Level Titles: Druids, Rangers, and Bards

The druid class first appeared in Supplement III to OD&D, Eldritch Wizardry (1976). Though the supplement gives Gary Gygax and Brian Blume the byline, the class was actually the creation of Dennis Sustare, who's credited with a special thanks (and dubbed "The Great Druid"). Here's the original list of druid level titles:

The level titles of the druid found in the AD&D Players Handbook (1978) is nearly identical, except that Gygax has inserted a new title, "ovate," between "aspirant" and "initiate of the 1st circle." Its inclusion is interesting, because of its connection to British neo-druidism, where "ovate" is a type of prophet or seer. I suppose it's a good thing that the term and its connections are sufficiently obscure or else critics of the game might have had more "support" for their bad arguments against it.

The ranger class originates in volume 1, number 2 of The Strategic Review (Spring 1975) in an article written by Joe Fischer. Presented as a sub-class of fighting men akin to the paladin (which appeared in the Greyhawk supplement earlier the same year), this OD&D version of the ranger has the following level titles:

The ranger reappears in the AD&D Players Handbook. Its level titles are almost identical to those from The Strategic Review. However, a few of the titles have been transferred to different levels and the original 9th-level title (ranger-knight) has been pushed back to level 10, in order to make room for the title of "ranger." 

Like the ranger, the bard class first appeared in the pages of The Strategic Review, specifically volume 2, issue 1 (February 1976). Written by Doug Schwegman, the article presents bards as jacks-of-all-trades based on ideas drawn from the Celtic bard, the Nordic skald, and the southern European minstrel. As originally presented, the bard has the following level titles:

The level titles of the AD&D version of the bard differ from the OD&D version in only one small way. The OD&D title of "lore master" is changed – bizarrely, in my opinion – to "lorist," a coinage for which I can find very little evidence in any of the dictionaries to which I have access. Regardless, I find it notable that Gary Gygax, in translating Schwegman's bard to AD&D, retained nearly all the level titles while changing the overall nature of it. 

Druids explicitly and bards implicitly all belong to an organization that governs their advancement. In the case of druids, this advancement is similar to that of monks in being adjudicated through a trial by combat. I find details of this very fascinating for what they suggest about the "world" of Dungeons & Dragons and how the various character classes fit into it. Perhaps this is a topic worthy of a later post or two.

The Articles of Dragon: "Singing a New Tune"

In starting this new iteration of The Articles of Dragon, I struggled a bit with deciding when to begin. The very first issue of Dragon I remember buying for myself – from Waldenbooks, no less – was issue #62, which features a phenomenal cover painting by Larry Elmore. However, I'd been reading the magazine for a few months prior to that purchase, largely thanks my friend's older brother, who acted as one of our gaming mentors. He had a collection of Dragon issues and we'd often sneak into his basement bedroom to read them when he was out of the house. 

Issue #56 (December 1981), with its memorable Phil Foglio cover, was among the issues in that collection and is thus the first Dragon magazine I ever read. It's not a great issue, at least in comparison to many of those that followed, but it has two articles in it that I remember quite vividly, the first of which I decided would be the first entry in this new series, whose purpose, after all, is to use old Dragon articles as an occasion to share memories of my early days in the hobby.

Written by Jeff Goelz, "Singing a New Tune" offers up "a different bard, not quite so hard" for use with Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. AD&D's bard, as presented in the Players Handbook, is a bizarre and unprecedented multi-class/split class thing. A prospective bard begins play as a fighter. Then, after achieving a level between 5 and 7, he takes up thievery. He then abandons the thief class sometime between 5th and 9th level and becomes a bard proper. Why Gygax opted for this scheme is unclear, since Doug Schwegman's original bard class from Strategic Review, Vol. 2, issue 1 (September 1976) is a straightforward class without multiclassing. So different is this class than any other in the game that it's stuck in an appendix at the end of the PHB.

In his article, Goelz proposes to return bards to something closer to what was seen in the Strategic Review, albeit with numerous tweaks of his own. He begins with an amusing exchange between a DM and two half-orc NPCs, in which they discuss bards.

I was so taken with this dialog that, all these years later, I can still quote sections of it from memory. The idea of a Dungeon Master chatting with two non-player characters, who call him "boss," is quite funny to me for some reason. The dialog also serves the purpose of pointing out the problems with both previous versions of the bard class.

