneQuest and Traveller, as well as odd ones like Bunnies & Burrows and Superhero 44), miniatures and the magazines (both the semi-pro stuff like Dragon and the zines like Alarums & Excursions). The brief chapter on computer games is a hoot and rightly spends a chunk of time on Zork. I quite like the photographs that use miniatures and simple FX to great effect.

I also particularly like the penultimate chapter, which discusses the supposed perils of roleplaying. It makes a spirited defense of the hobby and also muses on the sorts of people who are attracted to it. It is one of the earliest acknowledgments I’ve seen of the hobby’s gender disparity and Holmes has some thoughtful ideas on why that is. It is his hope, back in 1981, that parity will be attained when RPGs are more popular and socially accepted. Nearly 40 years later, I like to think it is moving in that direction.

(Repost from April 27, 2020; lightly revised)

[siena-sevenwits]

Eric and the Dread Gazebo

Recently, Dear Readers, it has come to my attention that some of you may not know this classic story. I will now recount it here, it having been retold countless times across the interwebs. This version comes from: http://www.experience-point.com/dnd-blog/2017/2/25/eric-and-the-dread-gazebo

The Story

In the early seventies, Ed Whitchurch ran “his game”, and one of the participants was Eric Sorenson. Eric plays something like a computer. When he games, he methodically considers each possibility before choosing his preferred option. If given time, he will invariably pick the optimal solution. It has been known to take weeks. He is otherwise, in all respects, a superior gamer. Eric was playing a Neutral Paladin in Ed’s game. He was on some lord’s lands when the following exchange occurred:

ED: You see a well groomed garden. In the middle, on a small hill, you see a gazebo.  ERIC: A gazebo? What color is it?  ED: [pause] It’s white, Eric.  ERIC: How far away is it?  ED: About 50 yards.  ERIC: How big is it?  ED: [pause] It’s about 30 ft across, 15 ft high, with a pointed top.  ERIC: I use my sword to detect good on it.  ED: It’s not good, Eric. It’s a gazebo.  ERIC: [pause] I call out to it.  ED: It won’t answer. It’s a gazebo.  ERIC: [pause] I sheathe my sword and draw my bow and arrows. Does it respond in any way?  ED: No, Eric, it’s a gazebo!  ERIC: I shoot it with my bow. [roll to hit] What happened?  ED: There is now a gazebo with an arrow sticking out of it.  ERIC: [pause] Wasn’t it wounded?  ED: OF COURSE NOT, ERIC! IT’S A GAZEBO!  ERIC: [whimper] But that was a +3 arrow!  ED: It’s a gazebo, Eric, a GAZEBO! If you really want to try to destroy it, you could try to chop it with an axe, I suppose, or you could try to burn it, but I don’t know why anybody would even try. It’s a @#$%!! gazebo!  ERIC: [long pause. He has no axe or fire spells.] I run away.  ED: [thoroughly frustrated] It’s too late. You’ve awakened the gazebo. It catches you and eats you.  ERIC: [reaching for his dice] Maybe I’ll roll up a fire-using mage so I can avenge my Paladin.

At this point, the increasingly amused fellow party members restored a modicum of order by explaining to Eric what a gazebo is. Thus ends the tale of Eric and the Dread Gazebo. It could have been worse; at least the gazebo wasn’t on a grassy gnoll. Thus ends the tale of Eric and the Dread Gazebo. A little vocabulary is a dangerous thing.

[The above is Copyright © 1989 by Richard Aronson. Reprinted with permission. The author grants permission to reprint as long as all copyright notices remain with the text.

