Tagline: Return of the Eight is pathetic. The first Greyhawk product since the line was canceled, it suffers from trying to fill the needs of two diametrically opposed extremes.

This is the first time I really ripped a product to shreds. As a reviewer, there really is something incredibly satisfying about flaying a terrible product. In fact, you can easily see that some reviewers get so addicted to the hit of ripping into stuff that this becomes all that they do.

Hopefully, I’ve managed to keep a more balanced head on my shoulders over the years. But I’m also clearly not one of those namby-pambies who think reviewers should adhere to the already dubious maxim that “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”. If there is any profession where that maxim almost intrinsically does not apply, then it’s reviewing. I think you should be deeply suspicious of any reviewer who never has a bad thing to say.

Personally I looked forward with great anticipation to the return of the Greyhawk setting to the TSR line-up. When the line was canceled several years back I was among the protesters who thought this a bad idea. Greyhawk was your all-around “typical AD&D campaign world”, with good cause since it was one of the first. Its loss meant that you had very atypical settings (Ravenloft, Dark Sun, etc.), the super-powered Forgotten Realms, and the legend-oriented Dragonlance setting. Besides, there’s a lot of interesting stuff on Oerth – it may not have sold well in comparison to TSR’s other settings, but that might have had something to do with the fact that unlike the “three supplements a month” Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk was never adequately supported after Gygax’s departure from the company. Properly supported it would definitely, I thought (and continue to think), be a strong part of TSR’s line-up.

So when Peter Adkison and Wizards of the Coast announced that Greyhawk was to be brought back from the dead and properly supported I thought it was a great idea. When the product line was finally announced, I began looking forward eagerly to Return of the Eight, the first new Greyhawk product to be released since the line was canceled.

Having now read Return of the Eight I am bitterly disappointed, and have many unanswered questions, such as:

Why restart the Greyhawk setting with a module? Why use such terrible artwork? Why abandon all sensible lay-out? Why railroad the PCs? Why have caricatures for NPCs? Why abandon all logic in the final act? Why have an anticlimax? Why is there an elevator? But above all else…

What were they thinking?

WHAT YOU GET

Return of the Eight is a 64 page module written by Roger Moore. It begins in the city of Greyhawk a year after the end of the Greyhawk Wars. There’s a bunch of weird politics involved here, but you need a Greyhawk sourcebook which hasn’t been printed in half a decade in order to make sense of it all, so let’s cut to the chase: The Circle of Eight was a group of powerful wizards dedicated to fighting the good fight (these are the Good Guys). At the end of the Greyhawk Wars Ivid V (the Former Bad Guy) convinced one of the Eight (a bloke named Rary) to assassinate two other members of the Eight (Otiluke and Tenser). Simultaneously all of Tenser’s cloning material was destroyed, so he was really, really dead – there was no coming back this time. The really powerful wizard Mordenkainen even confirmed it through divination.

Which brings us to today when, naturally, Tenser is going to show up again. The Circle of Eight is attempting to reform itself and the PCs have the dubious pleasure of making acquaintances with one of them (a chick named Jallarzi). Now things get complicated again and you need that out-of-print sourcebook again. The demon Tuerny is involved in a plot with the witch Iggwilv and her son Iuz the Old (these are the Current Bad Guys). They corrupt Jallarzi and make it appear as if she has betrayed the Circle of Eight. Why they do this is never really explained, because the only thing it seems to accomplish is to lead the PCs and the Circle right to Tenser’s Castle – which is where these three hope to open a gate to one of Oerth’s moons and bring through their army within quick striking distance of the defenseless City of Greyhawk. Needless to say, the PCs go to Tenser’s Castle, go through the gate, and beat the bad guys.

Did I mention that for another unknown reason the Current Bad Guys activated Tenser’s cloning machinery on this moon of Oerth and cloned him, only to alter his clone into an extremely ugly, mute, blue-skinned midget? No? Well, I won’t. It’s too painful.

THE LAYOUT

The first odd thing that struck me about this product was the lay-out. The text is a nice, reasonably sized font and the margins aren’t too bad (the left, right, and bottom margins average less than an inch – but the top margin is about 3″ for no particular reason except that it allows them to interchange three repetitive sets of graphics over and over and over again).

But then it gets weird. If you’ve ever seen a GURPS manual you know exactly what this text in this module looks like – two columns, one narrow and the other wide. Except that in Return of the Eight that narrow column isn’t a sidebar – it’s just another column. Yes, that’s right – it’s two column text, but for no apparently good reason the columns are different widths. (What’s even more confusing is that after the first five pages the side on which the narrow column is located switches – I’m assuming this was just a lay-out error that nobody bothered to notice or fix.)

I initially thought someone had discovered that their word processing program could vary the widths of two-column text and thought, “Whoa! Cool!” and just hadn’t thought things through. What I learned later on was that all of the Greyhawk product line was to be laid out this way in order to give it a “distinctive look”.

This is even worse. There is nothing “distinctive” about this look – it looks just like a GURPS book. Except that in a GURPS book it actually serves a purpose!

(This plan has since been dropped because TSR’s customers pointed out that it was a really dumb layout technique. It will still infect the first few Greyhawk products, however.)

THE ART

The art in Return of the Eight is atrocious. The cover is not only downright ugly it is flat-out stupid – depicting the short, blue midget we will learn is actually Tenser inside grabbing onto the skirt of a buxom woman fighter (at least she isn’t wearing a chainmail bikini) and a male fighter with his shield and sword raised against this tiny, pathetic, blue midget. Meanwhile in the background about two feet away from the male fighter is a ten foot tall demon with four foot fangs. HELLO?! I don’t think the blue midget is the biggest problem you’re facing at this moment.

The interior art is no better. The poses are stiff and are helped little by the fact that the subject matter is so utterly boring and atrocious.

THE RAILROADING

The plot focuses on several key points:

1. The PCs must meet Jallarzi, her friend Marial, her pseudo-dragon Edwina, and another wizard named Warnes Starcoat all in the same evening in an amazingly contrived sequence.

2. One of the PCs must be hit on the head by Edwina falling out of the sky, which will lead to them discovering she was attacked, which will lead them to Jallarzi’s Tower.

3. The PCs must explore Jallarzi’s Tower.

4. The PCs must must go to Tenser’s Castle (not that anything they discovered in Jallarzi’s Tower will actually lead them to go there – they will be informed by Warnes that it is “obvious” they should go).

5. The PCs must must go through the gate to Oerth’s moon (not that they will have any clue why this is important).

6. The PCs must must defeat the Current Bad Guys and thwart their plans (not that there is any way for them to know who the Bad Guys are or what their plans were until after it’s all over).