Goelz opted for a middle road between a wholesale rewriting of the class and a simple reworking of what had come before. He looked to the Welsh bard, both historical and mythical, for inspiration, using it as a guide for what aspects of previous bard classes to retain, to omit, or to alter. The result is, in my opinion, pretty good – simpler, more playable, and with a power level that's comparable to the other AD&D classes. Most importantly, Goelz's bard has a clear niche for itself as a loremaster with strong social skills and a smattering of druid and illusionist spells.

That list bit is important, because I think the real judge of whether the existence of a class is justified is its role within the game. Both previous versions of the bard were very broad classes with a wide range of skills and abilities that stepped on the toes of several other classes. This new one is much more unique, carving out a specific role that is not clearly served by any other class. That it's also mechanically less onerous is another point in its favor. That's why I was quite taken with it when I first read this article more than forty years ago.

At the same time, I've never been a huge fan of any version of the bard class. The bard has always felt weirdly specific – Goelz's version especially so – in much the same way that the monk did. In some campaign settings, a bard is perfectly reasonable and appropriate, while in others it would stick out like a sore thumb. My dislike is also probably a function of the people I've know who are boosters of the class: flamboyant, theatrical types with a penchant for extemporaneous poetry and song. I readily admit this is a me problem, not a bard problem as such, but it's there nonetheless. That's why I cannot recall the last time I've permitted a bard in any of my D&D campaigns. Were I to do so, however, I wouldn't hesitate to use the version in this article (or some variation thereof).

Pulp Fantasy Library: Vandy, Vandy

In the years since I first started writing this series, I've developed a great deal of affection for certain writers, some of whom are not very well known today. Among their number is Manly Wade Wellman. Though included in Appendix N, Gary Gygax didn't specify which of Wellman's stories, books, or series he felt had had the most "immediate influence" upon him. That's too bad, because it makes it much more difficult, I think, for those interested in tracing the creative genealogy of Dungeons & Dragons to home in on writers and tales of particular significance. 

Though Wellman had a very long and prolific career as a writer – primarily of short fiction – if I had to hazard a guess as to which of his many creations might have had a strong influence over Gary Gygax's imagination, I'd certainly select John the Balladeer, sometimes called Silver John, after the silver strings of the guitar he carries with him everywhere. John is a traveling singer, who wanders the Appalachian Mountains, where he encounters all manner of supernatural beings and witchcraft drawn from the legends of the region. Wellman's stories of John are generally short in length but long in staying power. They read like genuine folktales of rural America and they never disappoint.

"Vandy, Vandy" is a perfect example of what I mean. First appearing in the March 1953 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction (where much of Wellman's work appeared during the '50s), the story concerns John's visit to "that valley [that] hadn't any name" where "no lumberman had ever cut the thick, big old trees." Near sunset, John comes a family playing music and dancing outside their secluded cabin. Naturally, their somewhat suspicious of the unexpected arrival of a stranger, even one as seemingly friendly as John. He asks for a place to sleep and the eldest of them, "a long-bearded old man with one suspender and no shoes" suggests that he go elsewhere to find a place "to stretch out."

John tries another approach.

"I heard you all playing first part of Fire in the Mountains."

"Is they two parts?" That was the boy, before anyone could silence him.

"Sure enough, son," I said, "Let me show you the second part."

The old man opened his beard, likely to say wait till I was asked, but I strummed my own guitar into second part, best I knew how. Then I played the first part through, and, "You sure God can pick that," said the short-bearded one. "Do it again."

This wins the family over and the old man, who identifies himself as Tewk Millen, invites John to have a dinner of "smoke meat and beans" with his family, which consists of his son, his daughter-in-law, and their son, along with his own wife and daughter. The daughter, who had "her hair like yellow corn silk and … eyes like purple violets" is named Vandy. Her name attracts John's attention.

"Vandy?" I said after her father.

Shy, she dimpled at me. "I know it's a scarce name, Mr. John, I never heard it anywhere but among my kinfolks."

"I have," I said, "and it's what brought me here."

Mr. Tewk Millen looked funny above his whiskers. "Thought you said you was a young stranger man."

"I heard the name outside in a song, sir. Somebody allowed the song's known here. I'm a singer. I go after a good song."

