Meetings with the Metal Gods: Recapping an Epic Gen-Con

People, I've seen the Promised Land. I have traveled across the hills and plains, and found Nerdvana; and it was peopled with My Folk.

I rose in the dark of the morning, and, lacking sleep did sally forth to Bush Field. There did I mount a bird whose food is flammable, whose breath is fire, whose roar is mighty, and rose we did up into the sky. A short journey ensued, to the land of Indy, ere I dismounted and, girding my loins, and taking up my pack and what small weapons and gaming stones I bore with me, strode into a new land. And, Lo! There I saw in the sky, wreathed in fire and smoke, an apparition of Chaos. 'twere the wizard +Wayne Snyder, and I recognized him instantly. Soon we were joined there, in that eyrie by others of our clan and faith: +Gabriel Perez Gallardi and +Doug Kovacs.

Doug and Wayne did depart, riding in a waiting chariot, while I and the Uruguayan, a swarthy, moustachioed  worthy of fell aspect and impeccable manners, awaited our own. Soon did arrive the hulking Pole with booming voice, +Adam Muszkiewicz to bear us away, into the heart of the city. Within mere minutes, our foe, Murphy, did strike against us, casting a spell of heat and imminent fire against the mechanical heart of the chariot, and we were forced to stop at a local oasis. There did we purchase cool drinks while the chariot cooled its temper. We provided an elixir to sooth it, and soon we were on our way, once more.

We approached the monolith, itself limned against others like it, known only as Con-Rad. In this great edifice would we lay our heads, when the opportunity for slumber came (which was not often enough). Our hosts treated us like kings, though we were but princes of the road, and unsavory to look at. It was then that I strode forth to meet the Dark Master, Good-man, who had summoned me from my lair, to bear witness to this annual ritual.

I wound my way through the labryrinth called "Sky Way," and, after many a false turn, was guided by a member of the Con Guard, to the mighty treasure house. There, I communed through the aether with the Dark Master, and he brought forth a talisman for my use. With it I could pass, then, the gate guards and enter the sanctum. Within, men and beast alike arranged in artful ways the treasure of many distant lands, each conclave of wizards within its own ritual circle. Some even did erect edifices of stone and metal to bear their banners, and the jewels of chaos gleamed under the harsh light of the weirdling suns.

Chessex dice display. Yes, I bought a lot of them. How could I not?

For the Dark Master I toiled, long into the eve, ere being granted leave to join my band, the +Metal Gods of Ur-Hadad. We gathered in the tavern of Em-Bas-E for the nightly ritual, contending there each night, our judges calling forth powers fell and terrible: Fish wizards with laser eyes, the dead ones, amazons and squid men, and Young Dave Mustaine. Many died there, from battle, from rains of acid blood, and from corruption. I slew a fish-wizard, garotting him with my sackcloth thong, though my corrupted junk had withered away (not pictured).

In the end, only one escaped from Catastrophe Island. I, however, fell to fierce and furry Chewbacca, whose luck knows no bounds. Then the gods grew weary of play, and their mortal toys were put away.

Let me tell you also of the siege of Exhibition Hall. Each day the ravening hordes did gather outside the gates, ready to sack and to pillage.

Totally ready for ravening. Take our money!

Each day we stood stalwart and steely-eyed (or bleary-eyed, depending on the previous night), behind stout ramparts of merch'.

The Goodman Games booth crew.
Top: Steve Bean, Edgar Johnson
Bottom: Michael Crane (I think?), Keith Labaw, Dieter Zimmerman

For days we were besieged, our merch stocks dwindling, until the hordes broke and retreated to their lairs. Much gold had we gained, and one Hwil Hwheaton (a.k.a. +Wil Wheaton ), skald of the Interwebz, consorted with the Dark Master and +Michael Curtis. I am told he bore from that meeting two tomes of lore. Mayhap he will sing their praises before all is said and done. 

