First Principle: Any story you can tell in any other genre can be told in speculative fiction.

Second Principle: … and a whole bunch more.

Let’s take Spider-Man, for example. You can probably find other ways to explore the central theme of “with great power comes great responsibility”, but it would be comparatively difficult to invest that great power into the hands of a teenage boy with whom your audience can so readily identify. (See, also, Ender’s Game.)

Similarly, love stories are ubiquitous… but it takes speculative fiction to create the specific type of dynamic that exists between a 17-year-old Vampire Slayer and a 400-year-old vampire (particularly when the vampire loses his soul as a direct result of experiencing true happiness with the Slayer). Which isn’t, of course, to say that there isn’t clear metaphoric content there that can be applied to mortal relationships.

Or take a look at the absolutely brilliant exploration of character in the new version of Battlestar Galactica. The clone-like, resurrecting cylons are a Pandora’s Box of sociological, cultural, and psychological problems that simply do not exist in the real world… and thus make possible compelling and powerful stories that you won’t find anywhere else.

Conceptually, look at a work like the original Foundation Trilogy. Or Vinge’s exploration of perverse ethical structures in A Deepness in the Sky.

None of which is to say that other forms of fiction need to pack up their bags and go home. There is clearly a power in the historical narrative of Roots, for example, that cannot be captured by any fantastical restructuring of slavery and racism. Contemporary romances can feature a closer identification between protagonist and reader than a novel starring someone from the 31st century. And so forth.

Nor is it to say that all SF is innately awesome. Sturgeon’s Law (“90% of everything is crap”) naturally still applies.

But it is to say that SF removes the walls.

Which brings us to our conclusion: SF is awesome because it has women wearing brass bras and spandex.

… wait, no. I seem to have gone astray somewhere.

There are six ability scores in D&D. And there are six spells for buffing those ability scores:

bear’s endurance – Clr 2, Drd 2, Rgr 2, Sor/Wiz 2
bull’s strength – Clr 2, Drd 2, Pal 2, Sor/Wiz 2
cat’s grace – Brd 2, Drd 2, Rgr 2, Sor/Wiz 2
eagle’s splendor – Brd 2, Clr 2, Pal 2, Sor/Wiz 2
fox’s cunning – Brd 2, Sor/Wiz 2
owl’s wisdom – Clr 2, Drd 2, Pal 2, Rgr 2, Sor/Wiz 2

Okay, I can kinda see the archetypal reasons for the bard, druid, paladin, and ranger getting access to different subsets of these spells.

But given the fact that the cleric’s key role in the party is healer and buffer, why are they missing cat’s grace and fox’s cunning?

It just doesn’t make any sense to me. Never has. In my house rules, the cleric gets access to all six buffs, just like the arcanists do.

Random thought: Given the predilection for PCs to get pumped up on stat boosters, is anyone else struck by the similarity to performance enhancement drugs? This doesn’t have much (if anything) to do with game mechanics, but it can be an interesting insight into the relationship between wandering heroes and the world around them. I think the idea that PCs are, in some sense, doped up further alienates them from the common society. Not only do they wield amazing powers, but their very bodies and minds are being constantly hyped up on mystical enhancements.

One of the things I talked about in D&D: Calibrating Your Expectations is the fact that the game covers a range from sub-normal to super-human powers. I think there’s something particularly interesting about a world where the guy sitting next to you may be able to unleash incredible destructive forces with the flick of a thought. What does it really mean for a common man to live in that kind of world? Even if there’s only one such person in a hundred thousand?

Here are the tent-pole Evocation [light] spells from the core rulebooks:

light – Brd 0, Clr 0, Drd 0, Sor/Wiz 0
darkness – Brd 2, Clr 2, Sor/Wiz 2
daylight – Brd 3, Clr 3, Drd 3, Pal 3, Sor/Wiz 3
deeper darkness – Clr 3

I feel as if one might go mad trying to understand this progression of spells. The druid’s affinity for light spells makes perfect sense, and even the fact that the paladin has access to daylight and not the lesser light spell has some logic to it (since daylight has some martial application).

But what doesn’t make much sense to me is that the arcanists get access to the more powerful daylight, but not the more powerful deeper darkness.

The other odd thing is that the 3.5 darkness and deeper darkness spells actually creates illumination and can be used to light an unlit area: “This spell causes an object to radiate shadowy illumination out to a 20-foot radius.” This is weird enough in its own right, but it gets even weirder when deeper darkness and daylight interact with each other and cancel each other out.