The song tells the story of a rich man who comes to court a young woman named Vandy. He promises her "gold and silver," "a house and land," and "a world of pleasure," but she nevertheless rejects him, saying she already has a sweetheart, "a man who's in the army" and has been away for "seven long year." The Millens claim the song is a very old one, passed down in their family from generation to generation. They perform it for John, who observes that 

the notes were put together strangely, in what schooled folks call minors. But other folks, better schooled yet, say such tunes sound strange and lonesome because in old times folks had another note scale from out do-re-mi-fa today.

The performance is interrupted by the sudden appearance of another man, one who bears a gold-headed black cane. 

He was built spry and slim, with a long coat buttoned to his pointed chin, and brown pants tucked into elastic-sided boots, like what your grandsire had. His hands on the cane looked slim and strong. His face, bar its crooked smile, might be handsome. His dark brown hair curled like buffalo wool, and his eyes were the shiny pale gray of a new knife. Their gaze crawled all over the Millens and he laughed a slow, soft laugh.

The family treats the man, whom we learn is called Mr. Loden, with respect born out of fear and offer him a place to sit, as well as an offer to stay for dinner. Mr. Loden plays the part of a gracious guest, but it's clear the family is uncomfortable around him, "nervous as a boy stealing apples." He brings gifts for everyone present – except John, whom he is surprised to see – including a necklace for Vandy, whom he begs to "let it rest on your heart, that I may envy it."

Mr. Loden doesn't like John, though he behaves politely toward him. For his part, John is skeptical of Mr. Loden and his interest in Vandy. He also sees the effect his presence has had on the Millens.

The menfolks sat outside and said nothing. They might have been nailed down, with stones in their mouths. I studied about what could make a proud, honorable mountain family so scared of a guest I knew it was only the one thing. And that one thing wouldn't just be a natural thing. It would be a thing beyond nature or the world. 

John is right, of course, as he usually is and the remainder of the short story deals with the revelation of Mr. Loden's true identity and intentions. Fortunately for the Millens, John has learned a thing or two about dealing with things "beyond nature or the world" in his travels. He's a great example of how a bard might work in Dungeons & Dragons – a wandering entertainer who recognizes how much wisdom and knowledge are hidden in ancient traditions and folklore and uses them to good ends. John the Balladeer is a terrific character and all of his adventures are worth a read, but "Vandy. Vandy" is an especially good one in my opinion. Seek it out, if you can.

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Desrick on Yandro

The bard class first appeared in the June 1976 issue of The Strategic Review. Its creator, Doug Schwegman, explained that the class was intended as a "hodgepodge" of the Norse skald, the Celtic bard, and the southern European minstrel. I've never made a secret of the fact that I'm generally not a fan of the class, which, at least as its usually presented (and played), is a bit too twee for my tastes. That said, the one aspect of the class that I do like is its "lore" ability, which Schwegman explains "reflects the Bard's knowledge of legends, magic, etc." Being an inveterate creator of lore for my adventures and campaigns, an ability like that is my natural ally. The lack of something like it in other D&D classes almost makes me wish to set aside my reservations about the class – almost.

Another thing that give my reticence pause is whenever I read one of Manly Wade Wellman's Silver John stories, such as "The Desrick on Yandro," which first appeared in the June 1952 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. Silver John, who first ambled into the world of pulp fantasy a year earlier, is a wandering Appalachian balladeer, who gets his name from the pure silver strings on his guitar. Like the bard class, John has knowledge of the history, legends, and folk ways of the people of Appalachia, knowledge that serves, at various times, as the catalyst and/or resolution of the strange things he encounters in the mountains of the eastern United States.

Indeed, "The Desrick on Yandro" begins with a demonstration of John's knowledge, as he sings "that song," an ominous turn of phrase that rather nicely situates all that follows. In exchange for lodging – he is, as I said, a man of no fixed address – John entertains the guests of a party, culminating in the singing of "the Yandro song."

I'll build me a desrick on Yandro's high hill,

Where the wild beasts can't reach me or hear my sad cry,

For he's gone, he's gone away, so stay a little while,

But he'll come back if he comes ten thousand miles.

A desrick, if, like me, you are unaware, is the Appalachian dialectical term for a roughly built but sturdy cabin. This particular desrick is found atop the peak of a mountain called Yandro, which John admits in conversation with the party guests is "not a usual name." One of the guests takes a special interest in "that song," as Yandro is his surname.