As you may have gathered from all the “musts” above this is a fairly contrived plotline. It is made worse by the fact that Moore doesn’t even bother in many cases with pretexts to carry the PCs from one event to the next – they are either forced into the encounter (it just happens – for example, Edwina hits them on the head with no if’s, and’s, or but’s) or a handy NPC will say “go this way”.

Even odder to me is the transition between Act Two and Act Three – where the players leave Tenser’s Castle through a gate that takes them one of Oerth’s moons. Previously these PCs have been railroaded from one location and event to another, suddenly however there is no good explanation given for what happens. The gate in question is tucked in a back room of the keep and no particular importance is attached to it. In addition, Moore has gone out of his way to make it difficult to get through the gate – anyone entering the room is blown right back out again unless they really fight against it by the mysterious power of the gate. The problem here is that since the gate is not discussed as being important, no mention of dimension travel is made prior to this in the adventure, and the PCs are heartily discouraged from exploring that particular avenue. So why should they? My players said, “Right, Tenser the Mighty Magician doesn’t want us in there… let’s trust him.” After they had completely cleaned out Tenser’s Castle and were beyond irritation into downright frustration I eventually had to say, “Look, you’ve got to go through this gate so we can finish playtesting the adventure.” At which point we all commented how stupid it was to attach no importance to the gate and then make it nigh-to-impossible to get through, despite the fact that going through it is crucial to finishing the adventure.

It was initially pointed out to me that perhaps this was because the product line is being targeted towards “Old School” gamers who aren’t really interested in plots or character motivations, but just in dungeon-delving. I considered this awhile and then realized two things.

First, the “dungeons” (a Tower and a Keep) are pathetic for dungeon-delving – although there are several creature encounters that make no sense whatsoever. (How Tenser or Jallarzi live or lived in the places that are supposedly their homes is beyond me.)

Second, the plot revolves around highly complicated political intrigue that you need footnotes to figure out (particularly since the PCs will never be informed of what the hell is going on until it’s all over).

Perhaps it suffers from trying to be both — a story-oriented adventure, but with all the trappings of classic dungeon-delving. Whatever the case, it is among the worst examples of either I have ever seen.

THE MAPS

Now we come to another design flaw of the product – the location of the maps (as well as the occasional absence of maps).

First there is a map of the first floor of Jallarzi’s Tower inside the front cover, and a map of the second and third floors inside the back cover. These are very nicely done – detailed and highlighted in a style reminiscent of watercolors. On page 10 we have an exterior view of Jallarzi’s Tower, showing us what it looks like and how it all fits together – this little illustration tells us that the tower has six floors. We can only hope that the PCs never attempt to venture beyond the third floor because not only are no details of these floors provided, but no maps are either.

Moving onto Tenser’s Castle is where we begin to encounter serious problems. The castle and the approach to the castle are detailed in 8 maps scattered throughout the text describing various locations in the castle. This would be really handy… if whoever had placed the maps had done so with some relation to the text. Indeed, the order of the maps proceeds very naturally (1st through 7th floor, than the lower levels in order).

LOOK FOR THEM WHERE?

My other favorite trick with Return of the Eight is the manner in which they reference OOP products as if everyone had them. This feature of TSR’s modules (telling you where to find the complete write-ups for the monsters and NPCs they provide iterative stats for) is usually quite handy, allowing you to find out more information. I found it quite infuriating, however, when no useful information is given to me (requiring me to look it up if I am to use the creature or NPC in question) and the references point me towards:

Greyhawk Adventures. A 1st edition product that has been out of print for at least a decade.

The guide from the 1983 World of Greyhawk boxed set.

The Rogue’s Gallery. A 1980 product that no one has ever heard of.

Monster Manual II. A first edition product that has been out of print since 1989.

The oddest reference was to either The Dancing Hut of Baba Yaga (1995) or “The Dancing Hut”, from Dragon issue #83 (March 1984). Not only is it an odd reference, but it’s completely outside of Greyhawk.

The worst reference? D&D Original Set Supplement III, Eldritch Wizardry. Although you could also look that one up in the first edition DMG as well.

There are other examples as well, but they usually aren’t so bad – pointing to products which were still produced just before Greyhawk went defunct, or which discussed the monster or NPC in enough detail that I did not actually need the reference. What puzzled me most was that the more likely it was that the reader would actually own the material in question, the more detail was given in the text. The more obscure the reference, the less information given.

LOOK UP AT THE SKY STUPID!

Act III, as already noted, takes place on one Oerth’s moons. The DM is cautioned multiple times and in great severity to not let the players in on this secret – do not tell them explicitly that they are no longer on Oerth, and only “let them slowly discover they are not” there.

My first reaction to this was: “If someone dropped me on a moon the first thing I’m going to notice is looking up into the sky and saying, ‘Hmmm… I wonder why there’s a big planet hanging up there instead of the moon I’m used to.’”

AN ELEVATOR?!

In Tenser’s castle there is an elevator. It is referred to as “The Great Lift”, but it is operated by pushing a button and it even has a chime. About the only thing that is missing is a set of bombs to take out the cables, and another set to take out the breaks if someone doesn’t pay a million dollar ransom.

Maybe the sequel to Return of the Eight will feature Teurny, Iggwilv, and Iuz planting a magical bomb on a chariot. If the chariot drops below 10 mph…

An elevator.

In a fantasy setting.

What were they thinking?

CONCLUSION

About the best thing you can say about Return of the Eight is that they were attempting to appeal to two very dichotomous groups of gamers – the role-oriented gamers and the hack-oriented gamers (and the latter should not be taken as an insult) – and they failed.

The worst thing you can say about Return of the Eight is…

What were they thinking?

This is an abysmal way to re-introduce the Greyhawk line (about the only thing I can figure out is that they though it would be “cool” to have product with the word “return” in the title to signal the “return of Greyhawk”). I have much higher hopes for future products in the line, but this is not a good start.

Stay away from this product. You’ll do nothing but waste $14 that could have been spent on something far more worth your while.

Style: 2
Substance: 1

Title: Greyhawk: Return of the Eight
Writers: Roger Moore
Publisher: TSR/Wizards of the Coast
Price: $13.95
Page Count: 64
ISBN: 0-7869-1247-2
Originally Published: 1998/07/29

I actually don’t mind a little science fantasy in my D&D fantasy. I’ve always been a fan of Tekumel and S3 Expedition to the Barrier Peaks currently appears in my OD&D hexcrawl campaign, for example. But I do tend to like it to possess a strong fantasy flavor (like Monte Cook’s chaositech, for example). And that elevator from Return of the Eight still sticks in my craw. I think the problem is that it’s such a wholehearted anachronism. I don’t have any problem with the idea of Tenser having a floating platform in the middle of his citadel — he is, after all, the creator of Tenser’s floating disc — but for it to literally be a modern elevator just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

For an explanation of where these reviews came from and why you can no longer find them at RPGNet, click here.

