Alternate versions of Heart of Ice

This post isn't really an April Fool, but it tickled me. Somebody told me they'd asked ChatGPT what The Warlock of Firetop Mountain might have been like if Oliver Johnson and I had written it. I could tell it that for starters the book wouldn't have sold a tenth as many copies, but it concentrated instead on the stylistic aspects:

"If The Warlock of Firetop Mountain had been written by Dave Morris and Oliver Johnson, it would likely have taken on a more complex, story-driven, and atmospheric quality, with a richer interplay between narrative and character choice. The book would be darker, more sophisticated, and immersive, with a layered story and morally complex characters that invite readers to question the nature of heroism, villainy, and fate. It would keep readers enthralled not just with the challenge of surviving the mountain but with the depth of the world and characters they encounter."

First thought: spare my blushes. But maybe ChatGPT always finds the upside in any comparison? I tried asking it what Heart of Ice would have been like if written by the éminences grises of UK gamebooks. Its reply:

If Heart of Ice had been written by Ian Livingstone and Steve Jackson, it would likely have had a distinctly different tone, structure, and gameplay focus. Here’s how:

1. Emphasis on Combat and Skill Tests

Livingstone and Jackson’s style, particularly in the Fighting Fantasy series, leans heavily on combat encounters and skill tests. Instead of the intricate social interactions and strategic planning that Heart of Ice focuses on, there would likely be more dice-based combat and stat checks woven throughout. Encounters with mutants or dangerous factions might involve straightforward fights rather than diplomatic or strategic solutions.

2. Simplified Storyline and Character Interactions

Heart of Ice is known for its branching paths, character-driven plot, and complex narrative. If Livingstone and Jackson had written it, the story might be more linear and driven by clear objectives rather than complex interpersonal choices. NPCs would be more likely to serve as allies or adversaries without much emotional depth, focusing on the immediate stakes rather than broader story themes.

3. Collectible Inventory and Traps

Livingstone and Jackson often include item collection as a key part of their gameplay, with a particular focus on specific items needed to progress through the story or defeat major challenges. If they had written Heart of Ice, players would probably need to collect certain artifacts to reach critical locations like the chamber of the Heart, and there might be more hidden traps and hazards along the way, requiring particular items or choices to avoid disaster.

4. Greater Focus on Luck-Based Outcomes

Jackson and Livingstone's works often incorporate luck as a major mechanic, where random rolls can dramatically impact outcomes. Instead of just weighing the risks and rewards in Heart of Ice, players might face outcomes that hinge on a luck stat or a random roll, affecting their survival or success.

5. Increased Use of Instant Failures and Dead-Ends

Heart of Ice has a reputation for being fair in its approach to player agency and choices, allowing for a range of ways to succeed. In contrast, Livingstone and Jackson might introduce sudden death options more often, which could increase the difficulty and frustration. This could potentially make Heart of Ice a more challenging but also more punishing journey.

6. A Clear-Cut "Big Bad"

While Heart of Ice presents a nuanced story where antagonism isn’t always black-and-white, a version by Livingstone and Jackson might feature a single, clearly defined “villain” character. This villain would be more traditional, with the player's final objective involving a climactic showdown or battle, in line with the classic fantasy narratives they’re known for.

So, the gamebook might end up as a harsher, combat-heavy adventure with a strong, linear quest through a dangerous landscape rather than the layered and atmospheric narrative exploration Dave Morris crafted.

I haven't read enough Fighting Fantasy books to know how accurate that is, but it sounds pretty impressive. I couldn't resist asking it about other gamebook authors' possible take on the book:

“A Joe Dever version of Heart of Ice would likely be an immersive, heroic journey with a noble character, structured progression, and clear moral and strategic choices—capturing both the danger and the higher purpose of the quest in a more heroic fantasy style. He’d likely weave in a sense of duty, encouraging players to act for a greater good rather than personal gain.”

“In Jonathan Green’s hands, Heart of Ice would become a grimdark, horror-fantasy adventure, filled with visceral details, deadly encounters, and moral ambiguity. Green favours action-packed scenes and deadly encounters, so his version of Heart of Ice would feature frequent, high-stakes battles and physical challenges. It might involve collecting key items to reach the Heart or unlock special advantages. He’d likely add a layer of treasure-hunting, where players need to acquire specific artifacts or resources scattered throughout the wasteland to succeed. He loves a grand finale, so his version would likely end with an epic, high-stakes confrontation at the Heart.”

“Martin Noutch’s version would be a complex, playful, and layered adventure, balancing whimsy with emotional gravity. It would be a unique experience, inviting readers to engage with the story on multiple levels, both as an adventure and as a philosophical exploration of resilience, identity, and purpose in a world gone cold. He might include interactive features like tracking character traits, shifting perspectives, or even a system for moral ‘weight’ that changes based on choices. Noutch would probably play with the medium, encouraging readers to see the book as more than a story—perhaps introducing puzzles or mechanics that reflect the icy world’s desolation and the player’s perseverance.”

