Fighting Fantasy

1982

I distinctly remember being at school and one of my friends shoved a book in my hand, possibly Nick or Luke. I can’t remember who exactly, because the book was that exciting, their presence faded into insignificance and the only memory I have is of the endorphin hit of happiness as I feverishly got to grips with this new concept presented before me. It had a picture (cover art by Peter Jones) of a sultry smoking dragon on the front, writhing out from a unsettlingly stern faced wizard’s crystal ball.

My duffed up copy of Warlock

That book was The Warlock of Firetop Mountain, by Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone. As the blurb on the front says “A fighting fantasy gamebook in which YOU become the hero!”. Unusually for any book, it was written in the second person, because the reader was directly influencing and interacting with the story path through a non-linear multi-choice system. Every choice made is then numbered, from choosing whether to try and sneak past a sleeping hobgoblin, or attacking him, going east or west, bashing a door down, or picking a lock. You flick backwards and forwards through the numbered sections of the story, depending on the options you choose. And there was also an element of randomness and fortune. So, two dice, a pencil and an eraser were essential equipment for any journey into the mysteries of the book.

You rolled dice to define the characteristics of your character before you set off. SKILL, STAMINA and LUCK were key to your characters survival. If your STAMINA ran out, through combat (also dictated by rules involving dice throws) or otherwise (e.g – a spiked pit you might stumble into), you were dead, you would have to start again. A high SKILL was important, as that made it more likely to defeat monsters or perform tasks. And a high LUCK was important, as there were times when luck was key to say noticing an important fact, or sneaking past a powerful enemy. You could pick up gold, provisions, keys, weapons and items, some of which might be useful, some might be useless. All of this information you scribbled on your character sheet.

What complemented the book was also the illustration by Russ Nicholson. For example this illustration of two orc’s drinking grog. The incidental detail is astounding, the shading, the scoring of the table by the orc’s fingers, the vacant drunk expressions (looks a bit like some of the pubs I go to in north London). All the way through, the standard is incredible, bringing the story further to life.

Both Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone have gone on and become fabulously successful in Role Playing, Tabletop Wargaming and Computer Game fields, but for a group of people of a certain age (35-45), we all fondly remember Fighting Fantasy.

After Warlock, many more books followed, my favourites I think were Forest of Doom, it had an eerie nightmare emptiness about it, punctuated by tough encounters with brutal monsters. And of course the classic Deathtrap Dungeon, which was really hard to complete, that claustrophobic feeling of being surrounded, unable to retreat and having little hope as various beasts or traps killed you in a variety of ingenious, frustratingly amusing or bloody ways. Baron Sukumvit was a right git.

2012

And thirty years later, a new book has been written by Livingstone, to commemorate this landmark. It’s set in a contemporary horror setting. Called “Blood of the Zombies” it puts you in the role of someone trying to prevent a zombie apocalypse. it’s gory, fast paced and fun. And the best bit for me is that I was one of a select few twitter followers who won an opportunity to have my name appear in it! (teeny spoiler below).

“Melis” is a village/town which appears in the book. Which I am massively excited about. I queued up at Forbidden planet to get it signed too. I’m Zombie no 23. “Enjoy the town…” writes Ian.

Below, two giants of computer science. Well, one giant and one dwarf.

As Ian has stated in recent interviews, Blood of the Zombies’ art nods to both the past but also today’s teenagers, it’s universal really. But I haven’t played it to any great depth yet as I want to keep my signed one pristine, I’m waiting for the iPhone app! (imminently coming out). No spoilers, other than the reference to “my” town in the photo above. Which neatly brings me onto computer games.

As has been oft reported, Fighting Fantasy were the book equivalent of an adventure computer game and the influence on modern computer games is not to be underestimated. So I’d like to thank Ian Livingstone, I guess without his intervention, the mystery of Computer Science may have been lost on me. Role Players also like computers and computer games. Not sure why, we just do, computers, geekiness and role playing are the holy trinity of awkward teenagers. So I studied computer science. Admittedly there were hardly any girls on my university course and I was pretty shit at programming, so at times I was just this bewildered socially incompetent nobhead with no girlfriend, but I’m happy I played the long game now :)  I’ve forged a decent career in IT Services and this allows me to make such bourgeois decisions as rebuying (I can’t find my original copy) a duffed up 1982 copy of Warlock for posterity and for that nostalgia hit. It arrived the other day. It still has the rubbed out scribbles of some contemporary of mine in the character sheet section.

