[PREAMBLE: Looking through the Wheel of Time Roleplaying Game book in Borders the other day, I found myself thinking about all the things that might go wrong for a roleplaying group composed exclusively of diehard hairsplitting fanatical WoTers. (Is there any other type of WoTer?) After sounding out an impromptu focus group consisting of whoever I found in the Page of Legends Chat last night, I decided to go ahead and write down a "transcript" of what might happen in such a situation.
Now, the question is: Will you find it sufficiently entertaining to beg me to continue this series at irregular intervals? Or only mildly entertaining? Or will you fall asleep in the middle of this first installment? If the latter occurs, please try to retain consciousness just long enough to type "SNORE!" as your reply so that I can measure the size of the problem. If enough of you react that way, I'll get the point. Of course, you may simply want to complain that it sounds entirely too much like such sessions that you have attended in real life. Whatever your reaction, please share it with me so I can gauge whether or not to inflict any more of these things upon you - *AHEM*, I meant to say so I will know whether or not any more of those flights of fancy will actually be properly appreciated by my target audience!]
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THE ROSTER (The members of the Farstriders Club - their real name, then their name in the game)
Theodore, previously called "Ted" but now insisting upon "Theo" : The Gamemaster
And his hapless victims:
Gwen: "Selina," an Accepted of the White Tower
Malik: "Thanel," a loveable young "rogue" (i.e. thief) originally from Arad Doman
Steve: "Ferdames Rachidian," a Cairhienin nobleman
Andy: "Leothric," a mercenary soldier of uncertain origins
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THEO: All right, lady and presumptive gentlemen! Let's get this show on the road! I assume you've all prepared your characters in anticipation of this meeting- so I'll just rehash the ground rules before we start the introductions. The setting: the portion of Randland which is shown on the big map in every WoT novel. The time: NE 988, a mere decade after the finale of the Aiel War. The status of the Two Rivers: OFF LIMITS! Any Player Character attempting to enter that district will find the Pattern conspires to make it utterly impossible for him to successfully complete the trip. If that means that the Pattern arranges for you to spontaneously keel over from a fatal cerebral hemorrhage at a remarkably tender age . . . that's just too bad. If a time comes when it is appropriate for any of you to drop in on Emond's Field, you won't tell me; *I* will tell *you*.
MALIK: Spoilsport.
THEO: Thank you, Malik, I take that as high praise. Likewise, none of you people have ever heard of the Seanchan, you don't know where the Horn of Valere is, you couldn't find it even if you did know, and Alviarin and Barthanes and Carridin and most of the other high-placed closet Darkfriends you may recall don't exist in this reality, so there's nothing to be gained by trying to locate and blackmail them.
STEVE: Curses, foiled again! With the High Seat of House Damodred under my thumb, I could have - well, what I actually would have done with it is really nobody else's business, eh?
THEO: To sum up: any effort to act upon sensitive information not yet publicly available to the typical well-traveled inhabitant of Randland will be met with the severest penalties.
ANDY: You mean death?
THEO: Actually, what I had in mind was making you listen while I roleplay a pair of White Ajah sisters debating the fine points of whether or not a tree falling in an uninhabited forest makes a sound. Say, for an hour or two in realtime.
ANDY: NO! ANYTHING BUT THAT! I SWEAR I'LL BEHAVE!
THEO: Now then, your characters are all meeting at the Deal Me Inn in an obscure village on the northern edge of Braem Wood. Three of you have come in response to messages from the Brown Ajah in Tar Valon, enticing you to come here and meet Selina (no surname provided), an Accepted of the White Tower who will lead you on an exploratory mission to a recently rediscovered historical site to uncover long-hidden secrets of the days of yore (and just incidentally enjoy equal shares of any treasure hordes you uncover, which a Brown historian says is quite likely to occur if the ruins you'll be exploring are the ones she thinks they are). For the sake of simplicity, we will assume that all three of you, though coming from three different cities in three different directions, meet at the front door simultaneously as you prepare to enter the common room.
STEVE: What are the odds against that?
ANDY: Who cares? Clearly the Pattern has chosen to weave our threads together for its own incomprehensible purposes!
MALIK: Actually, I think it's the Wheel that actively weaves threads of the Pattern together. The Wheel Weaves as the Wheel Wills, or some such catchphrase.