Yeah, I missed this one. Hey, Wil, how about putting DCC RPG on Tabletop?
(Photo from DCC RPG Facebook page)

 Each day was battle and bachanal, each night too short, as we feasted and drank, well-met in taverns and great halls, telling stories, playing games, rolling dice.

Blood for the Serpent King!

Each night grew longer; each morning came earlier. But we were stalwart. Each day dawned to reveal new possibilities and new challenges. We marched on, our line unbroken, under the protection of the Metal Gods.

These are my people.

And on the last night, we met in conclave, hoisted tankards, and drank to our own health. The night was endless and too short, all at once. 

Oh, boy, did I fail my Fort save this night. Almost missed my plane.

So much happened on this campaign, too much to remember, too much to tell. But I was there, surrounded by friends, both old and new.

Joseph Goodman, Nathan Panke, Alex Mayo, Harley Stroh

I finally got to meet Jen Brinkman. She's just as good in person.

Gabriel Perez Gallardi and Wayne Snyder. Also even better in person.

The ritual is complete, the spell is cast, and circle is joined. We call into being a Purple Planet. We summon forth the Metal Gods. You will all die, and you will love it.

The wizard, Harley Stroh, and his team of badasses. We will bring forth
the Purple Planet from our fevered brains. (Photo by Wayne Snyder)
Pictured: Harley Stroh, Edgar Johnson, Doug Kovacs, Tim Callahan.
Photobombing: The rest of the Metal Gods crew.
Not pictured: Daniel J. Bishop and Terry Olson).

The final dawn it came too soon. I bolted from my pallet, reeking of the night before, stomach churning, head pounding, parched and panicked. Without even a proper fare-thee-well, I departed, borne to the hall of the great birds by a hulking black chariot. But all was not well. The bird of my desire had fallen ill, and would not be on time. I was stranded for a time in Indy, and then again in the land of Charlotte, where I bided my time on the edge of sleep and sickness, the corruption from my night's revelry roiling in my guts. Long hours did I wait, until at last I was born home upon wings of steel, to be greeted by my loving clan.  I spilled forth, then, my tale, and gave out the loot I had wrested from that foreign land. A slight repast. A sleep like death, but too short. Far too short. 

Cold morning came early (too early), whisking away half-remembered dreams. Dreams? Was it only a dream? Then how true these dreams, of people and places, and all the things we did, graven upon my heart like a poem, ringing in my mind like a song. I was there, and you were too. Our days were too long, and our hours too few. I hope that yours was just as fine, your friends and your time, as good as mine. That's all I have, and this tale is done.

Author's Note:

Thanks to everyone who made my first Gen-Con (my first gaming con of any kind!) a great one. I know I'm going to miss somebody, but here's a list:

+Adam Muszkiewicz, +Wayne Snyder, +Gabriel Perez Gallardi, +James MacGeorge, +Kathryn Muszkiewicz, +Doug Kovacs, +Joseph Goodman, +Keith LaBaw, +Dieter Zimmerman, +Adam Koebel, +Shoe Skogen, +Alex Mayo, +Steve Sigety, +Reid San Filippo, +Brendan LaSalle, +Harley Stroh, +Tim Callahan, +Nathan Panke, +Jen Brinkman, +Bob Brinkman, +Stefan Poag, Steve Bean, +David Baity, +Roy Snyder, everybody else I have managed to forget to list here. It was great.

Sadly, I will not return next year. It's at a bad time of year for me (Monday was hell, people...). However, I will attend North Texas RPG Con 2015. I hope to see at least a few old friends there as well.                      

Off to GenCon

Oh, long suffering readers (all two of you), please forgive the radio silence. Between work on stretch goals for the inimitable +Harley Stroh's Peril on the Purple Planet, getting ready for GenCon, and getting work stuff squared away for going away this weekend, I have been neglecting the blog. I will come back soon, with reports from the hinterlands of Indianapolis.