"I've never heard of that peak or valley, nor, I imagine, did my father before me. But my grandfather – Joris Yandro – came from the Southern mountains. He was young, with small education, but lots of energy and ambition." Mr. Yandro swelled up inside his fancy clothes. "He went to New York, then Chicago. His fortunes prospered. His son – my father – and then I, we contrived to make them prosper still more."

Though John is not one to suffer fools – or the pompous – gladly, he nevertheless acquiesces to Mr Yandro's request that he show him where "[his] grandfather might have come from." Yandro charters a plane and the two of them fly to a small airport near to where mountain is located. Unimpressed with the region, which he calls "a stinking country," much to John's dismay, Yandro is even more put out when he discovers that the road leading up the peak is too treacherous for travel by car. He and John have no choice but to set out on foot. 

Eventually, the pair come across the home of an aged woman named Miss Tully. She remembers John, whom she'd met before; he then introduces Yandro and she immediately becomes interested, muttering cryptically, "Funny … you coming along as the seventy-five years are up." When pressed, Miss Tully discloses that she remembers Joris Yandro from her childhood. Joris, she says, "courted Polly Wiltse, the witch girl." John reflects on her words.

Even the second time hearing it, I listened hard. It was like a many such tale at the start. Polly Wiltse was sure enough a witch, not just a study-witch like Miss Tully, and Polly Wiltse's beauty would melt the heart of nature and make a dumb man cry out, "Praise God Who made her!" But none dared court her save only Joris Yandro, who was handsome for a man like she was lovely for a girl. For it was his wish to get her to show him the gold on top of the mountain named for his folks, that only Polly Wiltse and her witching could find.

"Certain sure there's gold in these mountains," I answered Mr. Yandro's interrupting question. "Before ever the California rush started, folks mined and minted gold in these parts, the history-men say."

"Gold," he repeated, both respectful and greedy. "I was right to come." 

Miss Tully adds that Joris Yandro succeeded in coaxing Polly Wiltse to "bring down gold to him, and he carried it away and never came back." Abandoned by her feigned suitor, she "pined and mourned like a sick bird, and on Yandro's top she build her desrick." The song that John had sung at the party, it seems, was one Polly Wiltse had made and "it was part of a long spell and charm" intended to bring her lover back to her. Yandro is now convinced that Polly is still alive and waiting for him in her desrick atop the mountain named for his kin. He asks John to accompany him on his ascent, which he agrees to do, despite the warnings from Miss Tully about the many cursed creatures that haunt the mountain, like the Bammat, the Culverin, and the Behinder. Needless to say, the journey is eventful and what they find when they reach the desrick is memorable.

"The Desrick on Yandro" is an enjoyable story well told, a darkly humorous tale not dissimilar in many ways to those found in contemporary horror comics. What sets it apart, though, is Wellman's prose, which are those of a master folktale teller able to hold the attention of his audience as they huddle around the campfire on a shivery night. His ability to blend genuine Appalachian legends and lore with his own creations (and sly social commentary) elevate all the Silver John stories above much of what was written in the pages of the pulps. It's fun, powerful stuff – it would have to be to make me reconsider my stance on the bard!

The Articles of Dragon: "Singing a New Tune"

Last week, I said I was going to be starting a new series of posts relating to Dragon magazine. Today, I kick off that series, "The Articles of Dragon." I wanted to do this series because, while I was re-reading this venerable gaming periodical for "The Ads of Dragon" series, I frequently found myself looking over many articles that I remembered fondly from my younger days. Back in ancient times, before the Internet, the monthly arrival of Dragon was an important part of many gamers' lives, as it was one of the main sources of information about the wider hobby. Just as importantly, it was a place where we could read other gamers' ideas, some of which were good enough that we adopted them into our home campaigns.

A good case in point is Jeff Goelz's "Singing a New Tune," which appeared in issue #56 (December 1981) of Dragon. The article presents a single-class bard for use with AD&D rather than the multi-class monstrosity included at the end of the Players Handbook. At the time, never having read Doug Schwegman's original bard from Strategic Review #6 (February 1976), the idea of a bard that didn't require levels in fighter and thief beforehand was nothing short of revolutionary. In addition, Goelz's bard had a high degree of intellectual coherence. For example, his bard could cast illusionist spells in addition to druid spells, which made sense for a class of wandering performers. However, this new bard's selection of both types of spells was limited to those that made sense for the class. No longer, for example, could bards cast healing spells.