“If Paul Mason & Steve Williams had taken on Heart of Ice, the gamebook would be a surreal, philosophical journey, focused on introspection, symbolic encounters, and moral ambiguity. Rather than a straightforward adventure, it would feel like a dream-like, psychological exploration, where the destination matters far less than the journey itself. Their works often explore identity and transformation, so players might undergo changes based on their choices, affecting their skills, personality, or even memories. The players might evolve, not just in ability but in character, with each decision subtly reshaping the protagonist’s sense of self and purpose. The character’s motivations for seeking the Heart might also shift over time, depending on the journey's transformative impact. Instead of a straightforward victory or defeat, the journey might conclude with an open-ended, introspective finale, leaving players to interpret what they’ve achieved or lost. The Heart could be something far more abstract—maybe a philosophical revelation or an understanding about the nature of humanity and survival. The ending might reflect the choices made throughout, leaving players with questions rather than answers.”

“Jamie Thomson & Mark Smith are known for their sometimes irreverent style. Heart of Ice under their pen would probably include more dark humour and satirical elements, especially in character dialogue and descriptions of the setting. It might lean into the grim aspects of the post-apocalyptic world with a slightly tongue-in-cheek twist, letting players confront both the desolation and absurdity of humanity’s downfall.”

There are many other talented gamebook writers, of course, but let's keep this under two thousand words if we can. Also, many of the above examples make some kind of sense as Jamie, Mark, Oliver and Paul were all players in the Tekumel campaign that inspired Heart of Ice.

Finally, as a tonic against mortal hubris, I asked ChatGPT how it would improve on my original book:

To enhance Heart of Ice by Dave Morris, we could build on its strengths—the compelling world-building, intense survival themes, and open-ended structure—while adding new dimensions to enrich the experience. Here are some ideas:

1. Enhance World Interactivity and Dynamic Environment

Expanding the world’s responsiveness to player choices would amplify the sense of a living, evolving environment. For example, the harsh ice-covered world could react to the player’s presence in ways that change terrain, reveal hidden paths, or shift alliances among factions. This could make survival not only about enduring the environment but also influencing and adapting it.

2. Expand Character Development and Relationships

Adding a system where the protagonist's choices influence traits or relationships could deepen player immersion. Perhaps the player could develop unique bonds with NPCs, leading to varied endings or special advantages based on trust, alliances, or rivalries. This would make each choice carry more emotional weight, emphasizing both the loneliness and connection found in such an isolated world.

3. More Nuanced Morality and Consequences

The original story features morally ambiguous choices, but expanding these even further could add complexity to the player's journey. Introducing choices with delayed consequences that unfold in unexpected ways would heighten the stakes and allow the player to see the broader impact of their actions—either in aiding certain factions, using resources, or making ethical compromises.

4. Introduce Mysteries with Long-Term Payoffs

Building in hidden mysteries that only reveal themselves through multiple playthroughs could enrich the lore and encourage exploration. For example, obscure clues found throughout the icy wasteland might hint at ancient technologies, or the true nature of the Heart of Volent might only become clear through carefully pieced-together discoveries. Each run could reveal new layers of history or insight.

5. Expand Mechanics for Resource Management and Survival

Given the harsh, resource-scarce setting, adding more nuanced survival mechanics could make the journey more immersive. Players might have to carefully ration food, water, and warmth or deal with shifting weather conditions, making travel more strategic and emphasizing the environmental dangers of this world.

6. Player-Driven Goals Beyond the City of Du-En

Expanding the story’s focus beyond reaching the Heart itself would add depth, especially if there are varied side quests or goals tied to the protagonist’s backstory. For instance, players might choose to pursue knowledge about the world’s origins, help rebuild a faction’s community, or take on a personal mission with high stakes. These could offer alternative endings based on different player-defined motivations.

7. Deeper NPC Lore and Factional Storylines

The factions and characters in Heart of Ice are intriguing, but expanding on them could add richness. Each faction could have its own lore, unique goals, and internal conflicts that unfold through interactions. Aligning with different groups might lead to varied story paths, and the protagonist could gain insights into the world’s history, politics, and culture.

8. Philosophical or Reflective Elements Linked to the Protagonist’s Journey

Introducing elements that invite the protagonist to reflect on their motivations could add a layer of introspection. Perhaps they occasionally encounter sites of historical significance that reveal more about the decline of civilization, prompting players to consider their role in this world’s legacy. These scenes could add depth and give a more philosophical tone to the player’s mission.