In a comment on my very old review of Fading Suns, Potato asked me to provide a rundown of how I put together my system cheat sheets for RPGs: “It sounds like a good way to get a grasp of the rules when learning/trying out a new system.”

He’s absolutely right about that. And the cheat sheets themselves, of course, also make great references at the table for both you and the players.

BULLET POINTS

My goal is to make the system cheat sheet comprehensive. That means including all the rules. Often I see cheat sheets that just cover the basic stuff that’s used all the time. But that’s actually the stuff I’m least likely to need cheat sheets for because it’s quickly memorized through repetition.

Obviously, this requires that I both cut down the amount of space the rules take up and the amount of time it takes to read and understand those rules. The quickest way to accomplish this, in my experience, is through the use of concise bullet points.

For example, here’s a chunk of rules text from the second edition of Heavy Gear:

The Silhouette system uses everyday six-sided dice to add a random element to the game. These are sometimes referred to as “1d6” in the rules, “2d6” for two dice, 3d6 for three, and so on. The same die rolling convention is used for both the roleplaying and wargaming aspects of the rules, so this is not repeated in the respective rule sections.

When two or more dice are rolled simultaneously, their results are not added together. Instead, the highest result is considered to be the outcome of the die roll. If more than one “6” is rolled, each extra “6” adds one (1) to the total. If every die rolled turns up “1”, the die roll is a Fumble and counts as an overall result of zero and no modifiers may change this value. Unless specifically mentioned otherwise, all die rolls work this way.

The totals of die rolls are often influenced by modifiers. Modifiers are added to the total of a die roll. If negative modifiers lower the total below zero, the final result is always zero and cannot go any lower. Modifiers are not applied to Fumbles.

A Fumble is a mistake or mishap that cause the failure of the action attempted. It is not necessarily caused by an error or the incompetence of the character, and may well be the result of environmental factors. No matter what caused the Fumble, however, the total die roll is always zero.

In the tactical game, Fumbles produce clear results. This is hardly the case in the roleplaying rules due to the mind-boggling number of possible actions and outcomes. The effects of each separate roleplaying Fumble must thus be described by the Gamemaster. In general, the harder the task attempted, the greater the effect of the Fumble.

This is then followed by an equally lengthy section listing various examples. Using bullet points, all of this is simplified on my cheat sheet down to the major points:

• Roll Xd6: Result = highest die +/- modifiers. (Cannot be < 0.)
  • Additional Sixes: Each additional 6 = +1 to total.
  • Fumble: If all dice = 1, result = 0 (no modifiers).

Short and sweet. Using the same technique, I’m able to squeeze the next three pages of rules into a quarter page of my cheat sheet.

DON’T INCLUDE OPTION CHUNKS

The exception to my “include everything” methodology are what I used to refer to as the “character option chunks” in the system: Feats. Disadvantages. Spells. Powers. Weapons. That sort of thing. Any small packets of specialized mechanics that are only invoked if the character has selected that packet.

These days I think of it as invoking the “power card principle”. It’s not that having a quick reference for these rule chunks isn’t useful. It’s just that it’s more useful for those chunks to be included on individual character sheets, character-specific cheat sheets, or reference cards.

To boil that down: If everybody (or nearly everybody) uses a rule, it goes on the system cheat sheet. If not, put it on the character’s sheet or in the NPC’s stat block.

REMOVE CLARIFICATION AND ADVICE

Well-written rulebooks include a lot of clarification and advice. This is good: It helps you to both learn and implement the rules effectively.

But when you’re prepping your cheat sheets, you want to jettison all of that. For example, here’s a chunk of text from Technoir:

Adjectives are open to interpretation. They are part of a language we use in the game to collaboratively tell stories. Adjectives have  a couple of designations to help us agree on how they affect our characters.

Adjectives can be applied to a character directly — representing her physical or psychological state — or to an object belonging to a character — representing its physical condition or the state of its electronics and software.

Adjectives can be positive or negative. These determine how the adjective affects the dice you roll. This process is explained in the “Rolling Dice” section starting on page 92.

A positive adjective can help the character who has it. They allow you to add Push dice to your roll. They are written in the positive column of adjectives on the protagonist sheet or stat block.

A negative adjective usually hinders the character who has it. They force you to add Hurt dice to you roll. They are written in the negative column of adjectives on the protagonist sheet or stat block. Sometimes they may only apply to a part of the body — like a broken arm or a shattered kneecap. In these cases, write the body part in parenthesis next to the adjective. Sometimes they apply to an object the character has. In these cases, draw a line from the adjective to the object.

This is all good stuff. But on my cheat sheet, it boils down to:

• Hurt Dice = negative adjectives
• Push Dice = can be discharged for each adjective, object, or tag

Where to draw the line of inclusion/exclusion can occasionally get a little blurry. For example, in my Heavy Gear cheat sheets I didn’t include the table of Typical Thresholds (3 = Easy, 6 = Difficult, etc.) because I felt like it was a useful guideline that I didn’t necessarily need to reference during play. You might feel differently.

REORGANIZING

The last thing I do when putting together a system cheat sheet is to avail myself of the opportunity to reorganize the rules.

The truth is most RPG manuals suck when it comes to organization. Related rules will end up smeared across a half dozen different chapters, forcing you to flip madly back and forth while trying to adjudicate situations at the game table. This sucks, so take this opportunity to group material together in a way that makes sense when running the game. (And, as much as possible, try to keep all the relevant rules on a single page or two so that you can look at the totality of them simultaneously.)

Unfortunately, there are no hard-and-fast rules for this sort of thing. It’s more an art than a science, and it’s mostly a matter of common sense.

REVISE

After playing a session or two, revisit your cheat sheet: Was there stuff you missed? Stuff that could be phrased better? Stuff that should be cut? Stuff that should be moved around?

Do it. Print a new copy. Repeat until you’ve refined your cheat sheet into a lean, mean running machine.

EXAMPLES

As a couple of examples, click through for the RTF cheat sheets I put together for the first edition of Fading Suns (more than a decade ago) and Technoir (a couple weeks ago). For the latter, however, you might want to also grab the official (free) Player’s Guide, which I discovered actually does a really fantastic job of cheat sheeting the system.