STEVE: Are you sure it's necessarily the Wheel's fault? I'd swear the Pattern seems to have some volition of its own in these thread-arranging matters, with or without the backseat driving of the mysterious Wheel -
ANDY: One thing's for sure: The Creator had nothing to do with our fortuituous simultaneous arrival! The Creator made the world and locked up the Dark One several eons ago, and figured that was all the labor that should ever be required of him, so he'd take the rest of eternity off and go fishing! It's obvious -
[Theo gives Gwen a significant look as this pointless conversation threatens to seize control of three-quarters of our fearless adventurers, and she catches her cue immediately]
GWEN: Selina murmurs to herself, "Gosh! I certainly hope my fellow adventurers show up soon, or I'll just have to go find those long-lost treasures all by myself!"
ANDY: Time's a-wasting! I hurry into the common room of the Inn to report for duty!
MALIK: I'm right behind you!
STEVE: "Reporting for duty" is such a plebeian term. I prefer to think of myself as an ally on the mysterious mission vaguely but tantalizingly described to us in those odd missives we received. However, I stroll through the door in my own good time, making sure I show my best profile to whichever woman has "White Tower" written all over her.
THEO: Actually, Steve, you may have a bit of trouble spotting the right lady to be on the receiving end of your chiseled profile. There are five other patrons already in the common room as the three of you enter over the course of a half-minute or so . . . three of those patrons are men, but two are women. Over in a far corner of the room a demurely dressed and rather quiet young woman (black hair tied back in a ponytail) is sipping from a glass of punch while reading a book. At a table nearer the front entrance, an attractive blond woman wearing a fancy dress that came from an expensive shop in a big city (probably Caemlyn, for those of you with a knowledge of international fashions) is scrutinizing you new arrivals with a sharp gaze.
[Long pause]
STEVE: Is that all?
THEO: What do you mean?
STEVE: That only sounded like one quick paragraph, and we're supposed to be roleplaying in the Wheel of Time! if Robert Jordan were describing this, he might well take a page or so to really set the scene. Describe the furniture, the other people in the room, more details on Selina's personal appearance (whichever one she is) -
THEO: Steve, what's your reading speed?
STEVE: Over 400 words per minute.
THEO: And what's my speaking speed?
STEVE: Um . . . maybe 150 per minute?
THEO: With that in mind, do you really want me to describe every single room you enter with such detail as would take three times as long for you to listen to as it would take if you were reading a long-winded written description from the pen of the great Robert Jordan?
STEVE: I take it that's a rhetorical question?
ANDY: Anyway, I don't think Jordan goes into excruciating detail regarding every single new physical location. It's just the occasional instance of such behavior that sticks in our memories after we finish reading each new book.
THEO: Thank you, Andy. Meanwhile, one woman is engrossed in her book and one woman is studying the three of you intently. What do you guys do?
MALIK: Which one is wearing a Great Serpent Ring?
THEO: You can't tell. Each woman has one hand concealed by clothing, or by an open book, or otherwise not readily visible from your present position near the front door. The hands you can see don't have any rings on them.
STEVE: Harumph. After all the trouble I took to come here, I'd think our designated leader could at least take the trouble to acknowledge my arrival.
ANDY: Unless, of course, she's testing us at the very start to see if we have enough brains to figure out which one she is without accidentally spilling the beans about this mission to everyone else in the Inn in the process.
STEVE: Interesting thought. I wonder if whichever woman she ISN'T will turn out to be a Darkfriend spy? Or - even worse! - a spy from a rival House back home in dear old Cairhien? The Darkfriends are a pathetic and ineffectual bunch most of the time, but my family's rivals are DANGEROUS!
MALIK [taking the bull by the horns]: I say loudly, "Excuse me! I have a message from my old friend Brant Brandison for his cousin Selina . . . er, Selina . . . well, I forget the surname, but is there a Selina in the house?"
ANDY: That might work!
STEVE: I would have thought of that in another second or two.
ANDY: Sure, Steve. Sure.
GWEN: I look up from my book and wave to the fellow calling out my name. "I'm Selina, lad! How is Cousin Brant?"
ANDY: Blood and bloody ashes, I was hoping she was the gorgeous blond!
STEVE (philosophically): We're better off this way, comrade. You know the old rule about White Tower women: "You can look, but you can't touch." The plainer she is, the better our chances of surviving this mission without getting tempted to do something idiotic that might end up with our hides being sold to a tanner.
THEO: Actually, I never said she was plain.
ANDY: Then she's gorgeous?
THEO: I never said that either.
ANDY: Then what did you say?
THEO: I said she was demurely dressed in regular clothes, and had her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. Since she was seated in a corner with her back to the door, that's all you could see at first glance - the view from the back.
