On Inspiration

 

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”

― Theodore Roosevelt

Inspiration. One ought to look for it everywhere, because it is everywhere.

But do we?

We – a great many of us of a certain age anyway – drew a great deal of it from Gary Gygax’s Appendix N, mainly from Michael Moorcock’s Elric saga and from Robert E. Howard’s Conan checkered exploits, I imagine. Some may have drawn heavily from Tolkien, Robert Aspirin’s Thieves World, or Glen Cook’s The Black Company. Maybe even Terry Brook’s Shannara series. That’s all well and good, but I might be so bold as to suggest that there is far greater inspiration to be found beyond the confines of the “limited” scope of Fantasy. Do I hear shocked gasps? Exasperation? Angry shouts? I beg your forgiveness for such heretical belief, Gentle Reader; but I persist in that conviction. And crave your continued indulgence.

Hear me out. There is gritty verisimilitude to be had in applying aspects of the real world to your gaming. How frightening might your evil empires be if modelled on Hitler’s Nazi Germany, Stalin’s Soviet Union, or perhaps Khan’s Mongol Empire? To further elucidate, I once leaned rather heavily on the Great War and Stanley Karnow’s history of Vietnam to aid flesh out an early protracted and never fully realised campaign. Trenches marked a “demilitarised” zone, patrols swept the space between, raids plunged deeply into enemy territories, terror strikes struck the surrounding settlements.

Let’s not confine ourselves to the real world, either. Literature is a bottomless pit of inspiration. There’s every type of character under the sun in novels, both heroic, and not. Dicken’s Bill Sykes is a heinous psychopath. The Artful Dodger is without remorse. Fagen is a dose of poison, no matter how you try to digest him. But villains and heroes are not always so easily discerned in literature.

Is Dumas’ Edmond Dantes a hero or a villain? He began The Count of Monte Cristo a hapless victim, but he certainly became the novel’s chief antagonist after escaping prison. Sorry; is it too late to declare there may be spoilers throughout this exploration?

And consider Heathcliff: There’s another conflicted soul, if there ever was one. One or two of you might be asking, who the deuce is Heathcliff? For shame, if you do. Emily Bronte’s tortured antagonist of Wuthering Heights is as complex an exploration of how one might slip into evil as Edmond Dantes is.

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne

Is there a more heroic character than Robin Hood? He’s the saviour of the beleaguered common man! Or is he? He robs from the rich; but surely the rich are the only people in Prince John’s England worth stealing from. What could Robin possibly gain by robbing English serfs, after all? A loaf of bread? A pig or two? He gives to the poor. He surely should. How else could he buy his bread and pork? He could just take it, but where would that get him? The censure of the common man, who would turn against him at the first theft. Let’s assume then that Robin and his Merry Men are no heroes. They are common criminals, thieves at best; hardened criminals, killers at worst. Perchance even an assassins’ guild hidden in plain sight – not a hard sell, considering their skill with the bow – their true nature known to none, hunted by a far more lawful and benevolent Sherriff of Nottingham than first meets the eye. Sir Guy of Gisborne could then be a paladin or cavalier in his service, fighting a hopeless battle with too few men-at-arms against vicious – yet obviously charismatic – and ably organised killers. They are at their wits end, employing ever more heavy-handed tactics and oppressive policies by the day, knowing all-too-well that the good people of Sherwoodshire are aiding and abetting those wolves in sheep’s’ clothing. Chew on that for a moment, if you will.

Let us now consider Shakespeare, shall we? Shakespeare?!

Yes, Shakespeare. Still with me? I expect a few readers might abandon this piece at his mere mention, which is a shame, really – even criminal, to my mind – because everyone should steal what they can from Shakespeare. There is a veritable cornucopia of inspiration to be had in the bard, a great deal more than anywhere else, I would warrant. Indeed, his works embody the breadth and width of the human condition.

You doubt me? You may but, to my mind, he created some of the most inspirational villains of all time!

Othello and Iago

Perhaps his most evil, his most sinister creation is Iago. He’s devious, manipulative, a man only Machiavelli could admire; he plots to destroy Othello, the man who might have been – should have been – his best friend, were it not for his bitterness and envy. Indeed, Othello thought Iago a true friend, engaging him as his most trusted advisor, often referring to him as “honest Iago.” Was Iago ever Othello’s friend? No. Never. Iago had long sought his “friend’s” destruction, claiming to have been unfairly passed over for promotion, his prospects diminished by Othello’s success. As if that were reason for why or how he carried out his revenge.