From At Home: A Short History of Private Life by Bill Bryson:

Meanwhile, not everyone was happy with the loss of open hearths. Many people missed the drifting smoke and were convinced they had been healthier when kept “well kippered in smoke”, as one observer put it… Above all, people complained that they weren’t nearly as warm as before, which was true. Because fireplaces were so inefficient, they were constantly enlarged. Some became so enormous that they were built with benches in them, letting people sit inside the fireplace, almost the only place in the house where they could be really warm.

Not much to add here except to say that the idea of a fireplace so large that it has benches inside of it sounds like exactly the sort of thing that I would add to a fantasy campaign in order to give it a touch of the “unworldly”. (Or just flat-out gonzo-ness if I’m not feeling pretentious.)

But apparently history has beaten me to the punch.

So let’s punch it up a notch: We’ll put the same architecture into a giant’s castle, resulting in a fireplace so large that entire trees are rooted up and thrown in whole. Often the leaves are left right on the trees, creating thick smokes. But the giants don’t seem to mind, and even ascribe various medicinal or hallucinogenic qualities to the leaves of various tree-stocks. (And perhaps there’s truth for it as far as the giants are concerned.)

I talked a bit about Technoir‘s resolution mechanics over here and I’ll probably have more to say about them once I’ve had a chance to experience the game as a player. In the meantime, however, I’ve run the game three times for three different groups in the last two weeks. That’s a lot of gaming, and it’s being driven by my excitement in engaging with the other half of Technoir‘s system: Plot mapping.

(It is also, coincidentally, reminding me why I love open tables. I now have three groups each featuring a dangling story that I need to schedule follow-up sessions for. I’m loving the game. I am not enjoying the schedule wrangling.)

Scenario prep in Technoir takes the form of transmissions (three of which are included in the rulebook, with additional transmissions being made available on the game’s website). Each transmission consists of six connections, six events, six factions, six locations, six objects, and six threats.

Connections are major NPCs. During character creation, each player will select three of these connections as personal contacts (friends, comrades, love interests, professional associates, etc.). Events, locations, and objects are pretty much exactly what they sound like. Factions are powerful groups with ideologies to push and goals to pursue. Threats are NPCs or groups of NPCs who can be used by factions or connections to come after the PCs.

Each transmission comes with a 6×6 master grid, allowing you to randomly generate one of these nodes by rolling 2d6. And you start your plot map by generating three of these nodes and connecting them to each other.

For example, taking the Kilimanjaro Ring transmission from the rulebook, I randomly generate:

(1) Tanzanian Reclamation (Faction): One of the more well-known anti-Beanstalk, anti-European terrorist groups.

(2) Temptation (Connection): A dancer and escort at Shadows Under Camelot.

(3) Union Protest (Event): An inflamed uprising of summit workers armed with construction equipment.

And draw them on the center of a blank sheet like this:

Looking at this for a minute or so, I figure out what the connection between these three elements are: Temptation is sleeping with the vice chairman of the newly-formed Union of Summit Workers who are laboring on the orbital beanstalk sprouting from Mt. Kilimanjaro.  He’s married and the Tanzanian Reclamation is using the relationship to blackmail him. He gives them access to the site of the union protest and Tanzanian Reclamation uses that access to bomb the protest. Their goal is to further destabilize the relationship between the government and the laborers working on the beanstalk.

This leaves us with a lot of unanswered questions, but that’s more than okay. I will, however, jot down a couple quick notes:

Is Temptation working with Tanzanian Reclamation willingly or unwillingly?

Next step is to gain access to the actual build site and bomb that.

This is referred to as the mission seed and it gives you the core of your first scenario.

Over the course of play there are a number of simple mechanisms which will add additional nodes to your plot map. As you do so, the new nodes will “tell” you more and more about what’s going on. (For example, let’s say that I later generate the Construction Zone Identcard. Given the seed I’ve put together, it doesn’t take much effort to connect that card to the Tanzanian Reclamation and conclude that it’s the card they’ll use to access the construction zone for their next bombing. The more interesting question is where, exactly, that card came from. And the plot map will probably get around to telling me that, too.)

…AND THE THREE CLUE RULE

Once play begins, the core method of adding new nodes to the plot map is pretty simple: “A protagonist can lean on her connections for information. She may be attempting to find some opportunity she can take advantage of or get further details of a plot she’s started to learn about. When this happens, have her player roll a die and consult that connection’s table. Add the resulting node to your plot map and draw a line from it to another node already on your map. Once you have done this, take on the persona of the connection as he clues the protagonist in to the existence of this new node and how it relates to the node you linked it to.”

This mechanic, obviously, models the noir genre trope of a detective hitting up his contacts until something in the case shakes loose.

And, ultimately, all of this works in play because of the Three Clue Rule.

What made it striking for me, I think, is the numerical similarity: Three clues. Three nodes in the mission seed. Three connections per PC.

I’m not saying that Jeremy Keller was actually familiar with the Three Clue Rule or deliberately trying to emulate it when he designed Technoir. But the Three Clue Rule arose from actual play experience, and it works because of the same fundamental principles of redundancy which are being applied here.

Take a moment to really look at how the plot map functions: Think of each node in the initial mission seed as a conclusion that the PCs need to reach. (For example, in our sample mission seed, they need to figure out that Temptation is involved.) Unlike traditional scenario design, however, the GM doesn’t need to worry about seeding his first scene with three clues for the PCs to pursue. Instead, each of the PCs comes prepackaged with three clues (there’s the rule) that they can follow up on in the form of their connections.

Even if you only have one PC, the clues manage themselves: They hit up one of their connections (exhausting a clue), but the connection points them in the direction of a node which is now connected to the mission seed.  That connection is functionally identical to a clue itself, which means that you’ve restocked the PC’s clue supply. And as soon as they hit a node connected to two or more nodes (like those in the mission seed), they’ll have a surplus of clues.

In actual practice, you’ll have multiple PCs and a huge “clue buffer” of connections to fall back on as the plot map grows in complexity and additional mysteries are added to compound the original enigma. So even if the GM doesn’t liberally strew around additional clues (although why wouldn’t they?), engage in permissive clue-finding (which the game encourages), or include proactive clues (which is exactly what threats are designed for), the game will still default into a success state.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

I’ve been using node-based scenario design for years now (with “node” in this context having a slightly different meaning). In practice, node-based scenario design is a flexible framework for leveraging the basic principles of the Three Clue Rule into a simple-to-prep structure which nevertheless results in complex, non-linear play.