GWEN: Let me save you guys some trouble. When Selina turns to face you, her face is strikingly . . .
ANDY: Yes?
GWEN: Ordinary.
ANDY? Ordinary what?
GWEN: Just ordinary.
ANDY: No, you've got to be more specific - ordinary refined? Ordinary mischievous? Ordinary pretty? Ordinary by exotic foreigner standards? What is she, a Sea Folk?
GWEN: You're missing the point. I'm tired of all significant women characters in fantasy being either gorgeous sexpots or else grizzled hags. What happened to the middle of the bell curve?
ANDY: Fantasy isn't about the boring stuff at the middle of the bell curve! We can get all that in real life! Fantasy is about emphasizing those infinitely fascinating EXTREMES! Extremes of behavior, extremes of theology, extremes of personal appearance, extremes of intelligence and stupidity, extremes of sexism -
GWEN (reacting to his last example): You've got THAT right.
[WILL Andy finally get a clue as to what Gwen is trying to accomplish here? WILL our heroes finally complete their In-Character Introductions and be able to move on with the mission? WILL anyone actually care enough to persuade Larry Homer that there's any sort of point in continuing with this silly project?]
PART TWO [incidentally, a month or two after I wrote Part One last year, my hard drive dropped dead, taking with it my notes for Part Two. That's one reason I didn't get around to continuing this until now]
STEVE: You know, Andy, if this were an old romantic movie from the mid-20th Century, set on a California beach or something, she'd have her hair up in a bun and be wearing big horn-rimmed glasses, and then it would turn out that when she took off the glasses and did something with her hair, she was gorgeous . . .
ANDY: Oh! Kinda like Julia Ormond in that movie she made with Harrison Ford, what was its name again, my sister dragged me to the theatre to see it, um . . .
MALIK: "Sabrina." I think it was a remake of one of those sentimental old films he was talking about. Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn?
THEO (stirring things up a little): Don't forget Rachel Leigh Cook in "She's All That," or Doris Day in "Calamity Jane" if you want to hark back to the good old days.
ANDY: Doris Day? Who's that?
[Incredulous stares, which he blithely ignores.]
ANDY: But Selina doesn't have her hair up in a bun, or spectacles perched on her nose, or anything like that, so I'm not sure it's a good comparison.
STEVE (winking at Gwen with the eye that Andy can't see): I still think there's a possible parallel. Perhaps she's using Illusion to make herself inconspicuous as she travels across the map, eh?
ANDY (brightening up): HEY! Why didn't I think of that? Does he have a point, Gwen?
GWEN (restrains her impulse to contradict this absurdity, in favor of doing her level best to impersonate the inscrutable smile of the Mona Lisa, which could mean anything a witness wanted it to mean): That's a very impertinent question.
MALIK: You ought to know better than to ask an Aes Sedai a personal question and expect a straight answer, Andy.
ANDY: I think I was asking Out Of Character, and besides she's not an AS yet, she's only an Accepted -
MALIK: That just makes it worse. Accepted have to work very very hard to act like AS so they don't get flunked out of the training program for some terrible character flaw which would make them unfit for the shawl.
STEVE (under his breath): Such as occasionally getting a clue?
THEO (not sure how much of this Gwen can stand before smoke starts coming out her ears): Right, let's move on, shall we? Selina has acknowledged that she's the one Malik is looking for. Are the rest of you going to join them at her table in the far corner? [They nod.] Good! Quick introductions, perhaps? None of you has ever seen any of the others until today.
GWEN (makes a flamboyant gesture to represent weaving the Power): No one will overhear our conversation unless they get within three feet of the table. I am Selina, an Accepted of the White Tower. I trust you all understand why I am keeping my ring out of sight.
STEVE: I am Lord Ferdames of House Rachidian in Cairhien. I received a message from the Tower urging me to come quietly and alone to meet you here with a promise that the stakes would be worth the trouble.
ANDY: I'm Leothric, a wandering mercenary. I'm no spring chicken; I fought in the Aiel War from start to finish. Those were the good old days! Lately things have been more peaceful, though. [Shakes his head and looks sorrowful.] I was glad to hear the Tower wanted some sort of quiet (but risky) job done; too much garrison duty and I'd be likely to get slow and flabby.
MALIK: Ahem. I'm Thanel from Arad Doman. I specialize in discreet insertion/extraction tactics and the acquisition of valuable items in rather informal transfers of property.
ANDY: You do what?