Lady Macbeth

Who can forget Lady Macbeth? Is there a villain more infamous than Macbeth’s wife? Would Macbeth have ever conceived to commit his crime of regicide were it not for his lady, who goads him to perceive that he might rise to Duncan’s throne by laying him low?

Her guilt, in turn, lays her low. In fact, her guilt drives her mad.

I expect that Shylock is Shakespeare’s most unfortunate creation, for obvious and perhaps misinterpreted reasons. He’s greedy. He may be Shakespeare’s most vengeful creation. He’s certainly the personification of everyone’s worse picture of a moneylender.

He’s vilified now for him – Shakespeare. Ought he to be? But ought Shakespeare bear the brunt of Middle Age antisemitism? Jews were barred from almost every sort of profession in his time. Besides, many modern readers believe that Shylock is a sympathetic character, and that the play was a plea for tolerance.

Whatever your view, who can forget Shylock’s grisly fee, that pound of flesh? Shylock only escapes his own punishment by conversion.

One can only wonder what an imaginative DM might do with such grist for the mill! Here are characters of unparalleled evil, and complexity. Certain villains ought to have pleasant facades, and dark aims, don’t you think? Lest they fall into cliché. Evil can be dressed up as a I man who perceives himself wronged; a woman who plots to raise hers and her husband’s station by whatever means ambition dictates; or a persecuted minority who proposes a sociopathic contract that no one in their right mind would seriously suggest or expect honoured – but does.

Speaking of pleasant facades, I might direct you to another of Shakespeare’s cast of characters. Not all are evil, but they, as a whole, contribute to an overall arc within his Henriad. I speak on Falstaff and his motile crew of misfits.

Poins and Hal

At the centre of the Henriod is Prince Hal, our protagonist. He’s the man who will be king, the principle of our cast of characters. When we meet him, he is a wayward youth who unabashedly enjoys the society of petty criminals and wastrels. He gambles, he drinks, he flirts with prostitutes, and does little other than shirk duty and frustrate and infuriate his father. Truth is, he is cynical, disgusted by politics and the sycophants of court. Thus, his “entourage”:

Ned Poins is the best of that entourage. He’s Hal’s closest friend and confidant during his wild youth. He appears benign, but he is a jealous sort. He devises various schemes to ridicule Sir John Falstaff, his rival for Hal’s affections.

Is Ned actually benign? Is Ned a good soul? Or is he as much a self-interested parasite as Falstaff is, if better dressed and genteelly mannered?

Sir John Falstaff

This brings us to Sir John Falstaff, as much a main character in our drama as is Hal. He’s a comic figure, fat, vain, and boastful. A braggart, if there ever was one. He drinks hard and unabashedly woos two married women at once. He’s a self-proclaimed ladies-man, even if he is more the soulmate of the whores and madams he keeps company with than the ladies he hopes to hang his shingle on.

One imagines this scamp harmless. He’s something of a coward, after all. Is he, though? However amiable he may seem, he is a villain at heart. He prefers that others do his dirtiest work for him. In that vein, he surrounds himself with petty criminals, and lives on what he can beg borrow or steal.

I suspect he is only bosom buddies with Prince Hal (later King Henry V) for what he can ultimately gain from this future king: wealth, respectability, perhaps power. Certainly lazy leisure.

His schemes do not work out in the end. Hal, it would seem, has always seen Falstaff for what he is; and thus, Falstaff is ultimately repudiated in the end.

He later succumbs to fever, powerless and poor, and desperately penitent, fearful of what awaits him after a lifetime of debauchery and sin.

Bardolph

Bardolph is the first in Falstaff’s entourage, his right-hand man. It goes without saying that he’s as much a rogue and a thief as his friend and master. He’s also a bit of a drunk. And drinking has taken its toll: He is not a pretty sight, boasting a grossly inflamed nose, and a face plagued by boils. One imagines his reliance on alcohol is his chief reason for how low he’s fallen.

Which might explain his continued loyalty to Falstaff. John Falstaff props him up, keeps him on the “straight and narrow,” and gives him purpose, however criminal.