On a personal level, what I find deeply intriguing about Technoir‘s plot mapping is that it is a radically different structure for achieving the same thing. And because it’s a different structure, of course, it has unique strengths and weaknesses — allowing you to accomplish things that node-based scenario design doesn’t (and vice versa).

(For example, as I mentioned, the Technoir system is very effective at allowing players to proactively hit up their contacts like noir detectives. Accomplishing that using node-based scenario design would either require a lot of redundant prep for each contact or a narrow constriction of player choice.)

And unlike the adjective-based resolution mechanics, it should be noted that it is absolutely trivial to take the plot mapping mechanics in Technoir and apply them to another system. Even if you have no interest in the game’s setting or its innovative resolution mechanics, I’d still recommend picking up a copy of the rulebook just to get access to the full system for plot mapping (which I’m only describing in general terms here).

The interesting question now is simple: What other structures can we use to leverage the redundant principles of the Three Clue Rule? Of particular interest would be those structures which maintain simple, straight-forward prep which can still result in complex emergent play.

Tagline: Fading Suns is AD&D in space, but it keeps the best parts and gets rid of the worst. Its system is much like what AD&D could have become if it had kept pace with the rest of the industry and its setting combines the best of pulp sci-fi and moody Dark Age fantasy. Fading Suns is flawed only by a surprisingly poor organization.

Writing reviews for RPGNet is what first taught me rudimentary HTML coding skills, and it started with this review. (I know this because my original copy of this review is a Word document filled with HTML coding.) The reason for this was simple: My reviews were getting longer and more complex (I’ll talk about this a little more at the end of the review), and I needed to use HTML coding in order to format the reviews into something that could actually be read. So it wasn’t just a new set of skills: It was also a burgeoning understanding that format and structure is important in clear communication.

Fading Suns is a game full of surprises – not all of them good.

When I first read through the game I was pleasantly surprised by a background which teemed with exciting possibilities and unexplored avenues, by a rule set which seemed simple and well conceived, and by evocative and primally powerful artwork. It was a package which was surprisingly well done and with quality material inside it. I sat down to prepare a properly enthusiastic two-thumbs-up, five-star review.

In doing a review of a main rulebook the first thing I prepare are my “cheat sheets” for the game. These cheat sheets summarize all the rules of the system – from character creation to basic resolution to combat resolution to any optional, secondary rulesets (for disease, etc.) that might be used by the system in question. I also include the game’s lists (skill list, equipment list, etc.). I can then use these “cheat sheets” to both create characters for the game and also to run the game in question. They are exceptionally useful, and I have also found that in preparing a review for the game they improve my explanation of the basic mechanics and help me put my thoughts in order so that I don’t just ramble on and on.

In creating the cheat sheets for Fading Suns, however, I began running into some rather unpleasant surprises. The rules are not well laid out or organized. There are combat rules in the character creation section, and character creation rules in the combat section. Crucial information for running combat is relegated to what appears to be a summary sidebar and poorly explained. Repeatedly through-out the creation of the cheat sheet I would find myself mysteriously leaving the sheet devoted to combat in order to return to character creation because I had stumbled across yet another rule which properly belonged in a chapter fifty to one hundred pages earlier.

When I first read through Fading Suns I was struck by its similarities to the AD&D game. In my mind the setting (a mix of feudalism, fantasy, and pulp science fiction) was the best “AD&D/fantasy in space” I’ve seen in a long time. The rule mechanic (based around a d20) looks much like what AD&D might’ve looked like if the designers at TSR had kept abreast of industry developments during the past 20 years. The two magic systems (Psi and Theurgy) looked much like what AD&D’s magic systems would look like if the problems were fixed (they are based on levels of ability, but use a much more logical system of usage). Fading Suns, in my mind, was everything AD&D could have been and should be in a space setting. It’s as if Holistic Design is actually a company from another dimension in which AD&D is actually a good system in comparison with other systems on the market today and they are merely licensing it from TSR in order to create this game.

After spending 12 hours of work creating the cheat sheets for the game (which normally takes me no more than 3-4 hours), I decided they had also decided to emulate AD&D’s editors. Rules and information scattered wherever it had “first occurred” to the designers, and then kept there through iteration after iteration of the rules. At first glance Fading Suns seems to be a book which is well organized, but in actually attempting to access that information (either in gameplay or for the creation of my cheat sheets) you discover a distinct lack of intuitiveness about where information is placed and some downright stupid omissions from charts which are supposedly central reference points. Fortunately there is an index, but this doesn’t wholly solve the problem because you will still be thwarted in some situations because you continually receive the impression you’ve gotten all the rules for covering a certain situation, but in actuality there is still one rule floating around 50 pages away from where all the other rules for this situation are located.

Fading Suns still receives my approval, but be aware of this poor lay-out and organization of material. Keep in mind that you’re going to have to be well-versed in this material (or create the equivalent of my cheat sheets and organize the information yourself) unless you want to have frustrating delays during game play while you try to track down a rule.

MECHANICS

The Fading Suns rules are elegant and simple. Character Creation is based on the selection of a Character Role and the expenditure of points in different areas. Resolution (combat and otherwise) is based around a single d20 roll with the degree of success or failure specifically interpreted by the ruleset.

These mechanics, as mentioned, are difficult to get a firm grasp on because of the way in which they are presented. However, once you’ve got that grasp I believe you’ll find them to be an incredibly simple, but powerful, set of tools for your roleplaying sessions.

CHARACTER CREATION

Character creation is a six-step process, only five of which actually have anything to do with rules.

Step one is practically a given, but it’s still nice to see game designers specifically mention it for any new players out there: You have to formulate a character concept (who your character is, what they’ve done, etc.)

Step two is the selection of your character’s Role. The first thing that crosses your mind as you enter this section of the rules is, “Oh my god, it’s a class system.” As you begin to look at what’s being done here though, you become impressed by the way in which it is being handled. Don’t think of these Roles as classes, think of them more as mandatory templates. First, they are much more basic in the degree to which they define your character. Second, they don’t restrict your options as to which directions you wish your character to develop. Finally, because they are tailored for a very specific and limited setting they don’t present a problem. Again, it’s as if AD&D’s class system had been repaired. (Although, actually, it’s more like BECMI D&D’s class system because non-human races are treated as separate roles – again, it works because of the way the setting is constructed.)