“Eric and the Gazebo” was written and copyrighted by me in 1986. It was based on an event at a role-playing game, but the addition of several jokes moves it out of journalism, or at least into Docuhumor. Some of the people at the game retold the event, each with their own spin, but I was the one who told it to Lee Gold, editor of the fanzine “Alarums and Excursions,” who insisted I print it up for her. After reprinting in several amateur publications, it leapt to “The Mensa Bulletin.” I then foolishly allowed a reader to reprint it on the internet (who knew from internet in 1989). For many years his was the only interent reprint which even mentioned that there was a copyright on it (thanks, James Chu). Eventually I became a professional game designer for Sierra On-Line and the late lamented “ImagiNation Network” and after having been accused of stealing my own story at a gaming convention I have spend several hours every year protecting my copyright, especially since I incorporated E&tG into a chapter of my as yet unpublished novel. ” – Richard Aronson, Feb 15, 2000]

[driftward]

Title: A Knight's Duty - Chapter 9 Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Ement Vauban Rating: Teen Summary: This nighttime excursion will surely end well Notes: None

The chiming of his alarum awoke him at two bells. Ement ground his teeth, slapped the top of the chronometer to silence it, and climbed out of bed.

He had not thought to prepare, and so it took him some time to get himself together. He wanted to be dressed, for one. On his last excursion he'd been prepared for the possibility of one of the house servants seeing him in his smalls, but the idea of his sister seeing him as such was out of the question. He also took some time to find a torch, and then even longer to light it. He had intended to catch her before she had made her way to the training room, but it was nearly a full bell later by the time he had fully sorted himself out and made his way there.

The torch in the hallway had been put out again. He lit it as he passed by.

He tested the door to the training room, and found it unlocked once more. He quietly opened it a little bit, and could hear the soft whirring of the training dummy, and the rather less soft sound of wooden armatures as they made their impacts. He let himself in, and went to sit at Zoissette's table.

There was a tool roll on top of it, and several books. He unrolled the tool roll, finding several pieces of bent metal he did not recognize in there. He looked to the books, and recognized them as being on the list the acolyte had provided them. A book on the maintenance of simple machines. A book full of pictures of various attacks and defenses a knight might use against a variety of opponents. A book on lock smithing. He decided to open the book on the workings of mechanical training dummies.

He leafed through it, looking at diagrams and glancing over mechanical descriptions. He paused with a frown on the section about counterweights. He looked up to look over at the machine, and was startled to see Zoissette standing a scant few yalms away, her arms crossed, and a scowl on her face.

"You shouldn't be here," she said matter-of-fact as she moved to roll the tools back up. "Why are you here?"

"Uhm, well, you know how it is," he said, beginning one of his easy explanations, before stopping himself. "Wait. What am I doing here, what are you doing here?"

"I'm training," Zoissette said.

"I can see that," he said, getting up and walking over to the machine. "At three bells in the dark," he added, as he looked at the book once more, and compared what was written to what he saw.

"When else would I do it?" she asked. Ement didn't answer, as he examined the weights on the machine, and read the book one more time to verify what he'd seen.

"You're using the weights that I use," he said quietly. "You are supposed to alter them for the person using them. These are far too heavy for you - that means..." he looked through the book some more. He wasn't actually sure what that meant.

"It means it hits harder and swings faster," said Zoissette.

"Fury, Zoissette. You're a third my weight."

"More than that. And if you can do it, I can do it."

"This thing might kill you!"

"Hasn't yet. And besides, dragon's not going to ask me how much I -weigh-," she said, mimicking the form of one of Guillerme's turns of phrase.

Ement rubbed his face. He'd learned how to deal with mother seasons ago. Bratty little sisters were beginning to prove somewhat more difficult.

Especially at three bells in the hells-forsaken morning.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he said, switching tacks.

"So are you."

"I'm only awake because you are."

"Well, then go back to sleep," and she looked up at him with a big warm smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. He rubbed his face again.

"Look. You can't keep doing this" he said, gently. "You need sleep, same as everyone else."

"...I know."

"And where'd you get a lock smithing set, anyroad?"

"Skysteel Manufactory. I asked nicely," she said.

Ement closed his eyes tightly, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Alright. You're going to return the tools and the books," he said.

"But-"

"Let me finish. I'll let you have the key to lock up when I'm done training for the day. That way you can let yourself in. Alright?"

"...you'll let me keep training then? You won't tell mother?"