In the meantime, I look forward with great anticipation to meeting the flesh sacks of the virtual people with whom I interact fairly frequently. The +Metal Gods of Ur-Hadad will be there, including Sr. +Gabriel Perez Gallardi, all the way from Uruguay. Cannot wait to see them.

I'll be working with Goodman Games on my first ever GenCon (and first ever gaming convention of any kind). I'll be at the booth in the exhibition hall from 10-1 on Thursday and Friday, and 10-11 on Saturday, and running games in the afternoon on those days. You will also be able to catch me at DougKon in the evenings, if you care to do so.

I've also made my reservations for North Texas RPG Con 2015, which will be my con for the foreseeable future, probably, as GaryCon and GenCon come at very awkward times of the year, work-wise. Still, the lack of sleep this weekend, the probably "con crud" I will pick up, and all the rest of the unpleasantness of travel, all of it will be worth it. My friends in the Metal Gods group are the fucking best, and the rest of the folks at Goodman Games are classy as hell.

Livin' the dream, people. Hope to see some of you there.

A Very Metal Creation Story

I've written about the Metal Gods a whole bunch of times already, but recent thoughts and readings about cultural production spurred me to put together a... well... I guess a theology is the thing I mean. So, here, I lay out a theology of the Metal Gods. But first some things about culture.

Metal Gods Are a Product of Culture

I will begin with a pretty simple idea: That Metal, as such, is cultural. This means a variety of very complicated things, most of which are irrelevant to this post. Still, culture and its pursuit give rise to a variety of passions, one of which is music.

Culture Is Both Product and Process
First, culture is the set of things that people make through their actions on the empirical (and obdurate) world around them. This expression may be ephemeral (e.g. live music or conversations about music) or it make be more durable (e.g. a musical instrument or a recording).

Cultural production, as a process, creates groupings, patterns, and regularities, not just chaos. We get genres of music, for example, and material culture that surrounds those genres. But time also passes, and some cultural products and processes are abandoned or forgotten, and some are reimagined in new ways. The regularities break down again, and some are remade. Sometimes this happens in recursive cycles. Doom metal, for example, is a rearticulation of older rock/metal genres, but in new ways; as a genre it both repeats and creates cultural patterns.

Those cultural patterns are objects of human attention and affiliation. We like some kinds of music, so we listen to them, evangelize about them, and so forth. We pass on musical culture to others. We receive it from them, also. We do this just by living life. Richard Dawkins used the term "meme" to express how relatively ephemeral culture gets propagated socially, using an infectious disease metaphor to express that idea.

Culture is Unevenly Distributed in Time and Space

A person lives at a particular time, in particular material and symbolic environments. Those things shape him or her, and provide both means and patterns of expressing culture. For example, by being a consumer of particular products, I am interacting with the world. But those products and process I am a part of are not everywhere and ripped from the moorings of time itself A kid growing up in suburban New Jersey or rural Georgia does not experience the same things in the same ways, and those make both experiences and expressions of music culture variable from scene to scene, creating differences among people calling themselves metalheads. Nonetheless, metalheads probably can spot other metalheads in a crowd--like maybe walking across the mall and seeing one of My People out among The Straights, or not being able to find a single other person like you in other, more rarified climes for whatever your particular subculture might be.

There's also the power issue.

Culture Expresses Power Relations

The conditions under which you live, material and symbolic, are historically rooted in your particular cultural space. You live an inherited culture. And not all of the roots of that culture will be oriented toward you and your interests. Power relations are a part of that.

Not all cultures are valued equally. When I was growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, for example, there was a shift during the Reagan years toward the demonization of punk and metal. I was a punk for the most part, but we sort of got lumped into the same crowd by the religious types. We were all just into that Devil Music, don't you know. And the religious Right came after us. They also instituted the Satanic Panic about gaming, so there's that as well. The fact that gaming and metal are sometimes the passions of the same folk, of course, means that sometimes we were doubly targeted, both by adults and by Straights in general.