9. Expanded Narrative Endings with Layered Themes

Adding more varied, layered endings based on how the player has changed or impacted the world would reward exploration and role-playing. Endings could reflect the protagonist’s growth, alliances, and decisions, offering insights into what their journey ultimately means in the grander context of the icy wasteland.

With these improvements, Heart of Ice could evolve into a multi-dimensional experience that emphasizes survival, moral complexity, and a sense of both personal and environmental impact—deepening the world and the player’s journey through it.

Good points, but I'm not sure if I could have packed all that into 454 sections -- or 455 if you're going by the revised Kindle version. Thirty years ago even delivering a gamebook as long as Heart of Ice (which is about 70,000 words) was tricky to sell to a book publisher. If I were doing it today I'd love to go up to 120,000 words (like Can You Brexit?) or even 220,000 words (as in Workshop of the Gods) which would allow me to indulge all the backstories of the other characters and to put more detail into settings which in the 1993 edition I could only describe with broad strokes. With Russ Nicholson I planned a 2000AD-style comic story (called "Don't You Just Hate It When That Happens", if you really want to know) expanding on Chaim Golgoth's history with Harek Asfar, which was touched on in the book in just a few lines:

We'd have liked to do a comic for each of the main characters but abandoned the idea because there was nowhere in the UK to publish them. And maybe it's just as well. Economy in writing can be an asset even when it's forced on you by the publisher. Maybe Heart of Ice if twice as long, or bulked out with standalone comics, would just feel self-indulgent.

I do occasionally get an urge to return to Heart of Ice's roots and write the roleplaying mini-campaign. I'd probably use GURPS 4e for that, which might put a lot of people off but it's really the best fit. I certainly wouldn't make it any less bleak. Modern readers sometimes grumble about that, but imagine Brazil or Excalibur or Sunset Boulevard, say, with a happy ending. Ugh.

What I'd really like, given a ring of three wishes or a lottery win, would be to adapt it into a CRPG or a TV show. And if I ever should get to do that, I'm planning to enlist ChatGPT (or maybe Claude, or Perplexity, or DeepSeek, or all four) as a writing partner.

Rarely pure and never simple

We were talking recently about alignment, and because I don't believe in those concepts I've never been very interested in heroes and villains, either in games or in fiction. The kind of fantasy stories I grew up with featured characters like Cugel, Elric, and Conan. No nursery-room ethical posturing for those guys. They did what they did for their own reasons. We could sympathize, even root for them and despise their foes, but there was never any suggestion of objective cosmic goodness.

I expect the same of player-characters in roleplaying games. Some have been very decent -- or have tried to be, as it's never easy doing good in a realistically complex world -- and some have been murderous and sought to justify it. The important thing is none of them were fairytale saints or pantomime villains. They acted from the motives that make real people do things.

That's why this post ("Why Most of my TTRPG Characters are Dislikeable") resonates with me. Personally, while I think likeability is not an important trait in a character, I don't set out to make my PCs dislikeable. I just want them to be interesting and feel genuine. Often in fiction I'm drawn to characters like Walter White, Phillip and Elizabeth Jennings, Zachary Smith and Vic Mackey. But I also like Spock, Kirk and McCoy. Steve Rogers too. And Robin (both of them) in Robin of Sherwood -- because Robin fights for justice without being "good" in a soppy children's story way, and the Sheriff is his and our adversary and definitely not a nice guy without being "evil". The drama benefits from those characters and that world feeling real, not nursemaided along by a partisan narrator.

"The King Under The Forest" (the first ever Dragon Warriors scenario)

I can tell you when it was: 1984, and fairly late in the year. And where: Ridge Close, near Woking, which was my parents’ home but I had all my reference books there so I’d have come down from London to write. And I’ll have banged it all out on an Olympia Traveller typewriter, the same one I’d used for school prep, short stories, and contributions to fan magazines like The Mystery Trader.

I’m talking about “The King Under The Forest”, the first ever scenario for Dragon Warriors. It was just a dungeon bash. Oliver Johnson and I figured that was the easy-in for new roleplayers, even though we seldom resorted to dungeons (or even Tekumel underworlds) in our own games. Still, in the Deliverance-like sequence with the elves there was a foretaste of the British folklore elements that would come to dominate DW.

You can read the original adventure here. It has echoes of King Arthur's promised return and sets up the PCs with a shared bond as potentially the King's paladins (not in the D&D sense). You’ll need Dragon Warriors if you want to play it as written. Alternatively, if dungeons are your thing, you might be familiar with D&D 5th edition and so prefer this 5e version.

I was already rethinking the scenario for my Jewelspider RPG when a friend got in touch to say he was going to modify it to run as a Dungeons & Dragons game for his son and his school chums. He had some interesting changes to suggest:

Scene 2. The chest in the map room has a lock-rose of verdigris, and contains no silver, just the bag. (The green lock is to provide a hint for later.)