STEVE: You mean you sneak in and out of people's houses and steal things?
MALIK: PLEASE! I'm terribly offended at the implications of such phrasing!
STEVE (deliberately playing the straight man): You mean, the idea that you might be a thief?
MALIK: No, the idea that I might be so incredibly STUPID as to SAY so (even if I were) to people I had barely met! I will admit, however, that I have the harmless hobby of picking locks with my eyes closed as a way to pass the time. And other party tricks that might come in handy.
STEVE (does his best to look embarrassed): I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me, lad. (By the way, just how old do you look?)
MALIK: I was born in NE 970, so I'm eighteen but small for my age (useful for crawling through tight, narrow spaces), and could probably pass for a few years younger -
STEVE: Objection, Your Honor!
THEO: You're speaking to me?
STEVE: Yes! I distinctly heard him mention the year of his birth! Proper Wheel of Time characters NEVER mention what day it is, what month it is, what year it is, or in what year any historical event occurred! I charge him with violating the theme!
ANDY: He has a point, you know.
MALIK: Give me a break!
THEO: Um. I can't think of a single time when a book character mentioned a specific date, past or present, in dialogue. On the other hand, I don't believe Jordan has ever specifically said they have a firm taboo against doing so. I'm inclined to let this one go with a warning not to make a habit of it. Objection overruled for the time being!
MALIK: Thank you, your honor!
THEO: Okay, the Accepted Selina was the one who arranged this gathering, so she's going to give you the background and mission statement In Character. I expect to be pretty quiet during this introductory phase.
GWEN: We are seeking the long-forgotten lair of the Dreadlord Khafiyn. Over two millennia past, he was one of Ba'alzamon's generals in the Trolloc Wars for several years. He was the top commander on the scene when they sacked the great city of Hezekaloth, and so he got a big share of the loot for his very own.
MALIK (instantly seeing the point): Unless he found a way to spend it all, he might have chosen to tuck away a few tons of it for a rainy day . . .
GWEN: Yes. A spy reported seeing a wagon train leaving the city a week later, headed east-by-southeast. Such a course could eventually lead you into the heart of Braem Wood, but nothing further was known at the time. When the good guys eventually recaptured the remains of the once-proud city (forty years later) it was bit late to pick up the trail.
ANDY (hopefully): But something changed recently?
GWEN: Yes. I was going through some dusty old files in the bowels of the Tower Library last year and stumbled across a document six hundred and thirty-five years old. The writer was one of a group who tried to break through the door of a cave entrance in the side of a rocky outcropping in Braem Wood. He refers to his group of comrades as freelance mercenaries, but I suspect they'd been supporting themselves as bandits. At any rate, six of them tried to break down the door and all six died in a flash of lightning (it was a bright, clear day, by the way). The others decided to take a hint and left the area in a hurry. A few decades later, this writer was an elderly man living in Tar Valon and saw fit to write his memoirs, which he bequeathed to the Tower Library when he died. I rather doubt anyone actually read the silly things all the way through until I came along. The most interesting thing was that he described the markings on a flat stone near the door, and they correspond to an Old Tongue codename that Dreadlord Khafiyn used to put on things to mark them as his. So I spoke to one of the Sitters from the Brown Ajah. I intend to join them someday.
ANDY (sotto voce): As if we couldn't tell. What other type of woman goes around dusting off six-hundred-year-old manuscripts for light reading?
GWEN (firmly ignoring that): She spoke to the head of the Ajah (whose name I don't need to know) and I was given an expense account and permission to follow this up. To keep things as quiet as possible, I was told to recruit a handful of good men from OUTSIDE the Tower to help investigate Kha'fiyn's Hoard. They said GOOD men, but I went through our files and the best I could do on short notice was you people.
MALIK: Okay, so I've had a somewhat, um, shady career! But I never would have entered that bedroom in that inn in Bandar Eban if I had realized the occupant was a Brown sister traveling incognito!
STEVE: Ah. Part of your background? I suppose she hung you upside down in midair so she could interview you for a treatise she was writing on how traumatic childhoods contribute to a life of crime?
MALIK: Er, not exactly, but you've got the general idea. I ended up doing a little "job" for her as a way of squaring things between us, and now I guess the Browns have me in a secret file as "expert lock-picker, wall-climber, pickpocket, and so forth" for future reference.
ANDY: I was on the Tower payroll during the last year of the Aiel War. I guess I made a good impression on someone.