Goelz's bard is probably my favorite version of the class. If I ever decided to include them in my Dwimmermount campaign, I'd be sorely tempted to base them on this one. The PHB bard never made much sense to me and, in any event, they were unduly powerful given the archetype they were supposed to represent. I only ever allowed one PHB bard into my campaign back in the day and it did not end well. Later on, I readily used Goelz's bard and it proved a popular option for many players.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Born to Exile

Literary inspirations for D&D's bard class are few and far between, in part because the class is such a strange mish-mash of ideas -- part fighter, part thief, and part druid (magic-user in Doug Schwegman's original Strategic Review article), and possessed some additional unique abilities to boot. While it's clear that the romanticized image of the Celtic bard played a large role in the conception of this class, there are likely other antecedents as well. I don't know that Phyllis Eisenstein's character of Alaric the Minstrel is one of those antecedents, but, even if he isn't, he's an interesting enough creation in his own right that the stories in which he appears are worth tracking down.

Alaric made his debut in the August 1971 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction in a short story entitled "Born to Exile." That title is also used for a later episodic novel derived from five previously published Alaric short stories, including the one under discussion in this post. As the story begins, Alaric is fifteen years old and on his way to Castle Royale, where he hopes to find patrons in the king and his son and daughter, who had previously employed his now-deceased master, Dall. Met at the castle's walls by a guard, Alaric identifies himself:

Alaric swept off his peaked black cap and bowed as much as his pack permitted. "My name is Alaric, and by trade I'm a minstrel. Having been advised by many that my songs are worthy, I come to offer them to His Majesty and, in short, to become a hanger-on at court."

The guard grunted. "What weapons do you carry?"

Alaric's slender fingers touched his worn leather belt. "None but a paltry dagger, useful for carving fowl and bread. And the feather in my cap, for tickling my enemies to death."

That short exchange is representative of Alaric's usual manner -- witty and confident, but with a touch of arrogance as well. Having satisfied the guard's inquiries, he is taken to the king's Great Hall but is advised, "Be sparing with your wit, boy. We already have a jester." As he makes his way toward the court, Alaric reflects on his upbringing and the unique talent that sets him apart from others.

The minstrel and his escort passed under the portcullis and entered a large courtyard in which a dozen or so well-muscled, half-naked men were practising various forms of personal combat. Alaric's eyes roamed from swordsmen to wrestlers to boxers, and he was painfully aware of his own slight physique. Battles were not for his untrained hands. His way was to vanish, as he had vanished from beneath his father's whip. 

He was seven that day, the day his mother died and his father revealed the fearful secret: that Alaric had been found on a hillside, a helpless newborn babe clothed only in blood. He was obviously a witch child, for a gory hand, raggedly severed just above the wrist, clutched his ankles in a deathlike grasp. The local peasants were frightened, and some wanted to destroy the infant that was surely a changeling or worse, but barren Mira loved him instantly and took him into her hut. Her husband grumbled sullenly under the lash of Mira's sharp tongue, but he acted the role of father, albeit distastefully, until she died. And then his strong, gnarled fingers reached for the whip. 

Alaric, who had practised his power in secret, flitting impercep­tibly from one tree to another in the nearby wood, backed away in terror. As the leather thong slashed toward him, he pictured a particular tree in his mind, complete to the mushrooms that ringed its trunk and clung to its bark. Suddenly, he stood in its shade and the loamy smell of the forest floor filled his nostrils. He never dared return home.

Alaric can "vanish," which is to say, teleport. He believes this power to have a dark origin but, in truth, is uncertain as to its nature. Regardless, he keeps his talent hidden, for, true or not, abilities such as his are treated as witchcraft and punishable by death. Initially, Alaric had used his talent to aid him in theft, until he was caught by the master minstrel Dall, who offered to train him in a more useful and socially acceptable trade. Alaric accepted his offer but never forgot his thieving skills, which he continues to put to good use as needed (or desired) in his travels.