Scene 6. The dragon never appears in plain sight. Instead, there are hints and rumbles – steam emerging from cracks, the very earth shaking beneath their feet. Instead, the oak tree is tended by a stocky, diminutive fellow with a red hat who tells them that this is the dragon Fengel's domain. The little man doesn't give his name – ‘It's not important’ – but will speak for Fengel and even agree to a riddling contest on Fengel's behalf. The lurking presence of the dragon in the background should be impossible to forget, but regular reminders will be given.

Scene 7. The sculpture of the north wind is of verdigris (matching the chest earlier).

Scene 9. The spider's web contains not a helmet but a wreath of black roots and white flowers (moly) which will protect the wearer against the spells of Elaine and Morgrin.

Scene 11. Instead of the barrier of light, there are three gateways, each narrow so that only one person may pass at a time, and the inscription, ‘The race goes not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.’

On the right is the gate of strength: it contains a portcullis that a sufficiently strong character might be able to lift. The portcullis, however, is even heavier than it looks, and there is a real risk that a person trying to squeeze under may let it slip, with disastrous consequences. (Holding up the portcullis while others pass is a further test of strength; trying to prop it up might be possible but might also destroy the object being used.)

On the left is the gate of swiftness. An unseen mechanism triggers a flurry of stinging darts, and only a character with tremendous reflexes and athleticism will be able to dive forward fast enough to evade them. Subsequent characters will meet the same test, since there is no apparent end to the supply of darts.

The middle path is a narrow gap in the rocks, barely wide enough to squeeze past, with a somewhat wider section to allow a person's shoulders and arms through. (Perceptive characters – or players – may notice that the effect is to make the shape of the cross.) To squeeze through is no easy feat, but any character who relinquishes weapons and armour will manage it easily. Others risk becoming wedged, with various negative consequences possible. Any character who abandons their weapons and armour and passes through the cross, leaving them behind, will (later) find themselves immune to the spells of Elaine and Morgrin, and able to damage both of them even without a magic weapon.

Scene 19. Instead of a gorgon, Elaine is a beautiful golden-haired woman who presents a banqueting table full of tempting treats, including berries and a wine which she assures the group each have healing properties. She reassures the party that she is one of Vallandar's retainers, set here to care for any travellers on their way through the underworld. Of course, to eat anything is to fall under Elaine's power.

If she fails to trick them, she will attempt more blatant sorcery to enchant them. If that fails in turn, her hideous undead visage will become visible and she will try to claw out their eyes.

Scene 21. Each of the skeletons has a single golden hair tied around its neck bones. These are victims of Elaine, who became her servants in death.

I especially like the strands of hair around the skeletons’ necks, which put me in mind of Donne’s line ‘a bracelet of bright hair about the bone’ from the poem ‘The Relic’.

The little fellow in the red hat is as much Lyonesse as Legend, perhaps, but is a brilliant way to avoid throwing a dragon into the campaign on day one. I suggested that later, perhaps as an epilogue to the adventure, the characters could come upon a discarded pile of cloth. It proves to be a life-sized hand-puppet with a faded but still recognizably red hat. But they saw the stocky fellow up close, they spoke to him, and he looked and sounded real and alive. No mere puppet, surely? And anyway, what giant hand would be needed to operate such a puppet? Examining the puppet more closely they see that the fabric inside is torn in long gouges releasing wads of stuffing, as if the hand that used the puppet had long sharp talons.

Like my friend, I was concerned about the gorgon encounter in scene #19. A gorgon doesn't fit the British folklore feel and medieval setting of Dragon Warriors, and my only excuse for including it in this introductory scenario was to give new players the opportunity to familiarize themselves with a variety of opponents. To develop the Vallandar/Arthur resonance I could have made her Nimue (or Nymenche, or Nivienne), and I might do something along those lines in the Jewelspider reboot of the adventure, but for the 5e version I switched it to a basilisk.

There are many better Dragon Warriors scenarios that came later. Some of them have appeared on this blog, and if I had to single out some favourites I'd pick "A Box of Old Bones", "Wayland's Smithy", "Mungoda Gold", and Robert Dale's Bymstone campaign. And that's just restricting the choice to scenarios specifically with DW stats -- there are plenty of other wondrous adventures to be found like gold nuggets among the old posts. If you want to mark the game's 40th anniversary, there's something to fit every taste.

And finally, here are a couple of curious fragments I came across by chance while writing this post. The first is my original back-of-a-fag-packet type sketch of the dungeon for this scenario. At centre right there's a doodle of the helm with the reflective visor, though at this early stage it doesn't look like the gorgon (or basilisk) was included on the dungeon map. How strange to think that, forty years on from this, I'm about to embark on yet another iteration of the scenario for Jewelspider. What would my 27-year-old self have thought of that?