GWEN: Yes, our file on you says that you're a tough fighter and about as sharp as they come when it comes to woodcraft, tracking old trails, and so forth. It also says you're too much of a daredevil to shy away from the obvious dangers involved in cracking open a Dreadlord's treasure cache.
ANDY (beaming, in character): It's nice to know that someone understands me!
STEVE: Which brings us to me. Why do you need a Cairhienin nobleman along on this treasure-hunting expedition?
GWEN: Well, unlike most nobles these days, you are actually fluent in the Old Tongue. And if we end up trying to sell some of the loot, we'll want a middleman. And your House has historically been on cordial terms with the Tower.
STEVE: Cordial terms - OH. Got it.
MALIK: What's that supposed to mean?
STEVE: Ancient history. You don't need to know.
ANDY: Must be one of those Daes Dae'mar thingies, Thanel.
STEVE (hastily changing the subject): All right, Accepted, if I've got this straight, you'll have to be the one who gets us through the outer layer of security (wards or whatever they're called) so we can crack open the door and look around inside. How sure are you that this will work? Pardon me for asking, but I always understood that female channelers are just as "blind" to saidin weaves as any other human being.
GWEN: Fair question. Two things: First, a lot of saidin-based traps and alarms can be set off, or even cut to shreds, when a weave of saidar touches them from a distance. Second, Kha'fiyn had a lover, a female channeler named Ny'Katean who often worked with him. They may even have linked together at times. It is believed that she helped him set up this sanctum sanctorum, and HER weaves I WILL be able to see, which is a lot better than nothing.
MALIK (blinking): Dreadlords had lovers? As opposed to brainwashed sex slaves? I wasn't sure that was possible!
ANDY: Well, the next Dreadlord you meet, be sure to tell him he's not allowed to love anybody. I'm sure he'll be fascinated.
THEO (speaking up for the first time in several minutes): Okay, everybody make a roll for perception of inconspicuous details.
[They do. I'll spare you the numbers - Malik is the only one to score a success.]
THEO: Okay, Malik, you are the first one to notice that a small, slender, plainly dressed man with spectacles and unremarkable features has entered the room through the front door and now furtively approaches Lord Ferdames, moving very quietly up behind him where he's seated at the table.
ANDY: Must be a Gray Man! Back me up, Steve, I'm reaching for my -
STEVE: Whoa! Down, boy! WE haven't noticed anything yet!
ANDY: Oops! Sorry. Never mind.
MALIK: Is he brandishing a weapon?
THEO: No. Nor is he visibly wearing anything more exciting than a sheathed belt knife. Since you're looking at his hands, you do see he has ink stains on his fingers and cuffs, though. He's now reaching out, as if to tap Ferdames on the shoulder gently. Or something.
MALIK: Ah. I'll keep my mouth shut and see what happens.
STEVE: Your concern for my welfare is so touching.
THEO (raising one hand in a way that is meant to convey he is now speaking In Character): Excuse me, Lord Ferdames, but some of the men were wondering if we're going to be staying the night here? Or should we keep the horses ready to move at short notice?
GWEN: Men? Horses? Wait just one cotton-pickin' minute! What are you up to, Lord Ferdames? I'm sure the message you received said to keep your mouth shut and come alone to this rendezvous!
STEVE: And I did!
GWEN: Run that by me again?
STEVE: I didn't even tell my sisters I was coming here. Nor my uncles, my aunts, my first cousins, my first cousins once removed, my second cousins, my second cousins once removed, my second cousins twice removed -
GWEN: Well, you must have told SOMEONE if you've got a bunch of men with horses waiting for you outside!
STEVE: Ahem. To a Cairhienin aristocrat, saying a journey must be "secret" and "alone" means "no one else of any CONSEQUENCE needs to know about this." Hence, the rest of House Rachidian is in the dark. And I carefully honored the Tower's wish for secrecy: WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE my destination or any other details, I merely brought along my normal escort for a long trip: a valet, a secretary, two grooms, a personal guard of twelve cavalrymen (with remounts), several pack horses -
ANDY: Pack horses? If we end up burdened with a ton of treasure, those babies could come in very handy!
MALIK (thoughtfully): You know, I never quite understood the obsession most dungeon-crawlers have with taking along only four or five people to face a nasty assortment of random monsters and deathtraps.
GWEN: Aaargh!
[WILL they finally get this show on the road? WILL Gwen be able to persuade Steve to lead his retinue behind? WILL Theo start pulling out a succession of dirty tricks to keep them properly paranoid, instead of taking the rather laidback role he's assumed thus far in the proceedings?]