GenCon: This IS My First Rodeo

When a hoity toity magazine sends a novelist of varying levels of both Avant and Garde to a cruise ship to write an experimental article, the hook is the fish-out-of-water aspect. How will this representative of high culture react when dropped amidst the sheer, Lovecraftian horror of being elbow to elbow with the American hoi polloi? It’s a solid gimmick. 

I am going to GenCon this year (or rather am nearly there as of this writing and have already been here at least a day as of your reading this). My first con of the sort (I’ve gone to conferences about boring work stuff where I’ve had to wear a suit, smile, shake hands, pass around business cards), my first experience waist-deep in nerd culture, even despite my ordinary proximity to DragonCon, which I’ve been assured is a perfectly cromulent con. I’d like to, therefore, pretend I’m adopting the same aforementioned novelist-on-a-boat gimmick. However, I cannot do so in good faith. As evidenced by the fact that I’m writing this on a blog dedicated to TTRPGs, I’m not the normie among abnormies; I’m the king freak, here at least to don my crown and meet my people. 

I’ve always wondered what one of these is like but never like “drop money on a ticket” level wondered. Even last year when I was campaigning for an Ennie, I was like nah, not for little, ol’ me. Though that was likely because I learned of my nomination so late in the game. But I figure many, perhaps most, of you are in the same boat I’ve only recently disembarked. So this series is a travelogue about attending GenCon, alone and confused. 

I didn’t do much preparation for this other than signing up for events and getting nearly half of the ones I tried to get (not getting a slot in Yochai’s Cairn game was a particular bummer). I didn’t go with a coterie of homies, although I knew (via the online medium) a few people who were also going. Was I going to have a good time? Would I fit in? I packed my backpack and headed out like a child heading to kindergarten. 

The Dawn of the Con

I won’t dwell on boring logistical challenges, assuming that the real juice in this post is what it’s like at the GenCon itself. But a word to the wise (but which only the foolish wouldn’t already know): try to stay closer to the convention center. I am the fool. 

Despite my best efforts, I didn’t have much on the official docket for the first morning of GenCon. I attended the opening ceremony, which I regret to inform my readership didn’t live up to the same standard set by the opening ceremony for a competing event, the Olympics. The McElroys (¾ of them, at least) were the headliners of the ceremony, and boy howdy did they have the audience hooting and hollering with glee. I’m immune to their myriad charms because I am simply too effete. But it’s always good to get started by seeing some celebrities. It really makes you feel “I am somewhere, damn it!”

For the next many hours, I haunted the convention halls like a ghost, if a ghost had to waddle slowly through crowds. I knew that GenCon was going to be an absolute barrel of people, but I failed to anticipate the sheer number of people. When I would tell people this is my first convention (not an infrequent occurrence–it is a more lowkey icebreaker that the people of GenCon care about than introducing myself by brand and product), they inevitably say something to the effect of “you picked a hell of a one to start with.” I was told by many of my chance conversation partners that this year’s convention was even more packed than years past and that the exhibit halls were especially full of gamer hordes (and, perhaps, game hoarders).

At times, the crowd moves at the pace of molasses, and the air has a definite musk to it, like a bag of honey BBQ Frito twists. However, the atmosphere is above all fun–about 10-20% of the attendees are in some level of costume or near-costume attire, which is the right level to not make you feel out of place for not being in costume, but enough that you feel a little like you are in the Mos Eisley Cantina. These are also all nerds, so no one is giving you a hard shoulder or getting aggressive through the crowd. There isn’t the luxury to respect other people’s personal space, but you get the definite sense that these are people who would really like to not to be bumping and grinding against you if they could help it.

Inside the main booth area (I’m sure it has a more official name), it is a bit like a theme park. Up above, the big spenders have floating signage directing you to their booth from afar. So as you journey from, say, the Goodman Games booth (booth is an understatement, they have a whole open air market going on), to the eBay booth (again, a misnomer–they have some crazy set up that appears to involve the taping of live eBay-based programming?), you are all the while feasting your eyes (and wallet, just as likely) on all the smaller booths that lie betwixt. It reminds me of the theme park in how the largest booths act as “weenies”, drawing the participant throughout the length and width of the space. Of course, that all reminds me most of all of good practices for exploration-based gameplay, as my colleague recently wrote about in Part 6 of their Bloggie-winning Re-inventing the Wilderness series. 

As I was killing time before my scheduled games for the day began, I decided to check out the miniature museum on the “50 Years of D&D History” that had been set up on the 2nd floor of the convention, away from the primary hustle and bustle of the con proper. While I pursued, luck would have it that along came Jon Peterson (eminent D&D historian, author of The Elusive Shift, Game Wizards, among others) and Peter Atkinson (former Wizards of the Coast CEO who acquired TSR and got WotC acquired by Hasbro, and current owner of GenCon). Apparently they had (temporarily, I later learned) run out of programs and Jon asked Peter to procure him one. Jon mentioned (good naturedly and potentially even in jest) that he was signed up to speak for some events he didn’t even know he was scheduled to speak at, which Peter joked that sometimes they just throw people on panels and hope they show. I think all this was in jest, but Peter, if you are reading this and need panelists for tomorrow, let me know. I’ll clear my schedule. Peter left to attend to running the con, and as Jon waited for a GenCon runner to return with a program, he gave an impromptu tour to a group of gray-headed grognards (and me, who was neither) for a good 15-20 minutes or so. It’s a cool collection, mostly from Peter’s own extensive stache. The grognards actually weren’t sure who Jon was (when they asked, he clarified that he was the one who set up the mini-museum in which they stood). I remarked that he wrote Elusive Shift, just to tip my power level a bit. As Jon was leaving, I gave him a copy of Barkeep on the Borderlands—I’m sure he was internally like “great, some TTRPG detritus, free shovelware”, but because I didn’t have any of his books on hand for him to sign (which, let this be a lesson to you kids: carry every book you own with you at all times just in case you run into its author), it seemed like the next best thing. At least Barkeep can collect dust among his ample store of artifacts! I doubt it will find its way into any mini-museums in the near future.