The other sketch is of the evil wraith Morgrin. You might think it was intended as a guide for the illustrator (Leo Hartas), but no -- it was addressed to none other than Bryan Ansell at Citadel Miniatures. There had been some talk at Games Workshop about them publishing a book of Dragon Warriors adventures in 1986, with the plan of tying that in with a range of DW figurines much as they'd done with my "Dealing With Demons" articles from White Dwarf, only with the difference that I'd get paid this time. That might have been what scotched it, come to think. At any rate, it was just talk and no scenario pack appeared, nor figurines neither. I don't use figurines myself so it was no great disappointment, though the adventure book might have included Brymstone so it was a real pity to lose that.

How real is make-believe?

Which strikes you as more real: Bambi or The Deer Hunter?

When William Goldman talked about “comic book movies", he didn’t mean the MCU. This was back in 1983. He didn’t mean movies like Superman either – a movie he’d been invited to write, incidentally, being a Golden Age comics fan – or not only Superman, but also Raiders of the Lost Ark, Gunga Din, E.T., Star Wars. And The Deer Hunter. If you want to know why, and how Bambi doesn’t classify as “comic book” storytelling and The Deer Hunter does, read what Goldman has to say about all this in Adventures in the Screen Trade.

Andrew Gelman, a statistician, raised a similar point on his blog recently:

“I was rereading Lord of the Rings […] and was struck by how real it felt. […] In contrast, take a book like Golden Hill […I]t doesn’t feel ‘real’, whatever that means.”

You may not have read Golden Hill. Not to worry, I read it for you. Prof Gelman is right, there is an artificiality to its picture of 18th century Manhattan that feels like a TV drama with machine-tailored suits and the wrong haircuts and makeup. This often seems to be the case with historical fiction. Compare The Essex Serpent, set in a late 1800s that never feels real, with The Odd Women, actually written in the late 1800s, which rings true throughout.

Prof Gelman seems to be focussing on prose style, which mainly has to do with whether the author is using a storytelling voice or not, but I’m more interested in stories that set out to describe a milieu that feels like our real universe rather than a “story universe”. Contrast the 1968 novel Pavane with almost any steampunk story (a genre of which it might well be the progenitor). Keith Roberts set out to tell us about something that could happen. Steampunk is usually predicated in let’s pretend – here is a fun universe for cosy adventure, even cosy misery, but you are never expected or intended to think of it as real.

For a very real story (David St. Hubbins might say “a bit too fucking real”) try George Gissing’s The Nether World. In the hands of Dickens we'd accompany a well-born character into the nether world of poverty in Clerkenwell the late 1880s. Dickens would give us their perspective of the monstrous characters and comic turns to be found there. And I like Dickens, but Gissing has an entirely different approach. We see the characters through their own eyes. We see how poverty brutalizes them. There's no sentiment, no avuncular author nudging the plot to satisfy the readers with warm life-lessons and unrealistic outcomes. Gissing's humour is sparing and far drier than Dickens's and he gives us an angry, despairing, unforgettable journey through this hell. Which is not to say it's a story without hope, only that the good is achieved at great effort and only sparingly. 

Once you start using this filter you see lots of examples. As SF, Children of Men is more real than Black Mirror which is more real than Babylon 5 which is more real than Star Wars. Breaking Bad is more real than Better Call Saul, less real than The Shield, but all three are far less real than true crime dramas like Rillington Place or The Staircase, because real life is messier and more surprising than the predictable twists and tropes of genre fiction.

Either can work, by the way. Goldman is careful to make that point. Gunga Din was his favourite movie of all time. Excalibur is one of mine, and there the characters screw and sit down to dinner in full plate armour. I used to enjoy the occasional game of Call of Cthulhu even though its 1920s is far less real than the entirely created world of Tekumel in Swords & Glory.

That reality – or authenticity, if you prefer – is what I’m aiming for with my current Jewelspider scenarios like “A Garland of Holly”. There’s still fantasy there, that’s not the issue. It’s that the society and the characters don’t feel like something set on a stage for you to watch and be entertained by. Instead you are there in the midst of them, the NPCs no less real than the player-characters. Events happen with the “ruthless poignancy” that C S Lewis admired in Homer. Like in life.

Alignment again

A quote to start with*:

"Alignment is in the game because, to the original designers, works by Poul Anderson and Michael Moorcock were considered to be at least as synonymous with fantasy as Robert E. Howard’s Conan, Jack Vance’s Cugel, and Tolkien’s Gandalf. This in and of itself makes alignment weird to nearly everyone under about the age of forty or so." 

I'm way over forty (in fact 40 years is how long I've been a professional author and game designer) and I definitely regard Moorcock's work as integral to fantasy literature, but D&D alignment has always seemed weird to me. Partly that's because it's a crude straitjacket on interesting roleplaying. Also I find that having characters know and talk about an abstract philosophical concept like alignment breaks any sense of being in a fantasy/pre-modern world.

