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I have been asked by my host (who being a commoner and worse, an American, lacks both the wit and artistic sensibility necessary to adequately assess such a volume) to review this extraordinary work on his behalf. I have agreed to assist him in this not merely for the generosity of his table or the excellence of his cellar—for it is my experience that Americans make up in material comforts what they lack in couth and common sense—but chiefly for the honor of being able to discourse at length to those less fortunate than myself the merits of this astounding work of Genius.
History of the Text
It was some time before the beginning of my long sojourn in the Orient, at the urgent request of no less estimable a personage than the Emperor of all Nippon himself (a matter I regret I am not currently at liberty to discuss, save that it involves the nefarious schemes of a Chinese laundry and the butchery of the English tongue), that I happened upon a little tome entitled The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen. Unless you are among the unwashed and the unlettered, recently returned from a long expedition along the uppermost reaches of the Amazon, or French, I am certain you will have heard of it.
Last published in 1998, in abbreviated form by Mr. James Wallis—who despite a surname indicating possible Welsh ancestry has nonetheless proven himself a man of impeccable judgment in the matter of quality publications--The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen immediately went on to be translated into 5 foreign tongues, and was nominated for the Best New RPG in the 1999 Origins Awards. This nomination is indicative, however, of a pervasive error in the modern gaming industry, which erroneously believes the first game of this sort to have been produced in 1974. Indeed! Only a simpleton could possibly accept the notion that a form of entertainment this inspired, this elegant, could have originated from a company calling itself “Tactical Studies Rules,” a name which brings to mind only the dull and spiritless Prussians and their absurd notions that railroads were in any way necessary to a successful military campaign. But I digress. Allow me to assure you, gentle reader, that The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen was in fact the very first Role Play entertainment, originally conceived by the Baron himself in 1798, and printed by James and Edward Wallis of No. 13 Warwick Square in the Year of Our Lord 1808. Any assertion that any other Role Play was the original, particularly one with so base and ignoble an object as exploring filthy tunnels in search of coin, is a d—n-d lie.
The latest edition of this great and venerable game, now published by the fine people at Magnum Opus Press, is the bicentennial 2008 release. It is complete and whole, greatly expanded from the 1998 release (in ways I shall later address). It is available in two forms; the hardcover Gentleman’s Edition (which perforce any man of breeding and taste will no doubt wish to acquire for his library) and the softcover Wives’ and Servants’ Edition (for those not fortunate enough to be of gentle birth or the male persuasion).
The Play
The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen (which despite my host’s urging I will most certainly NOT be abbreviating to a string of nonsense letters in the manner of those Americans whose attention spans cannot be stretched beyond a single word) is a storytelling game inspired by the exploits of that grand 18th century adventurer whose name is contained in its title. That the Baron is nowadays chiefly known as a teller of extravagant falsehoods is not only a slur against his character, but a sign of how democracy has allowed the inbred and mentally enfeebled to impose their lack of imagination upon the rest of us. No, sirrah, I assure you this is most definitely not a Role Play in which players are encouraged to tell straight-faced the most absurd and inflated fictions, but rather one in which they recount their most daring adventures. Of course, given that it is possible that this book will fall into the hands of common bakers, carpenters, carriage drivers, government officials, or others who have not lived lives of grand adventure, it will indeed be necessary for them to spontaneously invent astounding falsehoods instead.
To play, one requires several comfortable chairs, a number of coins per person, copious amounts of fine wine, brandy, or cognac, a table, and no less than three individuals, preferably of gentle or noble birth. Larger groups can easily be accommodated, but as the good Baron reminds us, with any more than 20 it might be preferable to simply pursue some other worthwhile goal, like the conquest of Belgium. Each person should have a full glass and a number of coins equal to the number of players at hand (but no less than 5 coins if the group is only three or four).
If any player should not be so fortunate as to already bear a title, he will have to by necessity play a “character.” This requires creating one. My host informs me that I should say something about munchkins here, but I confess I cannot fathom why my time of captivity among the cannibal pygmies of the Dark Continent should be of any relevance here. *** Ah, the matter has been cleared. By “munchkins” my host informs me he means those players who derive their chief pleasure in the science of character design, and the exploitation of such systems. Of course, it is absurd that he should think any comment is needed in this area. That any individual, even of meanest circumstances and lowest birth, could actually derive pleasure from assembling a character from charts and tables, endeavoring to manipulate the rules to his advantage, is unthinkable…unless of course he were inbred, suffering from some dreadful mental deficiency, or French. No, no, The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen has none of this nonsense, for it recognizes that in the matter of Role Play character emerges in the play itself, how the individual conducts himself and entertains his fellows. It is a game of imagination and eloquence, not the mean-spirited bean-counting or base legalese one might be unfortunate enough to encounter in other games. All one needs to do at the start of play is conceive of a grand and noble title—Comte, Graf, Duke, Lord, Baron, Archbishop, etc—and an appropriate name. Some thought should be given to nationality, personality, and such, but nothing so crass as numbers need be involved. After all, players are assumed to be nobles, and if a nobleman says he can single-handedly overcome an entire regiment of French soldiers, who are we to doubt his word? That a number or a dice roll might be needed to quantify such a feat is simply barbaric, and denotes an untrusting and ignoble spirit.