Step three is the selection and buying of Characteristics. The characteristics are split into three groups (Body, Mind, Spirit). There are three Body characteristics (Strength, Dexterity, and Endurance) and three Mind characteristics (Wits, Perception, Tech). Spirit characteristics are split into four pairs — Extrovert vs. Introvert, Passion vs. Calm, Faith vs. Ego, and Human vs. Alien. You receive 20 points to split between the characteristics (on a one-for-one correspondence). Body and Mind characteristics start with a base of 3. The player must decide which one of Spirit characteristics in each pair is primary for his character – that characteristic starts at 3 while the opposing characteristic starts at 1 (except for Alien, which starts at 0 if it is secondary). No characteristic can be bought above level 10, but there is a further stipulation that no pair of Spirit characteristics can total more than 10 together.

Step four is the selection of skills. Fading Suns is a broad-based skill system (meaning that each individual skill covers a great deal of territory). The player receives 30 points to split among skills (again, on a one-for-one basis). Learned skills start at a base of 0, but there are several Natural skills (dodge, etc.) that practically everyone knows and these start at a base of 3.

Step five is the selection of Benefices and Afflictions. These are basically advantages and disadvantages, with a couple of setting-specific twists. Only 10 points can be spent on Benefices, but Afflictions naturally give more points for additional Benefices.

Step six is the expenditure of “extra points”. 40 extra points are given and then used to flesh out the various aspects of the character in any way which the player chooses. In addition to the stuff mentioned above, extra points can also be spent to purchase psychic or theurgic powers (magic) and specific fighting techniques.

There’s some other minor calculations to be carried out (figuring out Vitality for combat and Wyrd for psychics), but that’s character creation in a nutshell. It is a very simple system – reminiscent of AD&D, GURPS, and the World of Darkness games all at the same time. There are some oddities with the chapters which detail both the process of character creation and the specifics of characteristics and skills.

First, there is a bonus to damage inflicted during hand-to-hand combat which is based on the Strength characteristic. Why is it listed here, but not in the Combat chapter? There’s no practical use to it being located here (there’s nothing you write down on the character sheet), and every logical reason for it to be included in the combat section (where all the other rules you’ll be referencing during combat are included).

Second, and more annoying, is the fact that Skills and Characteristics are lumped into a single chapter entitled “Traits”. Referring to these two facets of character quantification under a single title makes sense for FUDGE (which treats them identically for all intents and purposes), but doesn’t make any sense for a game like Fading Suns in which they are treated entirely differently from each other. Using the term “trait” (which has no real meaning in the system) adds an unnecessary layer of complexity and possible confusion. Organizing both skills and characteristics into a single chapter without definition between them (despite the fact that the system treats them distinctly from each other) is simply confusing.

BASIC MECHANICS

The basic resolution mechanic of Fading Suns is cunningly designed to absolutely minimize the modifications and additions which must be made to it in order to handle combat.

The first step is to determine initiative (if necessary) – this is done by comparing the skill levels of everyone who is attempting to go faster than everyone else. Hence, the more skilled you are in something the faster you will be able to do it – if you’re doing something you are very skilled in and the other person is not, you’re going to be able to do it faster than the other person and hence get a chance to go first. It’s a very nice system which, in a few decoy runs I performed, seemed to create a very nice effect – particularly when two people are trying to use the same skill against each other (swordfighting for example). A slight problem immediately crops up here, however. In the case of ties the Wits characteristic of the two characters is consulted – whoever has the highest Wits rating will go first. If the comparison of Wits again results in a tie, the two actions are considered to happen simultaneously.

Wits?

Wits?

There is a certain sort of tenuous logic there, but wouldn’t Dexterity make a far more logical choice in determining the speed with which you respond? If you felt that created unrealistic results for cerebral activities I could see making the rule “compare Dexterity if the action is physical, compare Wits if the action is mental” – but if you’re going to choose one or the other (presumably for expediency and simplicity) it makes far more sense to choose Dexterity since you know the initiative system is going to be most often used in combat situations.

The next step is to determine the Goal Number for a specific action. You determine this by adding the character’s skill and the character’s characteristic together. You then roll a d20 in an attempt to roll lower than the Goal Number.

Now, as you may have already guessed, it is time to determine how successfully your character performed. In Fading Suns you accomplish this by merely looking at the number which was rolled – did you roll a 17 and succeed? You have 17 successes. Did you roll a 6 and succeed? You have 6 successes.

That may confuse some of you momentarily, but a moment’s reflection will show that it produces the same results as adding or subtracting numbers to determine a margin of success or failure – it may be a little more intuitive for some than that method, and for others it will probably be a little less. You are still more likely to succeed better if your skill-characteristic combination is high than if your skill-characteristic combination is low (since if you have a combination of only 10 you can never get 17 successes).

This interesting approach, however, does allow for an interesting set of optional rules which Fading Suns refers to as “Accents”. Essentially you either throw a lot of power into an action at the loss of expertise (making success less likely, but if you do succeed it will be more powerful) or you attempt to finesse your way through the situation with the loss of some power (making it more likely to succeed, but less powerful when you do). Essentially you decide to apply a positive or negative modifier (no greater than the skill level of the action you’re attempting) to your goal roll – if you choose to give yourself a positive modifier you make it less likely that you will succeed, but the success will be better if you do succeed. If you give yourself a negative modifier you will be more likely to succeed, but that success will be less effective.

When it is necessary to determine exactly how effective your success was (in combat for the purposes of calculating damage, for example) you compare the number of successes you received to the Victory Chart. The Victory Chart translates the number of successes into either Victory Points (which are primarily useful in determining sustained actions) or Effects Dice. You then roll the number of Effects Dice against a Goal Number of 13, counting the number of dice which succeed (not the total number of successes across all rolls). You can also choose to pull your punch and reduce the number of Effects Dice you use.

There are also some other, minor rules which effect this roll. Automatic success takes place on a roll of 1, automatic failure on a roll of 19, a critical failure on a roll of 20, differing rules for sustained actions (you have to receive a certain number of Victory Points before success is achieved), contested actions (whoever gets more successes), etc.

Finally, critical successes in Fading Suns occur when the number rolled on the d20 is identical to the Goal Number (recognizing that no number on a d20 is more likely to come up than any other). As the designers, say, the difference between a critical success for a fledgling musician and a critical success for Beethoven is that when the fledgling musician gets a critical success he manages to get through the high school concert and get a standing ovation. When Beethoven gets a critical success, he composes the 9th Symphony.

COMBAT

As I mentioned the combat system is a very natural extension of the basic resolution system, doing exactly what a combat system should do – providing rules for keeping track of damage done to your character and providing guidelines of sufficient strictness so that arguments over a section of the game with potentially “deadly” results are eliminated or at least kept to a minimum.