In other words, if you’re in a cave and you cast deeper darkness, you can see. If you’re in a cave and you cast daylight, you can see. But if you cast both deeper darkness and daylight, you can’t see.

These oddities were the result of attempting to re-balance the darkness spells. In all previous editions of the game, darkness had actually created an area of impenetrable darkness (as the name might suggest). But this was considerd too powerful for a 2nd-level spell, and so the “shadowy illumination” formulation was applied as a patch of sorts.

While I tend to agree that darkness was very powerful, the loss of any way to create true magical darkness was an unfortunate loss. Apparently, someone at WotC felt the same way. But their solution was somewhat perverse: In the Spell Compendium there is a spell named blacklight, which creates a true magical darkness which the caster can see through.

Oddly, however, this is a 3rd-level spell which is, in virtually every way, superior to deeper darkness. It can also be cast by arcanists.

I’m not sure what the best solution for the darkness/light spells would be. But I would certainly look at normalizing the level progressions, add more powerful versions of the darkness spells (with matching light spells to provide the natural antithesis of the two sub-types), and smooth out some of the discrepancies in how the various spells interact with each other. I’d probably also look at creating a more powerful version of the light spell to add back in the combat utiltiy of the spell that was stripped out in 3rd Edition.

The spell control undead: “This spell enables to you to command undead creatures for a short period of time.”

The spell command undead: “This spell allows you some degree of control over an undead creature.”

… yeah, that’s not confusing at all.

The spell command undead, by the way, is a really great exploit that I rarely see people talking about. It’s a 2nd-level spell that lasts for 1 day per level and has no saving throw when used against mindless undead.

To put this in perspective, a cloud giant skeleton is a CR 7 creature with 110 hp and dealing 4d6+18 on a successful hit.

Even more significantly, however, command undead — unlike the 7th-level control undead — has no HD limit. And since it’s a 2nd-level spell, it can be put in a wand.

This spell can be very easily used to turn that undead-infested tomb the DM was planning to hit you with into nothing more than a recruiting ground.

By design, command undead is supposed to be the undead equivalent of charm person. But the longer duration (charm person is only 1 hour/ per level), lack of saving throw, and more powerful effect when dealing with mindless undead make it unduly powerful.

Every so often I’ll discuss plot holes in movies. Sometimes I’m critiquing a movie I liked. Other times I’m excorciating a movie I hated.

For example, last month I posted a lengthy essay discussing (among other things) some significant problems with Batman Begins and The Dark Knight.

Another example would be the plethora of plot holes Peter Jackson created in The Two Towers. (Gratuitous examples include teleporting ents, the elven legion from Lothlorien that teleports to Helm’s Deep, and Faramir’s strangely psychic ability to know events taking place in Rohan on the same day that they occur.)

And frequently, during the ensuing discussions, someone will trot out what I’ve come to refer to as the Big Sleep Fallacy.

The Big Sleep is a classic movie starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. It’s a noir detective story based on Raymond Chandler’s novel of the same name and Chandler also wrote the screenplay. It’s widely considered to be one of the best movies ever made. It’s also remembered as having an incredibly convoluted plot. The most notable example of this is that one of the murders in the film is never explained. When asked about it later, Chandler himself couldn’t identify the murderer. It’s a huge gaping plot hole.

And the Big Sleep Fallacy looks like this: “The Big Sleep was a great movie. The Big Sleep has a famous plot hole. Therefore, there’s nothing wrong with having plot holes.”

Err… No. If you think that makes sense, I’m afraid you’re in dire need of a remedial logic class.

If you want to go for the weaker conclusion that “movies can have plot holes and still be good”, then you’re in decent shape. But with the stronger conclusion you’re assuming the unstated premise that “great movies are without flaw”. And even if you can swallow such a patently ridiculous premise, you’ve now introduced an ancillary conclusion that “plot holes aren’t flaws”… which also appears to be patently ridiculous.

You can also scent the fundamental error here by noting that The Big Sleep is specifically noteworthy for having such a significant plot hole while still being considered a great movie. In other words, that type of thing is unusual and therefore merits mention. If great movies routinely had gaping plot holes lying around, then the appearance of one in The Big Sleep wouldn’t be of notable significance.

… and that’s my rant for the day.