These pieces from the exhibit are Gary Gygax (ever heard of him?)’s handwritten notes to early playtest material from the 3rd edition.

“VERY GOOD” writes Gary, acting like he is perhaps a high school English teacher for a student who just needs a little encouragement.

A Gaming Convention, After All

After all that (and a tour of the food trucks), it was time for some actual gaming. I am not going to give a blow by blow of my sessions, nor will I review the modules (as I haven’t even read them), but am rather going for an overall vibe. 

The first was Mothership, specifically the module “Aurora”. I got there a tad early, and the referee did a bit of a double take when he saw my Ennie. Yes, I wore my medal. I earned it, damn it! If I can’t wear it at GenCon, where can I? My hope is that I can win more so I can look properly ridiculous with multiple junks of faux gold clanking together on my chest. But, at GenCon, it is more of a conversation starter, a ploy for me to get to say who I am (Prismatic Wasteland), and what I do (Barkeep on the Borderlands), since that doesn’t just naturally come up, and I look very ordinary at a gaming convention, indistinguishable from the sea of bearded nerds. 

The referee (who is a YouTuber) had a real professional setup, with one of those TVs that lies flat for displaying the map, but which he controlled with his iPad, and even a whole backup battery thing to power it all. He had the pencils, papers, spare dice that one probably expects. But more than just the technical aspects, it was refreshing to have a referee that clearly abided by the P/OSR style of play. When you had a good solution, or the right tool for a job, there was no rolling. All the players were fully on board too–looking for answers in the game world and rarely on their sheets. Another neat aspect of the game (which I don’t know is original to the module or an adaptation from the referee) was two tension devices: there was a real-life ticking clock at a certain point when we realized that the ship’s life support system only had a limited time remaining, which was reflected by a countdown timer he displayed for us; there was also a rule whereby we gained one stress for each new room we entered, justified by the fact that it was scorching hot in the ship, and it was stressing everyone out. This meant no time for dilly-dallying, we had to get our ship back on course and no longer hurling toward the sun. As my colleague, Dwiz of the Knight at the Opera blog, points out in his Mothership review, this scenario “fixes” a few issues he has with Mothership, the system, as a whole. In the end, I saved one character’s life when fighting a grotesque monster, then saved the rest of the crew’s life by sacrificing myself. The AI-pilot was behind the route to the sun, in an effort to destroy the monster that formed inside the ship. We needed at least one hand from the crew (the monster was an amalgamation of body parts from the crew, that turned into an indestructible abomination) to override but also this monster kept getting back up no matter what we threw at it. So I ended up telling my friends that I would lure it into the airlock, and to blast the monster, and me, into space. So that’s how it happened, my friends setting a new course for themselves, as my body likely burned to a crisp in space (because of hurtling toward the sun, obviously). But what use is a one-shot game if you can’t be the one to make a noble and memorable sacrifice?

The next game of the day was a session of Numenera. I have long been a fan (although not wholeheartedly) of the setting but had never actually played the game, of the Cypher system, itself. My verdict of the system isn’t positive–I found it rather clunky and inelegant. As to the event itself, the Monte Cook Games room was large and had about 14 tables all playing one Monte Cook game or another. As a result, it was a bit too loud for our referee to easily project over, and he had to repeat himself often, which broke up the flow that might have otherwise developed. The adventure itself appeared to be a new one, written for the convention itself and was largely dungeon crawly but without any of the lessons about good dungeon design practice espoused so readily on P/OSR blogs–there was no meaningful looping or decision points, it was instead more uterine in shape. It was plodding, with several players (not me, I am far too polite) asking “wait, why don’t we just leave again?” (the answer to which was, well someone stole all your magic items [which your character had but you as a player never experienced having so didn’t really get the impact of their loss], doncha want them back?) We overcame the villain at the end of the dungeon, got back our gear, and wrapped up without too much trouble. My character, in fact, never had to spend even the “1 action” rest to regain points. 

After my games wrapped up, I headed to a nearby hotel lobby where the good folks of Possum Creek Games were hosting a pizza mixer. Jay Dragon was taken aback by my entry, expecting a pink cartoon ostrich instead of the flesh, blood and beard form that I more often assume–she wasn’t alone in this, several people suggested I wear shirts or buttons with my profile picture so as to be recognizable amidst the deluge of people who might as well be my identical twin. I spent an hour or two shooting the shit with fellow creators and publishers, which is quite refreshing. I did not adjourn to the bars, as I am too green and not integrated enough to know who is who and what is what to get invited to the good parties. Perhaps next year I will have to organize my own late night activities. Perhaps a session of Barkeep on the Borderlands that adjourns to an after-game bar crawl? The bars here, temptingly, are open until 3am, or so I was told by my talkative Uber driver, who is a former strip club DJ, on the way back to my hotel.