It just wouldn’t have been right to buy a brand new copy. Therefore my collection spans a true 30 years now.

If you haven’t read any Fighting Fantasy books, try them. And remember. YOU are the hero. Blood of the Zombies (with my name in it hehe) – OUT NOW !

The Gentleman's Cudgel

Yesterday, I had the journey from hell. Was on a train travelling back from the south coast, was in a customer meeting. There were delays, horrible delays. On the connecting train, approaching East Croydon, my loon beacon activated and a random stranger started talking to me. It happens a lot, I have no control over my loon beacon.

I suppose I brought it upon myself, his cudgel fascinated me. It was made of dark wood, ornately carved from a single piece of branch I guess, with what looked like a large acorn sculpted at the top, the handle or grip I assumed. Except the thing was 8 feet long and the owner had wedged it at an angle so it fitted in the foot rest with the top scraping the roof of the train. I observed this odd implement wondering as to it’s usage. Was he some sort of wizard? Did he harness the power of nature through it? (after dismissing the prospect it was a walking stick, the natural progression in my brain would immediately go to wizards staff instead of something more mundane).
But the gentleman owner suddenly addressed me.
“Do you know, I’ve been waiting on this train for two hours.” His voice had that softly spoken yet perfectly delivered tone and symmetry of one who what acts at Shakespeare. He was audible, crisp and clear, even over the background noise of the train. He was a proper posh luvvy.
“Yes, me too.." I responded politely. "There’s that bottleneck approaching Haywards Heath, only one track was in order.”

He was bald, clean shaven, with a David Niven moustache and wafer thin goatee.
“oh yes.” he replied. Then regaled me with one of his tales, no foreplay or anything, straight in there with an anecdote. “In 1974 I missed a train by mere seconds, then I heard it had ploughed through a crowd of people at Brighton. Many fatalities. It could have been me. When it’s your time, it’s your time. It clearly wasn’t my time that day.”

I didn’t want to entertain a philosophical discussion about fate, whether incidents in life are pre-destined or whether we are in control of our own destinies through the act of free will. It doesn’t interest me, because neither can be proven. If I’d turned my back to him at that moment, and shuffled backwards towards him whilst looking over my shoulder, calculating wind-speed and trajectory, before guffing loudly, would it have been an act of free will? Or would some greater power have it already mapped out. “On this day, Mel will point his posterior towards a posh gent on a delayed train and let out a fruity one. Why? I don’t know. But I’ve predestined it. So it must be…”

So I just replied politely. “Hmmm…” which means “I have no opinion, leave me alone, I’m a rude commuter.”
He then continued. “I’ve saved the lives of 5 people in my life, and two dogs.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yes.” he continued poshly. “I dragged a young lady and her child from a burning building. I can hold my breath in extreme conditions for well over three minutes, but the heat was invading my ears. The pain seared me. But I lived to tell the tale, as you can see.” He grinned waving his leather gloved hand around his face in a graceful manner.
I then lavished praise upon him.
“It’s amazing the courage we can muster at times of great stress” Which clearly was a lie, as using myself as a benchmark, I am a coward in all circumstances.
“indeed!” he said. “And the time I saved a young man from drowning, the press were very jubilant in their headlines. They wrote I dived in fully clothed, but I didn’t you know. I’d have sunk. I had heavy shoes on.”
“I see.” I said.

As I spoke to him, and slowly made more and more eye contact (I don’t do eye contact, I’m like a shifty Columbo type), I noticed actually he was a lot older than he looked. Although his skin was firm with a healthy sheen, not sagging, pock marked or dull, it was covered in liverspots. And his eyes, although full of life, had a dull cloudiness covering the deep blue. He could have been 50, but he was probably nearer 70 or older. He held a deep wisdom, maybe he *was* a wizard?
He was a dapper old goat in anycase. I then pretended to text someone and he gave up on telling me stories about life saving. But it was an interesting chat while it lasted. However, as I got my connection at East Croydon, I felt a pang of guilt for being a shitbag, so I did bid him a safe journey, “you too sir..” he gently replied, raising his leather gloved index finger in acknowledgement, the cool bastard, his whisper as clear as day. You see, I’m not as miserable as all of those other commuters. I’m just socially crippled. I don’t talk to people in any situation. That's the difference.