This extremely effective system, however, is presented in the most bizarre manner possible. Of the three step procedure to combat action resolution (Initiative, Goal Roll, and Damage Roll) only one is actually discussed in the main text – Initiative (which is identical to normal initiative which is described earlier in the book, but receives an equally detailed, reworded treatment). The rest of combat resolution is never discussed in the main text and is, instead, relegated to a sidebar located 2-3 pages into the chapter. Anyone familiar with other roleplaying games will immediately recognize this sidebar as the ever present “quick combat order reference” found in many games – except that in Fading Suns it is the only reference.

As a result of this short treatment the elements of combat are not well explained. This isn’t a tragic loss, since the system is merely an extension of the basic resolution system. As a result two of three steps (Initiative and the Goal Roll) are identical. The resolution of Damage, though, takes a bit of work. I had to read through the twelve half-lines of material several times before I was fairly sure I had understood what I was supposed to do. If I was successful, damage supposedly works like this:

After rolling a successful Goal Roll you determine how many Damage Dice you get. This is determined by adding the Weapon’s Damage Dice to the number of Victory Points you scored on your Goal Roll (multiply this number by 2 if you scored a critical success). You then roll the damage dice against a Goal Number of 13 – each die which rolls a success means that one point of damage was done (do not count the number of successes – count the number of dice which succeeded).

Damage which the character actually incurs is then determined by subtracting the armor value of the victim from the damage done, and subtracting that total from the victim’s Vitality. Vitality is basically a hit point system. For those who have developed a phobia against hit points from AD&D, be pacified. Since the number of hit points doesn’t inflate, it acts essentially like a standard wound level system minus the paperwork and a little bit of the so-called accuracy of wound level systems.

The remainder of the Fading Suns combat rules are dedicated to discussing specific actions, movement, and modifiers to combat goal numbers. To avoid the common complaint against World of Darkness games, actions have been specifically defined as to what attribute determines them. This creates an Action Chart which I personally find annoying, but which is the only way to solve the “problems” the Storyteller engine supposedly possesses.

Now we move into the oddities of this combat system. First, when more damage is done to a character in a single blow than his Endurance rating, the character must make an Endurance + Vigor check in order to stay conscious – if he succeeds he is stunned, if he fails he is knocked unconscious for a number of rounds equal to the amount of damage taken. This sounds pretty good, but doesn’t work. 15 seconds of proper playtesting (or just a little critical reading) would reveal that although you have made it more difficult to knockout a person with high endurance, you have also guaranteed that a person with higher endurance will tend to stay unconscious longer on average than a person with lower endurance. The rule should read “unconscious for a number of round equal to the amount of damage taken minus the victim’s endurance”.

The details on weapons (damage done, etc.) is presented, as in most games, in a series of charts. For reasons unknown the order of the columns in 1 of these charts was changed from the order in which this information is presented in all the other charts. Brilliant.

Finally, the largest idiocy of the entire game is found in “Chapter Six: Combat” – and it was the one which finally pushed me over the edge into broadly condemning the game as having been the victim of poor organization. Fading Suns handles Martial Arts, Fencing, and special actions with firearms (reloading, burst shots, etc.) by assigning special “actions” which must be learned in addition to the basic applicable skill at varying levels of difficulty. For example, you might possess a skill level of 5 in Fencing, but you’d only be able to attempt a Feint (which first requires a skill level of 5 in Fencing) if you had bought it. (The exception to this are the Firearm Actions, which only require possession of the appropriate level in the Shooting skill.)

This actually works quite nicely, here’s the problem: This is the only place in the rules these things are mentioned. All the rules for purchasing these things (both at character creation and during character advancement) are located here – and are not referenced in the handy tables three chapters earlier which supposedly summarize the point costs for all elements of character creation and advancement. The full descriptions for each action are also located here, instead of where they logically belong (back in the Skills section). It makes sense to have the entries for these actions on the Action Charts – it makes no sense to make this place the depository for this information, any more than it would make sense to put combat-related skills in this section.

Nonetheless, once you have worked your way around these impediments to your comprehension you find an elegant combat system which is easily and intuitively built off the basic resolution system in such a way that there is really very little definition between the two except in the degree of strictness in which they are applied. (I would have done without the Action Charts, but that’s just my personal opinion.)

PSI AND THEURGY

The Psychic and Theurgic powers of the Fading Suns game can be summed up in four words: “AD&D magic done right.”

The central mechanic of both these systems are an opposed occult characteristic (Psi vs. Urge and Theurgy vs. Hubris – though this has to be inferred from context and from the character sheet because it is never explicitly explained in the text) and Wyrd points. Wyrd points are determined at character creation in various ways and can be used in non-psychic/theurgic functions as well. For a psychic they are determined from the Extrovert or Introvert characteristic (whichever is primary), for the theurgic they are determined from the Faith.

Psychic powers are split into various paths – along each path there are powers at nine discreet levels of power (there is also a 10th level, but it is not defined in the rules). To progress along a path you must buy a power at each level (so to learn a 7th level power you must first possess at least one power at each of the levels between 1 and 6). Using a Psychic requires the expenditure of a variable number of Wyrd points (depending on the power in question and the type of effect desired) and a goal roll.

There is a catch, however, a dark side to Psychic powers. This is known as the Urge, and it is a dark twin of the character. If the character ever fumbles a Psi roll, the Urge takes control of the character. There are several ways in which the character can attempt to take control back from the Urge twin, but if he fails the Urge twin will grow stronger by the attempts. The Urge possesses its own path of twisted, dark psi powers.

The Psi vs. Urge characteristics doesn’t behave quite like other opposed characteristics. It is possible to have a total Psi + Urge higher than 10. To accomplish that the character must “face his Urge” – roleplaying through a scenario and rolling some dice to see if he was successful in overcoming the Urge and improving his psychic potential. It is also possible to lose or increase Urge through actions which you take.

Theurgy is handled similarly, but differently from Psi. If Psi powers are most analogous to magic spells in AD&D (with “paths” instead of “circles” and a logical methodology behind the system), then Theurgy is akin to priestly magic in AD&D. Again, Fading Suns gets right everything that AD&D gets wrong.

Theurgic Rituals are also divided into various paths of learning – but each of these paths is unique to one sect of the Church. Theurgy also adds the mechanics of Components and Vestments. Components can be Liturgy (spoken words), Gestures, or Prayer (meditation). Vestments are various relics of the individual’s faith and belief that improve his chances of success in requesting the Pancreator’s (God’s) aid. Holy relics can also aid the attempt.