Alaric quickly wins over the king and his children, in no small part due to the fond memories they have of his former master, and is invited to stay at Castle Royale to begin his service. One of his first duties is to sing for Princess Solinde and Prince Jeris, the former of whom is quite clearly taken with him -- and he with her. It is this relationship between the young minstrel and the princess that, along with Alaric's pressing need to hide the remarkable power he possesses, that forms the basis for the short story's primary plot, as well as propelling Alaric into the stories that follow.

Again, let me reiterate that I make no claim that "Born to Exile" or any of its sequels was an inspiration for the bard character class. Alaric is too idiosyncratic a character to serve as an archetype; his sole magical ability is unique to him so far as he knows and not one possessed by all minstrels. Still, Alaric's manner, his ability to win the affection of those around him through song, his knowledge of the wider world, and, yes, his thieving ways, all suggest that he makes as good a model for the D&D bard as any you can find in 20th century fantasy literature. Alaric is also an attractive and sympathetic character as well -- a bit like Cugel with a conscience. That idea alone ought to make "Born to Exile" sound intriguing and Eisenstein's spare, straightforward style does as much to reward those who take the time to read it.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Frogfather

No, I never liked frogs' legs very much, not even before what happened. And I wouldn't eat them now if I was starving. This is why.

So begins Manly Wade Wellman's "Frogfather," which first appeared in the November 1946 issue of Weird Tales. Like all the tales in his Appalachian cycle, "Frogfather" is told in the first person, from the perspective of the wandering minstrel known only as Silver John, and draws on American folklore for its plot. In this case, Silver John is remembering an event from his childhood, when his maiden aunt, who raised him, turned him over to an unpleasant man named Ranson Cuff to settle a debt she owed. Cuff, is described in very unflattering terms.

His face was as round as a lemon, and as yellow and sour, and his eyes couldn't have been closer together without mixing into each other, and his little nose was the only bony thing about him.

Furthermore,

Ranson Cuff was the sort of man who shoved himself into your mind, like a snake crawling into a gopher hole. I defy anyone to find anyone else who liked Ranson Cuff -- maybe his wife liked him, but she didn't live with him for more than three weeks. Nobody around the Swamps liked him, though he was the best off in money. He ran a string of hunting camps for strangers from up north, who came to hunt deer or fish for bass, once in a while to chase bear with dogs. He did his end of that job well, and if he was rude the strangers figured for a picturesque character. I've heard them call him that. The Swamps people called him other things to his face, if he didn't have mortgages on their houseboats, cabins, and trapping outfits.

John tells us that Cuff loves frogs' legs, especially those he'd gotten for himself by hunting frogs in the Swamps. So it was that, on one night, John accompanies Cuff and "an old, old Indian whose name I never knew" on a frog hunting expedition "in a really beautiful boat [Cuff had] taken from a bad debt." Unfortunately for Cuff, there seem to be no frogs to be found -- that is, until he hears the sound of frogs singing along a bank to the northeast, a move the old Indian urges him against.

"I'm speaking for your good, Mr. Cuff," said the old Indian. "That's no place to stick frogs."

"I can hear them singing!" Cuff said. "Listen, there must be a whole nation of them."

"They're there because they're safe," said the old Indian.

"Khaa!" Cuff spit into the water, "Safe! That's what they think. We're going in there to stick a double mess."

Aficionados of weird tales don't need to be told how the story will unfold after this point, once Cuff ignores the old Indian's warning and orders the young Silver John to paddle up the river to where he hears those frogs singing. Despite the relative lack of suspense, Wellman nevertheless manages to hold one's attention. His gifts as a storyteller and his love of the legends of Appalachia both come through powerfully and, together, they carry the reader along to the inevitable conclusion.

That's probably what I found most remarkable about this story: despite the telegraphing of its end, I still wanted to read it. Wellman is simply a joy to read. Silver John's voice rings true. Though his words initially come across as simple and "folksy," there's unexpected insight and sophistication in them. There's also a rhythm to them, a poetry that becomes more apparent when you read the story aloud. Wellman is one of those rare authors whose work demands to be spoken; mere reading doesn't do it justice. I wonder if there are any audio recordings of the Silver John stories, because I'd love to hear them read by someone, preferably someone with a Southern Appalachian accent.

Regardless, "Frogfather" is an enjoyable short story that nicely showcases Manly Wade Wellman's talents as a writer. It's a pity he's not more widely known, even within pulp fantasy circles; he certainly deserves more accolades than he's received.