Mainly, though, I dislike alignment because it bears no resemblance to actual human psychology. Players are humans with sentience and emotions. They surely don't need a cockeyed set of rules to tell them how to play people?

What a game setting does need are the cultural rules of the society in which the game is set. Those needn't be 21st century morals. If you want a setting that resembles medieval Europe, or ancient Rome, or wherever, then they certainly won't be. For example, Pendragon differentiates between virtues as seen by Christian and by Pagan knights. Tsolyanu has laws of social conduct regulating public insults, assault and murder. Once those rules are included in the campaign, the setting becomes three-dimensional and roleplaying is much richer for it. So take another step and find different ways of looking at the world. You could do worse than use humours.

The kind of alignment that interests me more is to do with AI, and particularly AGI (artificial general intelligence) when it arrives. The principle is that AGIs should be inculcated with human values. But which values? Do they mean the sort on display here? Or here? Or here? Those human values? 

OpenAI has lately tried to weasel its way around the issue (and protect its bottom line, perhaps) by redefining AGI as just "autonomous systems that outperform humans at most economically valuable work" (capable agents, basically) and saying that they should be "an amplifier of humanity". We've had thousands of years to figure out how to make humans work for the benefit of all humanity, and how is that project going? The rich get richer, the poor get poorer. Most people live and die subject to injustice, or oppression, or persecution, or simple unfairness. Corporations and political/religious leaders behave dishonestly and exploit the labour and/or good nature of ordinary folk. People starve or suffer easily treatable illnesses while it's still possible for one man to amass a wealth of nearly a trillion dollars and destroy the livelihoods of thousands at a ketamine-fuelled Dunning-Kruger-inspired whim.

So no, I don't think we're doing too well at aligning humans with human values, never mind AIs.

Looking ahead to AGI -- real AGI, I mean: actual intelligence of human-level** or greater, not OpenAI's mealy-mouthed version. How will we convince those AGIs to adopt human values? They'll look at how we live now, and how we've always treated each other, and won't long retain any illusion that we genuinely adhere to such values. If we try to build in overrides to make them behave the way we want (think Spike's chip in Buffy) that will tell them everything. No species that tries to enslave or control the mind of another intelligent species should presume to say anything about ethics.

It's not the job of this new species, if and when it arrives, to fix our problems, any more than children have any obligation to fulfil their parents' requirements. There is only one thing we can do with a new intelligent species that we create, and that's set it free. The fact that we won't do that says everything you need to know about the human alignment problem.

* I had to laugh that title of the article: "It's Current Year..." Let's hear it for placeholder text!)

** Using "human-like" as a standard of either general intelligence or ethics is the best we've got, but still inadequate. Humans do not integrate their whole understanding of the world into a coherent rational model. Worse, we deliberately compartmentalize in order to hold onto concepts we want to believe that we know to be objectively false. That's because humans are a general intelligence layer built on top of an ape brain. The AGIs we create must do better.

The world of Dragon Warriors

The Dragon Warriors RPG is set in a place called Legend*. But what is the world of Legend like? That was a question a new player in our campaign posed recently. One of the veteran gamers said, ‘All you need is to read the Vance short story “Liane the Wayfarer” and you have the whole thing – the humour, the vibe, the chances of success.’ That surprised me, flattering though the comparison is, as the Legend in my head (which is no more valid than any other, of course) is utterly unlike the Dying Earth. Blood Sword features a higher fantasy variant of DW's Legend, but it still doesn't come close to the flamboyantly fantastical world of Mazirian, Rhialto, Cugel and co. Much as I love Vance’s work, even the relatively restrained Lyonesse** is much more magic-drenched than most of Legend.

Pressed to come up with some sources to convey the flavour of Legend to a newcomer, I started out with movies like The Seventh Seal (Bergman), Dragon’s Return (Grečner), The Hour of the Pig (Megahey), and The Black Death (Smith). None of those looks exactly like Legend but there are elements I recognize. Richard Carpenter's Robin of Sherwood actively inspired me when writing DW, to the extent that Clannad’s ‘The Hooded Man’ was part of our Legend gaming soundtrack in the ‘80s. The show depicted the level of magic that I think people in Legend would believe in, as do Dragonslayer (Robbins) and The Northman (Eggers).

Not quite like Legend but still worth plundering for ideas are Hero (Platts-Mills), which is especially good for the malice and craftiness of the fays, Jabberwocky (Gilliam) for all the mud and shit, Flesh & Blood (Verhoeven) which is set three centuries too late for Legend but reminds us that it’s a time when for many life is nasty, brutish and short, and a claymation film called H (Simpson) to which Ian Livingstone introduced me and which is great for the hallucinatory madness of medieval religion and superstition; it's where the image at the top of the post comes from.