Like the power of the psychics, however, theurgy has a dark side as well – and that is the side of Hubris. Unlike the Urge the dark powers of Hubris do not take control, they merely alter what exists as the relationship between the priest and the Pancreator changes. Their effects are generally permanent (unless the character’s Hubris is reduced).

CAMPAIGN SETTING

The rules of Fading Suns raise my ire because of their poor lay-out and (at times) abysmal explanation. No such claim can be laid against the setting of the game, which is expertly presented and described. No one is going to say this is a realistic future, but then it isn’t really trying to be. It is pulp science fiction at its best, with the dab of fantasy thrown into the mix.

Little is known of interstellar history before the arrival of humanity in space, but this is: Long in the past two ancient races seem to have seeded the galaxy with life and to have accomplished great technological marvels … before inexplicably disappearing. The earlier of these two races (referred to as Jumpmasters, Gatekeepers, or a handful of other names) constructed an interstellar transportation system consisting of jumpgates – gates which (as you’ll now if you’re any sort of science fiction fan) connect various solar systems at faster-than-light speeds. The younger race, known as the Successors or Marauders, apparently entered into some kind of war with the Jumpmasters. It is supposed that this Great War was the cause of their sudden disappearance – leaving behind only ruins and their direct descendant races the Ur-Ukar and Ur-Obun. This happened at approximately 100 AD.

Meanwhile, back on Earth, mankind will realize their dream of a one-world government by the 22nd century. It’s not quite all we dreamed of – although referred to as the First Republic, it is also referred to as the Human Combine because it was really controlled by oligarchic mercantile interests. It was during the time of the First Republic that mankind found the jumpgate orbiting at the outer extremities of the solar system (in the year 2305).

By 2500 AD the First Republic had spread throughout a fair portion of the galaxy, but its leadership had become ingrown – the elite of mankind was ignoring the pleas for fair leadership from the underclass. The First Republic collapsed under its own weight and ineffectiveness, and the age of the Diaspora began. A time of balkanization and independence, it saw a great confusion as man’s extra-solar colonies found new ways of life. A nobility arises. During this time period the Prophet appeared, preaching a new religion designed for the stars. His god – the Pancreator – became wildly popular. After his death the majority of his close followers would see to the development of a highly-structured Church which followed his teachings, a Church which has become ever more regimented as time goes by.

In 2700 man’s conception of himself changed radically as they encountered the first intelligent species besides themselves. The results were disastrous. The Shantor – an equine race – were subjugated and over time were banished to reservations. They have yet to recover from this maltreatment, and this once proud people are spread throughout the galaxy. Unfortunately, rather than proving the exception to the rule the treatment became a model for subsequent human treatment of intelligent species they encountered.

In 2945, however, this devil-be-damned attitude finally caught up to humanity. “Pacifying” a peaceful race they were surprised to discover this race had big friends – in this case a powerful society even more technologically advanced than humanity, known as the Vau. The Vau were willing to leave well enough alone … so long as humanity didn’t cross the line they chose to draw in the intergalactic sand.

Ten years later in 2955 mankind found their second challenge – the Ur-Ukar. The Church, however, was able to unite mankind against this common enemy. The Ukar were crushed and the Church rose to control all of humanity.

In 3500 merchant interests managed to overpower the Church’s influence and establish the Second Republic. What starts as a mercantile-controlled empire becomes a Republic. The next 500 years are the Golden Age of mankind’s existence – the Known Worlds are terraformed, government is a pure Republic, and the people are prosperous and happy.

Around the beginning of the 5th millennium, however, the Republic fell prey to mass-unemployment. The nobility (which had clung onto existence since the time of the Diaspora) leapt into the power vacuum. A Dark Age ensues and a hostile feudalism slips into place with a power balance between the lords, the Church, and the merchant guilds. Technology and society collapse and humanity loses hundreds of years worth of advancement. During this time period of terror and confusion many systems seal their jumpgates – cutting off contact with the rest of humanity. Known Space shrinks.

In 4525 a jumpgate opened onto Known Space and the Barbarian Invasions began. In 4540 Vladimir I used the Barbarian Invasions to unite humanity beneath his imperial rule. In 4550 Vladimir is successful, but is assassinated on his coronation day. For the next 450 years no emperor would rule, power passes from powerless regent to powerless regent. In 4900 a strange race known as the Symbiots attack humanity – they are capable of biologically converting any sentient into one of their own. This conflict slips into a cold war. In 4956 the Emperor Wars begin. They end in 4995 with Alexius I crowned Emperor.

Which brings us to the present day. Emperor Alexius I is interested in turning outward once again, but first he must cement his power base. The Emperor, the Lords, the Church, and the Guilds all face each other in a mad game of power and at stake are the lives and freedoms of millions. For the first time in centuries humanity has hope, but it could also plunge back into darkness all too easily.

Oh, and did I forget to mention? The stars are fading. Their light is dying, and not even the powerful science of the Second Republic could explain it when it began over half a millennia ago.

SUMMARY

Fading Suns is a great game. The rule system it is constructed on is fantastic, although it is here (due to the poor lay-out, organization, and explanation) that the game possesses its single flaw. This system is coupled with a fantastic setting – active politically, socially and technologically it provides endless possibilities for adventure: from politics to exploration to looting to mystery.

It’s flaws are minor and it’s strengths are great. Fading Suns is definitely on my list of recommended games.

Style: 4
Substance: 4

Title: Fading Suns
Writers: Bill Bridges and Andrew Greenberg
Publisher: Holistic Design
Price: $25.00
Page Count: 260+
ISBN: 1-888906-00-6
Originally Published: 1998/06/25

One of the things I became known for with my RPGNet reviews was, for better or for worse, length. Length and completeness. I thought of my reviews as a way to have a conversation about a game, and I felt no particular compunction in a digital space about needing to cut my thoughts short. So the more complex and interesting a game was, the longer my review would be.

I mention this here because this review of the first edition of Fading Suns was my longest review to date (11 pages of single-spaced text) and, if my memory serves me correctly, it provoked a significant debate on the site about whether or not a review could be “too long”. (My review of Immortal also factored into this discussion.) The issue of whether or not anachronistic concerns about “space” have any sort of significance in a digital age probably isn’t going away any time soon. (For example, Wikipedia’s endless “relevancy” debate is riddled with it.)

Tangentially, given the fact that both Fading Suns and 3rd Edition were, in my opinion, “AD&D done right” it’s still somewhat shocking to me that the D20 version of Fading Suns was so poorly done. I still feel that a properly executed D20 conversion of Fading Suns would (a) be an excellent game and (b) add a lot great stuff to the D20 system.

For an explanation of where these reviews came from and why you can no longer find them at RPGNet, click here.