Ement looked around the room, and sighed.

"I'm -pretty- sure you'd just find some other way to be a brat," he said. "This way, I get to set conditions. A knight's word is their bond. Is yours as good?"

Zoissette nodded.

"Good. Then here's my conditions. Do this closer to bedtime. I can't -believe- you picked between two and three bells to get started."

"I thought I'd be less likely to be caught."

"Yes, well, you're also destroying both of our sleeps. Both of ours? Whatever. Second, less weight."

She jutted her chin out at him. "I was handling it okay."

"Wait. Is that why you were limping a while back?"

Zoissette suddenly found the floor very interesting.

"Sette."

"Maybe."

"Halone preserve. Less weight. Okay?"

"...okay."

"Alright. Alright," said Ement. "Fine. This is fine. Help me clean this place up, and let's go to bed already."

[swedebeast]

A quote by Gary Gygax in Alarums and Excursions #2, 1975, on diversity of campaigns in D&D games.

[ruthshelley]

ACT V SCENE IV Another part of the field. [ Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces fighting; to him CATESBY ]

CATESBY: Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! The king enacts more wonders than a man, Daring an opposite to every danger: His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

[Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD III]

KING RICHARD III: A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

CATESBY: Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.

KING RICHARD III: Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die: I think there be six Richmonds in the field; Five have I slain to-day, instead of him. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

[fivedayshakespeare]

9/25/2023-9/29/2023: Henry VI, Part 1

The project begins! With a play that isn't that great!

This play contains the origin of the Wars of the Roses and also involves England’s attempts to rule France. I've known about these things in a general sort of way, but never dug into the details. And now seems like a good time.

So...I know the Hundred Years' War was slightly over a hundred years long and it involved England in France. But...why?

Turns out the original excuse was that when Charles IV of France died in 1328, he had no convenient male heirs. So Edward III of England, who was his brother-in-law, declared himself king of France. Why not, right?

Incidentally, Edward III is also to blame for the Wars of the Roses, since he created the Houses of Lancaster and York. Nice going, Ed. It took a few hundred years, but you really lit a fuse that would end up smashing everything.

Anyway, Henry V actually conquered France, and then he died. And then Henry VI, Part 1 starts.

The French are weaselly cowards and the good English are bluff and shouty, which apparently makes this a primary document in the English conception of themselves. It certainly must reflect the popular understanding of the origins of the Wars of the Roses, although events are wildly compressed.

So from a cultural literacy standpoint, this was a very useful play to read. Hey, it's Joan of Ark! The Siege of Orleans! Plantagenet being restored to Duke of York!

The play is not that well written, I have to say. The rhymes are pretty simplistic. I am pleased to see that official Shakespearean critics say things like “so banal they must be non-Shakespearean”. Look at this action, as old Talbot tries to convince his son to leave before they both get killed:

TALBOT. Shall all thy mother’s hopes lie in one tomb? JOHN. Aye, rather than I’ll shame my mother’s womb.

TALBOT. Upon my blessing, I command thee go. JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

TALBOT. Part of thy father may be saved in thee. JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me.

TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. JOHN. Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it?

...yeah. I can see it being kind of snappy on stage, but it feels kind of plonking to me.

I read somewhere that it was considered “low art” to portray violence on stage, but that didn’t stop Shakespeare. There are a bunch of “alarum” and “excursion” scenes. Check this out, which happens in the middle of a scene:

[Excursions. Re-enter LA PUCELLE fighting with YORK. LA PUCELLE is taken. The FRENCH fly.]

La Puccelle is Joan of Ark. This feels like it should be a big, exciting action scene, of which this play is absolutely stuffed. Presumably the draw for the crowds of the time was the action, not the dialogue. Although it looks like this play has hardly ever been performed, so it may not have had much actual draw to begin with.

There is controversy about whether this was written before Parts 2 and 3 or after, but it seemed like a good play to start with.

Next up: Henry VI, Part 2

[mariacallous]

Richard III

Act V, Scene 4

Another part of the field.

[Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces fighting; to him CATESBY]

Sir William Catesby. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! The king enacts more wonders than a man, 3875 Daring an opposite to every danger: His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

[Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD III]

Richard III (Duke of Gloucester). A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Sir William Catesby. Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse. Richard III (Duke of Gloucester). Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die: I think there be six Richmonds in the field; 3885 Five have I slain to-day instead of him. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

[Exeunt]

Act V, Scene 5

Another part of the field.

[Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD III and RICHMOND; they] fight. KING RICHARD III is slain. Retreat and flourish. Re-enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with divers other Lords]

Richmond (Henry VII). God and your arms be praised, victorious friends, The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. Sir William Stanley. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee. 3895 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal: Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. Richmond (Henry VII). Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!

[rhetoricandlogic]

Oops, I Just Bought a Planet: Norstrilia by Cordwainer Smith

Alan Brown Wed Jun 8, 2022 11:00am

In this bi-weekly series reviewing classic science fiction and fantasy books, Alan Brown looks at the front lines and frontiers of the field; books about soldiers and spacers, scientists and engineers, explorers and adventurers. Stories full of what Shakespeare used to refer to as “alarums and excursions”: battles, chases, clashes, and the stuff of excitement.

One of the lesser-known gems of the science fiction world in the mid-20th century is the work of author Cordwainer Smith. He brought an international flavor to a science fiction field that, for all its creativity, was deeply rooted in the culture and conventions of the United States. His stories of the Instrumentality of Mankind were intriguing, giving the reader science fiction tales with the storytelling conventions of fantasy and legend. And in the centerpiece of this future history, the novel Norstrilia, he brought young and naïve Rod McBan to the mysterious and dangerous planet called Earth.

As I recollect, the copy of Norstrilia I used for this review is the copy I bought about a year after graduating from college, and according to the title page is the third Del Rey edition, printed in 1978. That date would put my purchase in the Alaskan town of Sitka, a tiny seacoast community accessible only by air or water. There was only one bookstore in the tiny town, right across the main street from the Russian Orthodox church with its onion-dome spires. Fortunately for me, the store had a good selection of paperback science fiction that turned over regularly.

The work of Cordwainer Smith was not new to me when I found Norstrilia, as I had read some of his work in my dad’s Galaxy magazines during my youth. I had always found his stories intriguing, if a bit strange compared to the more straightforward adventures I was used to reading in Analog.

About the Author

Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger (1913-1966), who wrote science fiction under the name Cordwainer Smith, was an author and scholar who wrote influential works on psychological warfare and on East Asian politics. He was born in Wisconsin, and lived during his youth in the United States, Europe, Japan, and China, reportedly attending more than thirty schools. He spoke multiple languages, and attained a PhD at age 23. He began writing science fiction in college in the late 1920s, although his stories didn’t start appearing in the leading magazines until the late 1940s.

Commissioned as a lieutenant during WWII, Linebarger served in Army Intelligence in China and India, rising to the rank of major. He remained in the reserves, eventually attaining the rank of colonel. He was recalled to aid the British in a Malaysian guerrilla conflict, and recalled again during the Korean War. He was a professor at Johns Hopkins University, but is also reported to have been a behind-the-scenes advisor to the CIA and the US government.

Most of Linebarger’s science fiction work was set in a unique and evocative future history, the Instrumentality of Mankind. By using unusual terms and names without much explanation, he created the impression this universe was much larger than what appeared within the pages of the stories (I will have to dip into Linebarger’s other stories to find out what Mother Hinton’s Littul Kittons are, for example). This was a society that was anything but a utopia: so advanced that much of its science was akin to magic, with a hereditary ruling class, a brutal police state to enforce their will, space pilots called “scanners” whose brains were damaged by their work, and animals called the “underpeople” raised to human intelligence and near-human appearance, but treated as slaves. One of the programs of the Instrumentality was the Rediscovery of Man, which was intended to strengthen humanity and reduce stagnation by reintroducing disease and unrest to society. The human economy was dominated by stroon, a drug which extended life, and was only available from giant diseased sheep grown on the planet Norstrilia.