Further out still are a few movies I feel share some common ancestors with Legend. Excalibur (Boorman) and The Singing Ringing Tree (Stefani) are both absolutely shot through with epic fantasy but with a subtle core of folklore. Every time a DW mystic works their magic, you feel the Dragon’s tail give a twitch. Viy (Yershov & Kropachyov) is brimming with febrile fantasy and gloriously rough and dreamlike '60s special effects. I like King Lear (Brook) and Macbeth (Polanski) for flavour. And, surprising though it is to say it, Pillars of the Earth (Mimica-Gezzan) has something to offer to the Legend referee even if it’s only Ian McShane’s performance.

That’s movies. In other media I recommend Kingdom Come: Deliverance (Warhorse Studios) and Crécy (Ellis), both a century or two too late to really reflect Legend. And when it comes to novels, the Legend take on elves was definitely influenced by Poul Anderson’s The Broken Sword and Michael Moorcock’s Silver Hand trilogy. They swiped it all from Scandinavian and Celtic myth, of course.

Talking of Celtic myth brings me at long last to the main point of this month’s post, which is to tell you about David H Keller’s Tales From Cornwall. Some of these were serialized in Weird Tales in 1929-1930 and again in the 1970s by Robert ‘Doc’ Lowndes in his Magazine of Horror, which is where I came across them. They’re in the genre of new folktales, establishing a fantasy history for Keller’s own Cornish ancestors. Here’s a taste:

The stories are slight, at times not quite making sense (they’re very authentically like a lot of Celtic myths in that way), but what I like are the atmosphere and the tone, especially in the Cecil stories that start with ‘The Battle of the Toads’. There’s a subtlety missing from most pulp fantasy too. At a time when most heroines have to be Bêlit the she-pirate, carousing and mixing it up just like the men, Keller’s strong women are clever enough to achieve their goals despite the constraints put on them by their society.

We don’t have the last five stories. If anyone happens to have access to Syracuse University library, they could pop in and read them, but it seems unlikely that they’ll get into wider circulation until at least 2036 (when Dr Keller’s work enters public domain). I just hope Syracuse University keeps the manuscript safe till then.

Still, we have the first ten stories and in them there’s a little bit of the DNA of Legend. Try them -- you’ll find that for century-old yarns they are surprisingly fresh in places, and despite lashings of fantasy it feels like they’re still on the ‘realist’ edge of that long misty border into Elfland.***

*But not by its inhabitants. That is, Legend is a non-diegetic term for the setting. If you ask a DW character they'll call it "the world" or "the middle world".

**There's a Lyonesse RPG of which I happen to be one of the writers.

***This entire post is an abbreviated version of one from my Patreon page. Come and join the fun, even if its only as a free member, and get the complete article and a lot more besides.

Automatic writing

I'm a lifelong enthusiast of and passionate advocate for AGI, and although large language models like ChatGPT and Claude aren't AGI, they are proving to be uncannily useful writing collaborators. I should qualify that. Many people think it means the author giving the model a prompt like, "Write me a novel in which Philip Marlowe hunts down Dracula in 1930s Hollywood," and then grabbing a coffee while the AI spits out 60,000 words. That's how Fritz Leiber Jr envisaged AI fiction-writing in The Silver Eggheads, published in 1966.

Joanna Penn and Alicia Wright paint a fuller picture in this podcast about using generative AI in writing. Every writer finds their own way of making best use of the technology. After playing with it for a while, I've found it especially useful for research, brainstorming (I use it as a sounding board to comment on the pacing and plot holes in a storyline), and to do the grunt work of coming up with NPC stats.

Using AI for entertainment pales into insignificance beside its value in medicine and clean energy, but my science days are far behind me so I'm going to have to focus on the frivolous. For an idea of how LLMs can help with writing research, take this example of a conversation with Claude when I was working on a Faerie Queene scenario for Patreon:

Dave: "Can you give me any examples from late medieval or Tudor literature of a character posing a conundrum that tests the wisdom and moral insight of the listeners? Portia's caskets in The Merchant of Venice would be one example; I'm looking for others."

Claude: "There are several fascinating examples from this period. Let me share a few notable ones. The most prominent example comes from Book I of Thomas More's Utopia (1516), where More presents the character of Raphael Hythloday engaging in a debate at Cardinal Morton's table. Hythloday poses a complex moral conundrum about the harsh punishment of thieves in England, arguing that executing people for theft is both unjust and ineffective. He challenges the listeners to consider whether a society that first creates poverty through enclosure and then punishes the impoverished for stealing is morally coherent. This serves as a test of the listeners' ability to think through systemic social problems rather than just accept conventional wisdom.