So, cultural difference led to cultural conflict, and there were asymmetric powers at work. Teenagers have less influence than adults. The religious Right at that time was ascendant (not that they've left since), and able to be influential in significant ways, using mediated social activism in reaction to the bugaboo living in their brains. This didn't make life easy for teenagers at the time (with some exceptions), but it did create a sense of some degree of solidarity, at least in relation to Straight culture. Eventually, though, some Outsider cultures get appropriated in the mainstream (whence we got hair metal and New Wave).

But enough about culture. What does it have to do with the Metal Gods?

The Kids in the Basement

Somewhere, somewhen, there are some kids in a basement. They're listening to Metal. They're listening to it a lot, an they're listening to it LOUD. They're listening to it with their friends. They're expressing the "Metal-ness" in various ways, some of them frightening to adults. Many of them are really, really passionate about it. Here's where the theology comes in.

That passion feeds across all the planes of existence, calling into being and making real a particular version of Creation: Planet Ore, and Golden Ur-Hadad, the First City of Men.

Every song calls Planet Ore into being. Every chord brings forth the land and the seas, and the people and the creatures that dwell thereon and therein. The crash of the drums upon the warp and weft of Chaos sends out ripples, causes effects. The cities and rise and fall. Empires wax and wane. The moon is broken and the floating city crashes into the Thunderlands. A thousand years pass, and with them the rises the culture of Men, and the forging of Metal.

The act of playing raises the creators of the songs to the status of Creators of the World. They find themselves among the gods of that place, authors of the Lost Hymns. And the Lost Hymns still echo across Creation, making and unmaking it simultaneously. Here's how it works on Planet Ore.

• A kid in New Haven blasts some High on Fire. On the Planet Ore, near Ur-Hadad, Graki Deathstalker takes up the Frosthammer in a futile quest to destroy the Serpent-Men and their minions.
• An old fart in Augusta cranks Deaf Forever up to 13, and war sweeps the land, only a hardy few winning their lives (and riches and glory, but who's counting?). He speaks the name of Lemmy in praise, and on Ore rises the Cult of Lemm the Killmaster, whose aspect is the Steel Boar called Snaggletooth.
• A teenager in Finland does what teenagers in Finland do, what with their black metal and whatnot, and a ravening horde descends upon a slumbering town. The survivors are your zero-level party.
• A certain artist who shall not be named quests afar to create a shrine, a Wizard Van driven by an actual wizard (I've seen the hat and robes, y'all. He's a wizard.). The painted image on that van creates some aspect of the land and its peoples. The paint forms a substrate for the image in one universe, laying the foundations of existence in another.

The very expression of this culture is a profound act of creation, making from the Void, a land, people, situations in which the people live, and a sense both of urgency and of destiny. For the language in which this reality is expressed is not a thing of sense and metrics, but of possibility and passion, at once crying, "What if?" and also, "Fuck yeah!" Oh... and probably, "Fuck you!" as well.

It happens in the art on every album cover, in the notes and chords of every song, in every backpatch on a denim jacket, with each bang of every head, and in every basement where some kid, somewhere, has found The Music and The Music has found that kid.

And lo! Lemm played the first note upon the Rickenbastard, and the seas parted to form the land. Robhal chanted the Purest Note, and there came into being all of the creature that ride upon the winds, and the Greater Moon was broken. Each of the Metal Gods, given life by the Outsiders From Beyond Space and Time, became real. Each added its particular alloy of Metal to create Ore. Men once were slaves on Ore, but they would be slaves no more. Metal had been forged and it would see good use. The Metal Gods called upon their people to rise and take Ur-Hadad for themselves. And so they did. And thus, also, was born the Cult of the Metal Gods. 
                    ~Kormaki Lemmisson, Zealot of the Metal Gods)