Linebarger’s body of science fiction work was not large, as he lived a busy life and died at the relatively young age of fifty-three. He wrote only a handful of novels, Norstrilia being the most widely known, and about three dozen short stories.

You can find some of Smith’s work on Project Gutenberg, including “The Game of Rat and Dragon,” one of his better-known stories, and some of his non-fictional works, including the seminal book Psychological Warfare.

Cordwainer Smith is not to be confused with Cordwainer Bird, a pseudonym sometimes used by science fiction author Harlan Ellison (the fact that a cordwainer is a kind of cobbler, and birds do not need shoes, amused Ellison). The use of this pseudonym was then made even more confusing when author Philip José Farmer began using the name for a fictional character in some of his own works.

The Lonely Protagonist

Rod McBan is a lonely protagonist, pulled out of his own world and culture with little to no notice, and thrust into a world he only dimly understands. And while reading Norstrilia, I realized that, while he is a lonely character, he is far from alone in the field of science fiction. The genre is full of characters who are orphaned, exiled, or just plain don’t fit in. When you consider that Linebarger spent his youth in many countries and dozens of schools, it is not surprising that he could skillfully depict someone who feels apart from his surroundings.

The frequency of lonely heroes in science fiction might be due to the prevalence of the familiar story structure known as the Hero’s Journey, which has appeared in literature throughout human history. One of the characteristics many mythical adventures share is the removal of the protagonist from the world they grew up in or are comfortable with. Looking through the books I have reviewed over the years for this column, I found that about a third of them feature a character that might fit the description of a lonely protagonist. Of course, being lonely does not mean that the characters are alone, as they encounter mentors, antagonists, guides, and love interests in the course of their journeys.

I’ve also noticed that many of the readers of science fiction share characteristics of loneliness with the fictional protagonists they follow. This type of character might be so popular because it speaks to the readers in a way they understand. Being a science fiction fan, especially when I was young, could be a lonely existence. For my own part, growing up in the 1950s through the 1970s, there were very few people I knew (other than my father and brothers) who were as enthusiastic about science fiction as I was. My intimate knowledge of Marvel comics, for example, was not something I mentioned to girls I wanted to date. In those days, choosing to be a science fiction fan was to choose something hard to share with others. And I’ve seen signs of this loneliness when I’ve met other fans.

That aspect of being a science fiction fan seems to be eroding in recent decades, as science fiction and comic book stories have come to dominate the entertainment business. You don’t have to wait to attend a science fiction club meeting or convention to find someone to discuss your favorite passions with—one of the positive aspects of social media is that it can bring together groups of people who enjoy the same things. I sometimes wonder if these changes in society might eventually have an impact on the literature of science fiction, and we might see fewer stories of isolated heroes and more stories about groups working in collaboration. Only time will tell…

Norstrilia

The book opens more like a fairy tale than a novel. While the story is science fiction, the form and narrative owe more to fantasy than the straightforward style of science fiction. Norstrilia begins by telling us, rather than showing us, what the story is about. This allows the author to introduce us to a great deal of backstory all at once, but because little of this information is explained, the reader is tossed into the literary equivalent of deep water, and must quickly learn to swim in this dense and sometimes inscrutable narrative.

We meet young Rod McBan, 151st of his name, who is on the cusp of inheriting the family ranch, the ominously named Station of Doom, where giant sickly sheep produce the precious drug called stroon. His inheritance is far from certain, however. Rod, unlike other Norstrilians, cannot spiek or hier telepathically (not reliably, anyhow). When he does hier, he can listen in to many people’s minds over wide distances. And when he spieks, he transmits powerful emotions, again over wide distances. In attempts to correct these deficiencies, he has had his childhood restarted a number of times, living those years over and over. Now, he must face what is called the Garden of Death, a trial that determines whether Norstrilians will be executed by drugs that kill them with happiness, or allowed to go on with their lives. His only friends are an old battle computer, hidden on the farm, which has educated him over the years, and his cousin Lavinia, one of the few people who is comfortable speaking to him with her voice in the old manner.