Pulp Fantasy Library: O Ugly Bird!

I wrote about Manly Wade Wellman's character of Silver John -- known simply as John in the stories in which he appears -- a year and a half ago. At that time, I hadn't read a Silver John story in a very long time, probably two decades and was going on my memories of reading from the old Arkham House anthology I found at a local library when I was a teenager. Back then, I liked the stories well enough, but I can't say that they really "spoke" to me, in the way that many other stories did. Thanks to Paizo's recent re-release of all the short stories under a single cover, I've had the chance to re-acquaint myself with Wellman and Silver John and I'm glad I did. These are some of the most excellent fantasy tales I've read in a long time. I have little doubt that I'll be talking more about them in the weeks to come.

First appearing in the December 1951 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, "O Ugly Bird!" marks the introduction of the wandering Appalachian balladeer known as John. It's also got one of the best opening paragraphs of any work of fantasy I've ever read:

I swear I'm licked before I start, trying to tell you all what Mr. Onselm looked like. Words give out -- for instance, you're frozen to death for fit words to tell the favor of the girl you love. And Mr. Onselm and I pure poison hated each other. That's how love and hate are alike.

The story just gets better from there.

While wandering "up these heights and down these hollows," John finds himself in a secluded town whose inhabitants are terrorized by one of the townsfolk, the aforementioned Mr. Onselm. Everyone in town is afraid of him and does what he says or else.

"One Old Jim Desbro refused him a chicken. Mr. Onselm pointed his finger at Old Jim's mules, they was plowing. Them mules couldn't move ary foot, not till Mr. Onselm had the chicken. Another time, Miss Tilly Parmer hid a cake when she seen him come. He pointed a finger and dumbed her. She never spoke one mumbling word from that day to when she died. Could hear and understand, but when she tried to talk she could just wheeze."

John, well-versed in the lore of the mountains (and much else, it's implied), recognizes that Mr. Onselm is "a hoodoo man ... which means the law can't do anything." He then resolves to look into his activities and deal with him, if possible. The problem is that Mr. Onselm has an accomplice, the Ugly Bird of the story's title.

It must have hung over us, high and quiet, and now it dropped into the yard like a fish hawk into a pond. First out I saw it was dark, heavy-winged, bigger than a buzzard. Then I saw the shiny gray-black of the body, like wet slate, and how it seemed to have feathers only on its wide wings. Then I made out the thing snaky neck, the bulgy head and long stork beak, the eyes set in front of its head -- man-fashion in front, not to each other.

None of the townsfolk are willing to stand up to Mr. Onselm and his Ugly Bird and so it takes the outsider John to do what they cannot, resulting in a terrific tale very well told.

Silver John is no mere bumpkin despite his rustic ways. As I noted above, he knows the lore of the mountains, as well as that of other parts of the world. It's hinted that, in his travels, he's learned much occult knowledge and it's his knowledge, along with his purity of heart, that enables him to face down many a supernatural threat. John's a very compelling character, simultaneously mysterious and familiar, the archetypal Cunning Wanderer come to life. He makes a great model for a re-imagined bard class, something I might attempt in the future.

Many pulp fantasies, being written in the past, can be difficult to get into. Their style and presentation can be off-putting to readers more accustomed to contemporary fiction. But "O Ugly Bird!" (or any of the Silver John stories) isn't like that at all. The first person narration is very effective and, while John and his interlocutors, use Appalachian, it comes across naturally and is surprisingly easy to understand -- certainly easier than, say, Lovecraft's attempts to convey backwoodsy speech in his own stories. That's because Wellman clearly loved and respected the people and traditions of Appalachia, whereas HPL likely didn't think much of the rural New Englanders he often portrays in his stories. Wellman has a great affinity for his characters and it results in superb fiction that everyone ought to sample, if not drink deeply from.

REVIEW: Delving Deeper Character Classes

I think it's fair to say that new character classes (or new takes on existing ones) are one of the oldest "traditions" of the hobby. The introduction of the Thief and the Paladin in Supplement I opened the door to this practice and I don't think D&D players have ever tired of it. If you read The Strategic Review or early issues of The Dragon, you'll soon see that new character classes were a regular and much-loved feature of those periodicals. By the time I started reading Dragon, though, new character classes were often presented as "NPC classes," often with dire warnings against allowing the use of these classes for player characters. The implication was clear: the AD&D Players Handbook was the final word on this subject and until TSR saw fit to add new classes through its official publications, there would be no more.

