Tee hee! D&D is hard!

You know, I'm in danger of losing my union card for "Grumpy Grognards and OSR Curmudgeons Local 358" for my gross lack of slagging 4e aka WOTC's Folly, so, with a hat-tip to Greyhawk Grognard for inspiration, I'm going to eviscerate these pieces of fluff from The Coastal Mages, by one Shelly Mazzanoble. (Mind you, I've never read anything else by her, so I don't know if these articles are representative of her output... but if they are, it doesn't say much for WOTC.)

Auspiciously, it starts out with whining about How Different Things Yoosta Be and how did people Back Then ever survive blah blah blah:

“What’s a library?” we asked.
Naturally, we old-timers began to trip down
memory lane with our walkers and canes, rehashing
how rough it was back in our day. No GPS, no digital
cameras, no Glee!
“Back in my day I actually had to get up to change
the TV channel,” I said. “What a pain that was.”
“Back in my day I had to actually push a vacuum
around the floor,” Laura said. “Can you imagine life
before Roomba?”
“Back in my day, I had to roll up a D&D character
with a pencil and paper,” Chuck said, pressing pause
on his iPod Shuffle. “And do my own math.”
“Ew!” I said. “How old are you?”

Okay, that's pretty dismal, supposedly not knowing what a library is, but, trust me, it gets worse.

Shelly then proceeds to express disbelief at the idea of D&D without tiles and minis, wondering how you could possibly ever take proper tactical advantage of your fighting environment space if you didn't know which 5' square everyone occupied. The word "imagination" is briefly mentioned, but quickly dropped for more whining, this time about character death (oooh, ick!).

But in spite of the hideous drawbacks, the siren call of primitive stone-knives-and-bearskins gaming calls to Shelly:

But still . . . there is always something about the
way people wax on about the earlier editions of D&D,
and I’m not entirely sure it just has to do with a time
before microwaves and YouTube. (And yes, kids, there
was a time before microwaves and YouTube. Shut up.)

GAWRSH A TIME BEFORE YOUTUBE HOW COULD IT HAVE BEEN SO!?!

*ahem*.

Anyway, Shellly's willing to try this "feerst ee-deeteeon" stuff, even though she claims to not even own a pencil, so she sits down with her DM and rolls (EGADS WITH DICE AND EVERYTHING) up a new M-U, "Majeka Magicmaker", which Chris-the-DM says is "a very 1st Edition name". Hee hee, names were so silly back then! (Gleep Wurp the Eyebiter would kick Majeka's ass from here to the Barrier Peaks.)

Then we got a problem with henchmen - Shelly's sheet has a spot to list 'em, so in typical spoiled brat 4e mode she, of course, insists on having them:

“I totally want a henchman,” I say. “How do I get
one?”
“You’re not getting any henchmen,” Chris says.
“Not in my game.”
“But I’m entitled to them,” I explain, pointing to
the box on the character sheet.

and authority-figure DM Chris folds like a PocketMod:

Chris knows me pretty well, so in the interest of
time he offers a treaty.
“Fine. You can have henchmen, but they’re not
coming on the adventure. They have to stay home and
tend to the garden and draw you a bath and plan your
wardrobe or whatever. Let’s move on.”

Then, after we ASSIGN 3d6 rolls to Majeka's stats (3d6 six times in order evidently being a little too iron-man for comfort) we haz another OH CRISIS moment with D&D Barbie:

“Get your percentile die.”
“I have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”
He hands me the die that I’ve kept in my bag for
six years and never once rolled.
“For real?” I ask. “I always wondered what that
thing was for.”

SNERK.

And then we get the requisite "OMFG I can only cast a spell once a day and the monsters might hit me and ruin it ohmigod ohmigod that is just so unfair".

Throw darts? Use a sling? Hurl flaming oil? Oh, lordy, lordy, Majeka Magicfarter couldn't be expected to think of options like that! That's just so un-magicmakery!

And Armor Class back then was just so complex! DM Chris has to consult a chart to calculate AC, whereupon Shelly ends up with an AC of 2. (TWO? For a M-U? Cripes, and she's complaining) ? And much further whining ensues about how arbitrary a number it is and why is it so low and what she needs to hit someone and it's all so complicated and blah blah blah blah. I dunno, ten-year-old kids could cope with THAC0 and descending AC back in the 80's; I have no idea what Shelly's problem is. Maybe the Red Bulls she's been knocking back have actually been Potions Of Stupid.

By the way, we find out Majeka Nosepicker is 8th level. You know, just one goddamn level before name status, one level away from being able to "retire" to found her own stronghold and craft friggin' magic items. But this is just too weak for Shelly! *sigh*

Anyhoo - Part 2, and the vapid valiant adventuring party is off to do adventuring stuff:

I am Majeka Magicmaker, an 8th-level gray elf
magic-user. To my right is Laura, aka Shab “Shabulous”
Heanling, a 12th-level half-elf thief. Mark, to my
left, plays Darg Blonke, a 7th-level gray elf fighter, and
Chuck rounds out the group as Fage the Kexy, a 7th level
gray elf cleric.