Where was I? Ah yes; once the company is assembled and in character, once all the glasses have been filled, the player starting the game (presumably the one with the highest ranking title) begins by turning to the player to his immediate right, and asks them to recount one of their grand adventures by suggesting the topic for them. These topics, and the tales themselves, should draw inspiration from the style of adventures enjoyed by the Baron. *** My host has again interrupted to suggest that any player not be familiar with the Baron’s adventures—an unthinkable thought amongst any men of culture—need only turn to the book, which provides a full 200 examples of such topics. I will give a few examples here;
Tell us, Baron, the story of… …how you accidentally started the Americans’ war of independence… …how you were able to reach the moon using only 20 feet of rope… …the incident in which you accidentally impregnated the Pope… …how you seduced the Queen of the Moon, who stands 300 feet tall… …how you removed the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London… …your hunting trip that led to the downfall of the Ming Dynasty…
Once given the topic, the noble is expected to immediately relate in a tale of around five minutes the adventure in question, without pause, without hemming and hawing. He is allowed only a moment at the beginning in which to say “Ah yes,” and drink from his glass before commencing. If he is unable, unwilling, or too inebriated to do so, he must announce “No, my throat is too dry,” down his drink, forfeit his turn, and buy the next round of drinks for all assembled. He then turns to the person to his right as asks the topic for the next tale.
Assuming he can continue, he begins his tale, delivering it with gestures, voices, and imaginative flourishes. At its conclusion, all cheer him and he turns to the noble at his right and asks for a new tale, choosing the topic.
Challenges & Duels
As one of your breeding and intellect may have already guessed, gentle reader, it is never quite so simple. At any moment during the tale, another player may interrupt and challenge some facet of the story, draining his glass and pushing one of his coins across the table. The storyteller then must decide whether to answer the challenge by weaving it into the story (in which case he keeps the challenger’s coin), or dismissing it by sliding the coin back to the challenger with one of his own. He must then ridicule the challenger for being so foolish as to doubt the word of a nobleman in some inventive fashion. The challenger may then press the matter by responding, and pushing another coin across the table, or withdrawing.
Such challenges are meant to confound the storyteller, or force him to add amusing new elements to his tale. Do allow me to recount to you, by way of illustration, one of my own experiences in the game;
Myself (mid-tale): …thus it was there that I found myself leaping up the slopes of Kilimanjaro…
The Conte d’Oro (draining his glass and pushing a wager across the table): But surely, my good man, you must be mistaken, for your tale takes place in Kenya, and it is well known that Mount Kilimanjaro is located in Tanzania…
Myself (accepting the wager): You mean of course presently in Tanzania, for at the time the resinous sweet gum I had gathered from the legendary Mugumabo tree as a gift for the Lady Arlington—who had a fondness for its aromatic properties—was unfortunately so loved by the voracious red army ants of the region that countless millions came in pursuit of me. Such a massive carpet of these insect devils spread across the plain that it lifted the mountain, and bore it aloft, all the way to Tanzania. It was there they finally grew tired of the chase and deposited the mountain, with me upon it, in its present location.
Archbishop deLance: (draining his glass and pushing a wager across the table) But dear sir, surely the ants would have simply chased you up the mountain?
Myself (accepting the wager): Such of course would have been the case if not for the fact that the tribal shamans of the region, who climb the slopes of the mountain to commune with their sky gods, had not sprinkled the circumference of its base with salts the insects find repellent, forcing them to burrow under it instead.
Needless to say, I could have ignored such inquiries, and lost coins were I not so quick witted and my memory so prodigious.
There arise however circumstances—all detailed in the rules—where a challenge may lead to a duel. Two methods are given of resolving this, only one of which involves actual bloodshed. The loser drops from the game and forfeits the total of his coins to the victor.
Once all stories are told, the players each declare what tale they thought best, sliding all their remaining coins to that particular storyteller. The player with the most coins at the end wins the game, and will—being a man of breeding—respond by providing the next round of drinks.
The 2008 Edition
Such was the game as released to the public in 1998. The newest edition contains new variations of the game and an account of the Baron’s adventures in Araby. Included between its covers one shall find the “Es-Sindibad” rules, appropriate for play even in Muslim lands as it excludes alcohol from the game. The Es-Sindibad game includes further new elements so that those bored with the original rules (something that in and of itself could only possibly occur from the player’s own limited imagination or pre-occupation with one of the local servant girls) may find fresh enthusiasm (which no doubt he will need as being simultaneously deprived of fortifying drink). This edition also includes two versions of “My Uncle the Baron,” a simplified game suitable for children, housewives, or even Italians. If this were not enough to convince you possession of this excellent tome is a requirement for any civilized person, it is illustrated not by the unknowns whose works litter other games, but none other than the great Gustave Dore.
I will leave the minutia of reviewing to my host, for I simply cannot be bothered with it. Instead, I would conclude by stressing upon you that a preference for games with dice, book-keeping, number-crunching, cheap beverages and pizza over a work like The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen marks one as a peasant, and one fit only for the service of a Frenchman at that. A true noble, my friends, would never allow so mean a device as a book to dictate what feats his character was capable of. The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen is a game for those whose wit and imaginations do not require crutches and cheap props like that. Those who would dispute me I shall call out from behind their keyboards and challenge them to a test of honour at the time and place of their choosing, wherein I shall deliver so sound a thrashing that they should be able to play their dice-laden games with their teeth.
[Interested in learning more, including a free 8 page sample download? Take a look here: http://www.magnumopuspress.com/?page_id=8]
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