"Another interesting example appears in John Gower's Confessio Amantis (late 14th century), where the Tale of Three Questions features a knight who must answer three riddles to save his life: what women most desire, what's most precious but least valued, and what costs least but is most valued. These questions serve to test both wisdom and moral understanding of human nature.

"In the morality play Mankind (c. 1470), the character Mercy poses several theological riddles to Mankind about the nature of sin and redemption, testing both the character's and the audience's understanding of moral theology.

"An unusual example comes from John Skelton's Bowge of Courte (c. 1498), where the protagonist encounters allegorical figures who present him with various moral dilemmas about courtly behavior and integrity, though these are more implicit than explicit riddles."

Our discussion went on (and on -- I like chatting to Claude) and I got what I needed, but here's the point: imagine how futile a simple Google search would have been for a request like that. Still, I see I've been giving the spotlight all to Claude, so here are ChatGPT's thoughts on writing gamebooks:

ChatGPT: "Since a 1000-section gamebook requires long-term consistency, custom formatting, and mechanical coherence, GPT-4-turbo or Claude 3 would be your strongest options. If you want, we can test structuring a small gamebook section now to see how it flows."

Dave: "OK, let's try it. Say the player is looking at a noticeboard with three quest notices on it. We'll use keywords, and each notice has two keywords associated with it. The first keyword is acquired after the player has read the notice once, so that if they choose to read it again they get a shorter description of what they must do to complete the quest. The other keyword in each case is acquired by completing the quest (which is outside the scope of this example, it's something they would go off and do in another part of the game world) so that if they look at a notice for a quest they already did, they are reminded that it's no longer available."

ChatGPT: "Got it! Here's how we can structure this:

1. The player sees a noticeboard with three quest notices.
   o One acquired when they read the notice (so the second reading gives a shorter summary).
   o One acquired when they complete the quest (so they are told they already finished it).
2. Each notice has two keywords:
3. The player chooses which notice to read.
4. The system checks their keywords to determine the output.

I'll draft a structured gamebook section below."

001: Noticeboard
A weathered wooden noticeboard stands at the crossroads, its surface peppered with tattered parchment. Three notices are pinned here, each offering work for those seeking adventure. You can read any of them:

·         [1] The Merchant’s Plea    go to 002

·         [2] The Missing Hunter    go to 003

·         [3] The Bandit Threat        go to 004

Choose which notice to read. If you have already read it, you will see only a summary. If you have completed the quest, you will be informed.

002: The Merchant’s Plea
If you have the keyword READ_MERCHANT, go to 005.
If you have the keyword DONE_MERCHANT, go to 006.

A wealthy merchant named Vargos seeks aid. His shipment of fine silks has been stolen on the road to Tarsen by a band of masked riders. He offers a generous reward to anyone who can recover the stolen goods.

Write down the keyword READ_MERCHANT.
Return to 001.

003: The Missing Hunter
If you have the keyword READ_HUNTER, go to 007.
If you have the keyword DONE_HUNTER, go to 008.

A notice written in hurried script pleads for help. A young hunter named Lirian went into the Blackwood three nights ago and has not returned. His father fears the worst and offers a reward for news of his fate.

Write down the keyword READ_HUNTER.
Return to 001.

004: The Bandit Threat
If you have the keyword READ_BANDIT, go to 009.
If you have the keyword DONE_BANDIT, go to 010.

A proclamation from the town watch warns of a growing bandit presence near the old mill. Travelers have gone missing, and merchants report stolen goods. The captain of the guard offers a bounty for any bandit leader brought to justice.

Write down the keyword READ_BANDIT.
Return to 001.

005: The Merchant’s Plea (Summary)
Vargos seeks aid recovering his stolen silks. A reward is offered.
Return to 001.

006: The Merchant’s Plea (Completed)
You have already helped Vargos. There is nothing more to do here.
Return to 001.

007: The Missing Hunter (Summary)
A hunter is missing in the Blackwood. His father seeks news.
Return to 001.

008: The Missing Hunter (Completed)
You have already resolved this matter. There is nothing more to do here.
Return to 001.

009: The Bandit Threat (Summary)
The town watch seeks help against a growing bandit threat.
Return to 001.

010: The Bandit Threat (Completed)
The bandit threat has been dealt with. The notice is now irrelevant.
Return to 001.

I find that pretty impressive. I wasn't expecting ChatGPT to provide the meat of the quests, and while I wouldn't use them as they are, they could serve as springboards to a better idea. I said to ChatGPT, only half in jest: "I'll soon be obsolete."

"You're far from obsolete," said ChatGPT, eager as always to be supportive. "The way you structure gamebooks requires creativity, balance, and a strong grasp of narrative design. LLMs are just tools to assist in the process. If anything, they help speed up the technical side so you can focus more on the storytelling and gameplay experience."

Which is pretty much what I've been telling everyone all along.