Eeyurgh. What's with all the elves? Was there a delver's recruiting drive in Lothlorien or something?

And ohgod ohgod ohgod right away we start in with the "how do we know what our tactical advantage is?" crap:

“We don’t use maps either?” Laura asked.
Chris shook his head.
“Or Dungeon Tiles?” Mark asked.
“Are we Amish?” I asked.

and then Shelly does a lame "Who's On First" ripoff:

Before we began, he instructed us to pick a party
color, to which I immediately shouted, “Teal!”
My group stared at me with heads cocked and eyebrows
raised.
“What?” I asked. “I’m trying to channel the 80’s,
and teal was a very 80’s color. I had about four zillion
mock turtlenecks in teal, because it went great with
my peacock eyeliner.”
“It’s still a good color for you,” Laura said.
“Thank you!”
“He said ‘caller,’ ” Chuck offered. “Not color.”
Oh . . . right . . .

Oh, forcrissake, we didn't use 'em BITD either, so I have to conclude this was yet another example of "let's parody the typical 1st edition AD&D experience" bullshit. Yawn. Gygax was a big fat guy with a beard, you know. Tee hee.

And it's crisis time yet again as the heartless DM throws the PCs into the adventure head-first, without allowing time for the reading of proper boxed text or establishment of detailed back-stories or anything important like that:

We can’t just begin. We need answers first!
“Where are we?” Laura yelled.
“Who are we?” Mark asked.
“Tell us what is going on!” I shouted.
Chris shushed us. “Calm down. Let’s first get you
in initiative order."

AAAAHHH YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD YOU'RE DEPROTAGONIZING THEM!

By the way, evidently Shelly-welly knows damn well what a library is:

Oh, yes. Order. Organizing feels good and is the
best way to calm a potentially riotous bunch of rabble.
Every time we attend a library show and give out free
books, we always make the teachers and librarians
form a line. If there’s one thing they like almost as
much as free books, it’s self-sorting. (And if there’s
one thing they like more than free books, it’s crudités
and wine, but that’s another story.)

Ha, ha. Yes. Urm.

Twit.

It's at this point DM Chris seems to realize just what circle of The Inferno Minos has dropped him into:

“Hello?”
“Wait, are we playing already?” I asked. Usually
we line up our minis on the edge of the playmat to
signal it’s game on.
Everyone shrugged. Chris sighed again. Apparently
DM ing in 1st Edition is very taxing. “Yes, you’re
playing. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Yes, Shelly, I'm sure it's the taxing quality of 1st edition DM'ing that's his problem.

I was heartened to notice it wasn’t just me who had
trouble grasping the lack of in-game physical representations.
Man, we are spoiled.

No shit, Sherlock.

But DM Chris keeps on trying to get these blithering yahoos to THINK, as futile an endeavor as that appears to be:

“Okay, okay,” Chris said, scribbling something on a
piece of graph paper. “I’ll start. One of the townsfolk
gave you a map that looks like this.”
His drawing shows a corridor about one square
wide and six squares long.
“So we’re just . . . there?” Laura asked. “Alone?”
“I don’t know,” Chris smiled. “Are you?”
“Isn’t that something you would tell us?” Mark
asked.
“Isn’t that something you would notice if you were
looking around?” Chris prodded.
We gave Mark encouraging nods, guessing this is
something our caller might be able to find out.
“Yes.” Mark spoke with an authority appropriate
for a caller. “We are looking around. We are trying to
. . . see stuff.”
“Did you bring a light source?” Chris asked.
Oh, jeez, nothing slips by this guy. This is worse
than trying to return something to Best Buy without
a receipt.

At this point I don't know about Chris, but I'm cheering for the monsters.

(So what exactly do you do about light sources in 4e?

Oh, I know - THE SUN SHINES OUT YOUR FRIGGIN' ASS. Brats.)

So Shelly wants her damn 5' squares, and she's not going to let this go:

“You know what would work really well?” I asked.
“Dungeon Tiles. I have some at my desk. Want me to
go get them?”
“No,” Chris said, pointing at me to sit down.
“You’re seeing exactly what you would see with the
amount of light you have.”
I was pondering the strangeness of making our
fantasy game so realistic when an unfamiliar voice
came from my right.
“Shaaaaaaaabulous is claaaaaaaaaustophic.”
“What’s happened to your voice?” I asked Laura.
Mark nodded sympathetically. “Dairy bubble?
Happens all the time.”
“Oh, no,” Laura said in a weird, affected, half-
British, half-theater-snob accent. “This is how
Shabulous talks.”
Chuck’s eyes got all wide. “Are you roleplaying?”
“OMG, I think I am!” she said.