Rod’s trial board consists of three people, two local, and one surprisingly the Lord Redlady, a Commissioner of the Instrumentality. Redlady convinces the board that Rod’s different abilities are not a liability, but rather a gift. And he is allowed to live.

Rod’s survival angers an old childhood adversary, who is now a government official with the title of Onseck, a corruption of the ancient term Honorary Secretary. The Onseck has placed blocks on Rod’s inheritance of the Station of Doom. Rod visits his computer, which suggests that, working together, they could corner the market on stroon, making Rod richer and giving him more power over his destiny. They succeed beyond their wildest dreams, and after a long trading session, Rod finds himself not only the richest man in civilization, but also owner of the planet Earth.

Being incredibly rich turns out to bring problems of its own. The Onseck attempts to murder Rod with a genetically engineered bird, and there are rumors of kidnapping plots. The Lord Redlady appears to help, and convinces Rod to go to Earth. But to slip Rod past those who wish to harm him, they must ship him as cargo. So, in a sequence replete with body horror, an intelligent ape in Redlady’s service amputates Rod’s head, freeze-dries the rest of his body, and packs him up in a small box. When Rod is reconstructed, to protect him, he is molded into the form of an underperson descended from a cat, and married to the famously lovely courtesan, C’Mell. This reconstruction leads to additional dangers, as Rod retains a sense of privilege that could get him killed for violating the rigid laws that apply to underpeople. A servant from his ranch, Elanor, accompanies Rod to Earth, and agrees to have her body reformed into an image of his, throwing off the efforts of those seeking him. Lord Redlady, while he does everything in his power to ensure all Rod’s wishes for his trip to Earth are granted, also has his own agenda, as do the underpeople, whose leader, the mysterious E’telekeli, meets with Rod and gives him aid.

I won’t continue the recap further, as I don’t want to reveal spoilers (although I will say that Elanor finds she prefers life as a young man who resembles the richest man on Earth to being a female servant on Norstrilia…). Rod’s journey through the culture of Earth is absolutely fascinating, with many interesting asides. This culture is by no means a utopia, and is even ugly and cruel. But despite its dark and whimsical aspects, it also feels very real and plausible. Without being heavy-handed, the book deals with issues of free will, duty, diversity, racism, slavery, and the very nature of what makes a person. The journey tends to wander, but always in directions I found fascinating. And in the end, when Rod returns to Norstrilia, we are given a heartwarming ending that, in only a couple of lines, also becomes absolutely heartbreaking.

Final Thoughts

Cordwainer Smith is a writer who should not be forgotten. His work was rich and fascinating, and unlike the output of many other writers of his era, his tales have aged like a good whiskey. Norstrilia is available in a number of formats, and a few years ago, the NESFA Press put out The Rediscovery of Man, a collection of his short works.

And now, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on Smith’s work and his legacy. Are you as captivated by the Instrumentality of Man as I am?

[mtmcguire]

Siberian hamsters and other alarums and excursions …

Siberian hamsters and other alarums and excursions …

Well that was an interesting day. Or perhaps more accurately, morning. But it explains why there has been no blog post until now … that said, ‘now’ will probably be tomorrow (Sunday) in light of what time it is already, and the gargantuan amount of time that the activities of ‘this morning’ involved. Originally, McOther and I were heading off to a car boot and from there to the garage to get his…

[oldschoolfrp]

Plate armored knight vs giant ants; If you can’t subdue a dragon to ride then a dinosaur will do (Oleg Zacharov cover, Alarums & Excursions zine #51, November 1979)

[chronivore]

Alarums & Excursions

[vintagerpg]

Alarums and Excursions is one of the first periodicals devoted to RPGs. This is issue 198, from February of 1992. It is the only issue I own.