Gygax partisan though I am, on this particular subject I never accepted Gary as the last word. I gleefully allowed these supposed NPC classes to be used as player characters. We had our fair share of ninjas (years before Oriental Adventures), samurai (ditto), archers, berserkers, beastmasters, and countless others. Very few of them ever lasted for long (Jeff Goelz's variant bard being the main one I recall), but I rarely prevented a player from giving these new classes a whirl. That was part of the fun of old school D&D: the willingness to experiment with potentially dangerous "ingredients." Worries about "balance" were still far in the future. So long as a class was fun to play and added something unique to the campaign, it was usually good enough for me.

That's why, to this day, I take a lot of pleasure in seeing new character classes and new takes on old ones. One of the many pleasures of old school games is their simplicity. Creating new classes for these games isn't a complex math problem; it's more about finding an archetype unserved by the other classes and creating game mechanics that allow that archetype to be used meaningfully in a campaign, with "meaningfully" being a very broad adverb indeed. So, it's with great happiness that I came across Brave Halfling Publishing's Delving Deeper series, which presents new character classes for use with Labyrinth Lord, although they could be used without much modification for other games, such as Swords & Wizardry.

I'd previously reviewed Brave Halfling's version of the monk. This time I'm going to talk about three others: the bard, the paladin, and the ranger.

Delving Deeper - Bard is, for me, the weakest of the three products. That's mostly because the whole concept behind the class has been muddled since Doug Schwegman's article in The Strategic Review in 1976. That article described the bard as a "jack of all trades," a description echoed in this 4-page PDF, which sells for 75 cents. Part fighter, magic-user, and sage, the bard is roughly comparable to the cleric in terms of combat effectiveness and toughness (though with weaker saving throws). In addition, the class possesses a legend lore ability, can charm persons and monsters (as per the appropriate spells), and can read languages (including the magical tongues used to inscribe arcane scrolls). The result is very well done, but it does little to bring much-needed coherence to the class. After reading this product, I am still unclear exactly what archetype the bard fills.

Delving Deeper - Paladin is, by contrast, a very coherent presentation of a much-loved -- and hated -- archetype: the fighter dedicated to upholding law and goodness. I'll admit to multiple levels of prejudice in liking this 6-page PDF a great deal. Firstly, I'm simply very fond of paladins and almost always play them on those rare occasions when I play rather than referee. Secondly, the class presented here is, by default, not a spellcasting one, just like its Supplement I inspiration. I very much approve of that, since spellcasting paladins further muddy the distinction between this class and clerics. The result is a class that's umabiguously a fighting man, albeit one imbued with divine power and grace. This 75-cent PDF also includes rules including holy swords in your Labyrinth Lord campaign.

Delving Deeper - Ranger is 5-page PDF retailing for 75 cents and, in my estimation, the best of the three reviewed here. That's because this product embraces the multiple ways that the ranger class has been interpreted over the years by offering two different versions of the class. The first is what might be called the "traditional" ranger, in that it includes a damage bonus when fighting evil humanoids and giants, in addition to such abilities as tracking, moving silently, direction sense, and wilderness survival. The second version could be called a "scout," since it swaps the damage bonus for the ability to hide and listen in a natural environment. I really appreciate the inclusion of two versions of the class, since it highlights what new character classes are really all about in the first place: options.

And options are what these inexpensive PDFs provide. At 75 cents apiece, each one is well worth picking up, if only to mine them for ideas when creating one's own character classes. I've been lately pondering ways to make a more coherent bard class and Delving Deeper - Bard gave me some food for thought, even though my own interpretation of the class will likely be quite different. All of these products include art by Andy "Atom" Taylor, whose exuberant style is a perfect esthetic representation of Brave Halfling's approach to publishing. They're definitely worth a look by anyone who hasn't forgotten the joyful enthusiasm this hobby engendered in all of us at the beginning.

Final Scores:
Delving Deeper - Bard: 3½ out of 5 polearms
Delving Deeper - Paladin: 4 out of 5 polearms
Delving Deeper - Ranger: 4½ out of 5 polearms