GRRRRRRR WANT CAVE BEARS TO EAT THEM NOW NOW NOW

“Did our light source go out?” I asked. “Because
I’m not seeing anything helpful here.”
“You have to say that in Majeka’s voice,” Laura said.
“That’s why you can’t see anything.”
Mark agreed.
Okay, so they’ve both lost their minds, but hey, I
was a theater major. The problem is, I wasn’t a very
good theater major, so the only accent I can do is that
of the Count from Sesame Street. I use it for everything—
Italian, Southern, Elvish.
“Majeka looks up once, twice, three times. Ah, ah,
ah. And she still can’t see anything.”

RABID TROLLS. RIDING CAVE BEARS. WITH +5 GLAIVE-FAUCHARD-RANSEUR-GUISARMES OF IDIOT SLAYING.

We braced ourselves, because without the map
and the minis (and yeah, yeah, I know I’m harping on
this but it was new to me!) it really did feel like I was
stuck in a dark, dank dungeon with a flimsy spellbook
and some friends who speak with weird accents
and giggle uncontrollably.

RABID FIRE-BREATHING TROLL SHAMANS CASTING CLOUDKILL AND METEOR SWARM RIDING TARRASQUES WITH I.B.S. RIDING ANCIENT MAGIC-USING RED DRAGONS WHO HAVE HAD A VERY BAD DAY AND ARE LOOKING TO TAKE IT OUT ON SOMEONE.

Then, thank Kord, the drow show up to save us:

Chris continued. “Out of the darkness you see
three creatures rushing toward you.”
“You said they were trying to get away,” I said.
“Guess not.” He rolled more dice and concluded
that Fage had been clubbed over the head for 6
damage.
Okay, so far 1st Edition seems like it’s just the DM
doing lots of stuff to the players.

Well, yeah, when you're insisting on having your wine-swilling idiot characters wander around the Underdark with no light sources and the collective INT of a befuddled Gelatinous Cube.

But then, mirabile dictu, the stopped clock is right for once today, the blind pig finds an acorn, Hell freezes over and Majeka Pooflinger actually does something intelligent:

Let’s see what’s in Majeka’s spellbook.
I chose wall of fire and tried to describe my actions
to Chris as well as I could.
“I’ll cast this . . . back there . . . where the rest of
the drow priestesses and friends presumably are, in
hopes it will erupt into a giant wall of flames that
keeps us separated.”
Instead of the usual “Are you sure you want to do
that?” he says when I’m about to do something strategically
dubious, Chris looked a little dejected as he
nodded and said, “Go ahead.”
And get this: Not only did it work and do 23
damage to everyone caught in the blast, but it was
truly a good, strategic move.

And then the others unload a can of whoop-ass delicate pint jar of inconvenience on the three poor helpless drow and, just like that, the game is over with. Woot. I guess.

What was that, like thirty minutes? Sheesh. Just try getting through the first round of combat in 4e in thirty minutes. These morans had no idea what they were doing and yet managed to get a ways underground and fight an entire melee in that time.

In the cheese-loaded tradition of other comic endeavors from the 80's, we finish out with An Uplifting Message:

“I can’t believe how much I enjoyed that,” I told
him. “I feel like I was way more into it than usual.
Like my D&D just got more real.”
My mom always said there was a fantasy world in
my head. I thought she was only referring to soap-opera
characters and stuffed animals.
“See what happens when you’re forced to pay
attention?” he said.
I did, but more important, I was beginning to
understand what all those boys in the 80’s found so
appealing about D&D. The danger, the excitement,
the adventures as big as your imagination would let
them be. Seeing is believing.
Or, in this case, not seeing is.

And knowing is half the battle! Or not knowing. Or something. Gag.

I guess this was all intended to be funny, in a kind of oh-so-ironic hipper-than-thou Kewl Kidz way. I guess. 'Cause I don't see the funny.

There was an article back in The Space Gamer #48 called "The Balrog And The Finger Of Death", by W.G. Armintrout, about a battle with a Balrog with painted miniatures on a battlemat, as opposed to the old-old-old days of D&D and an epic battle against a pair of Balrogs and a last-minute Finger Of Death spell that pulled the delver's asses out of the fire. The older game was the one that they remembered and talked about, because it was the more involved one - the one where they used their imaginations to envision these monstrous creatures moving through "the cloying darkness". As Armintrout put it:

So what's the point of these two stories? Simply this: last week we pushed some lead figures on a plastic map and played a game inside a dungeon; but against those balrogs many years ago I had an adventure! One was just a game, the other was an experience.

Which says exactly what Shelly does, except without the condescension and patronizing and snickering at the poor deprived barbarians who had to struggle along their games with their wildly complex charts and character sheets and graph paper, in the dismal shadowy past before Dungeon Tiles and full-color hardcovers and Twitter buffs.

And said it back in 1982. You know, back when we played D&D wrong, before WOTC came along and showed us the full potential of the RPG experience.

Snerk.