I said periodical because it feels wrong to call it a magazine. A&E is an Amateur Press Association. APAs function as forums for niche topics – sci fi, music, movies, RPGs – long before the dawn of the internet. The first APAs appeared in the late 1800s. In a lot of ways, they’re a monthly collection of small zines, submitted by readers to a central editor who collates, binds and sends out the final product.

A&E began in June 1975, spun out of a science fiction APA because discussion of D&D was taking up too much room. Lee Gold has made sure an issue has come out just about every month since (she missed just four in 45 years – as someone who has been putting out a digital magazine monthly for four and a half years, this is downright awe-inspiring).  An alarming number of RPG brains have contributed to A&E over the years – Robin Law, Jonathan Tweet, David Hargrave, Erick Wujcik, Mark Rein-Hagen, Greg Costikyn, Edward Simbalist and on and on – and many of them used A&E as a proving ground for ideas and concepts they were working on. Some folks did reviews. Others wrote up records of play sessions. There’s side whispers about music and movies. It really feels like an online bulletin board, but on paper.

I don’t know how it is now, but back in the 92, the whole thing is mimeographed (there is much talk of stencils that I don’t quite understand, so I could be wrong) with each contributor’s zine distinguished by different color paper (and often, different fonts). There are no pictures aside of the cover. Only a two-page newsletter deep in the pages sports anything resembling layout. Someone wrote up a description of a new dark god called Kali Minogue (a send up of Kylie Minogue, the one pop star who has never received praise equal to her talents, but I can forgive this writer, because at the time, Impossible Princess was still 5 years off). It is pretty amazing. If you see one in the wild, pick it up!

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy flew and flew and flew and flew, not once looking back at the tropical island he had left behind, but only ahead, seeking new adventures...  And yet he saw nothing but the mighty ocean, perpetually rolling and tossing beneath him - just nothing at all except an unimaginably vast expanse of salty water, stretching out to the horizon in every direction.

As the day wore on, Algy inevitably began to grow more and more fatigued, until he started to feel that he would not be able to flap his fluffy wings for very much longer... but still there was no land in sight.

The heat of the day had passed, and the sun had almost touched the sea, beginning to sink into its watery nest for the night, when suddenly Algy heard the unmistakable shrieking cries of gulls in the far distance. Eagerly he peered ahead into the failing light, and with a final burst of energy he flew on, towards the screaming sounds.. and there they were! In the dim light of nightfall a shape was looming up from the vastness of the sea as he approached, and gradually it took the form of an island, where Algy could just make out various seabirds swooping and screaming around the cliffs as they prepared to settle down for the evening.

With a massive sigh of relief, Algy toppled down towards the very nearest bit of land, and collapsed onto what felt like some kind of grass. Without a single drop of energy left, he simply curled up exactly where he fell, with no choice but to hope that if such an isolated island did have any predators of the night, they would not manage to find him, because he could not possibly go any further...

Algy tucked his head under his wing and closed his eyes, assuming that he would fall asleep instantly, but his excessive exhaustion, combined with the excitement of his adventures on the magical tropical island and the anxiety of the arduous journey he had just completed, kept his tired mind dancing about, full of “alarums and excursions”... He tossed and turned on the ground, tucking his head first under one wing and then under the other, but sleep evaded him. He even resorted to counting fluffy birds hopping over branches, and concentrating on the soothing sound of the sea, which was still very close, but it was to no avail. 

As he was far too tired to get up again, Algy just lay on the ground with his eyes open and his mind spinning, trying at least to relax his weary body, until a large and extremely bright moon rose up in place of the sun, dazzling him as it flung its glaring white beams across the island. He sighed a deep sigh, for it was clearly impossible that anyone could sleep in such glaring illumination, covered his eyes with both wings, to exclude as much light as possible, and - while the moonbeams danced merrily all around him - immediately fell into the deepest possible sleep...💤💤💤

Algy hopes that if you too are having difficulty sleeping, you will find the aids described by Wordsworth much more effective than he did 😴

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

[Algy is quoting the poem To Sleep by the 19th century English poet William Wordsworth.]

[nocnitsa]

  Maxfield Parrish-  Alarums and Excursions