Oddly enough, he’s loyal to Hal, as well, perhaps giving us insight into the man he might have been, making him both an angel (if fallen) and a devil.

He’s ultimately hanged for looting.

“Ancient” Pistol is Falstaff’s ensign, or standard bearer. A swaggering soldier, boastful of his prowess and exploits, but essentially a coward.

Prince Hal and Pistol

He appears a fitting match with John Falstaff, if nowhere near as personable or amiable. He is not without cunning, however, able to cheat and steal from friends and associates, alike, without drawing suspicion – likely diverting blame on others (without doubt).

Despite his noted cowardice, he assaults and kills a man (likely from behind, I would imagine), but eludes capture with Falstaff’s aid.

He does exhibit a small degree of loyalty to his mates: He tries to effect Bardolph’s acquittal, but is altogether unsuccessful, likely because he won’t stick his neck out so far as to risk his own.

He too, like his patron, enjoys the company of prostitutes, likely because no other woman will have him. He marries one, in the end, the less than ladylike Doll Tearsheet.

Mistress Quickly, Nym, and Pistol

Corporal Nym is another of Falstaff’s entourage. He too is a soldier and a criminal (obviously), as one would expect of anyone associated with John Falstaff.

One wonders how good a friend Nym ever was to Falstaff. Indeed, he aids others to thwart Falstaff’s bid to woo other “friends’” wives. And he courts Mistress Quickly, a brothel madam who was once Falstaff’s paramour, marrying her while Falstaff lays dying. He even crosses swords with Pistol as Falstaff is succumbing to his fate, presumably against his rival to Falstaff’s seat as head of their criminal troupe.

Nym, is far from clever, however – far from it; he would likely never have held that seat for long, even had he risen to it. Despite believing himself smarter than his compatriots, he is dim, brazen, and sloppy: He likely evaded capture only as long as he was in Falstaff’s service: he is caught brazenly looting alongside Bardolph, sharing his fate.

Mistress Nell Quickly is Falstaff’s equal. She may even be smarter. In fact, I suspect she is. She’s a survivor, anyway, latching onto whomever can protect her, and further her criminal schemes. Reputedly an innkeeper, her pub is a front for a brothel. She has innumerable links to the underworld but is smart enough – usually – to safeguard her assumed respectability. She’s apprehended often, it would seem, for criminal behaviour, but always seems to slip the noose. That might be because, despite her relatively low station, she is smarter than those who surround her, yet disguises it under a barrage of barely concealed vulgarity.

Falstaff with Doll Tearsheet

The aforementioned hussy Doll Tearsheet is one of Quickly’s “ladies.” She’s more than that; she is Nell Quickly’s closest friend, and protégé.

She’s learned her trade well: She’s an incorrigible flirt, a skill she’s developed to part her “suiters” with their coin. Doll also has the quickest of tongues, noted for its wide array of colourful insults.

If she has a fault – beyond pickpocketing and possibly “rolling” her clientele – it would be her temper. Doll’s reputation for wild tirades precedes her. Her anger might be mere façade, however – in fact, I would suggest it is – as she can suddenly switch from tirade to sentimental intimacy and back again in the blink of an eye.

Buyer beware. Doll dies in the end, having contracted one of the venereal diseases she is often accused of spreading far and wide among her many “suiters.”

Isn’t that an interesting band of dramatis personae. Much could be made by them. Most could be considered evil. Yet who would know at first glance? They are “king’s men,” men-at-arms, companions of the prince. There women are innkeepers and barmaids. And yet…?

I would not present them as primary foes in a campaign – far from it – but as flavour within it, a bit of a twist on who the principal players can trust, however amiable they may seem. Besides, not all evil characters in your game need necessarily be sinister and malicious; some might merely be malcontents and victims of their lot in life. They may see themselves as pragmatic opportunists.

“I know you all, and will awhile uphold

The unyoked humour of your idleness:

Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

To smother up his beauty from the world,

That, when he please again to be himself,

Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at.”

Henry IV, Part 1 – Act 1, scene 2 – William Shakespeare

The Art:

Thieves' World, cover art by Walter Valez

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, by Thomas Bewick, 1832

Othello and Iago, 1901

Lady Macbeth sleepwalking, by Johann Heinrich Fussli, 1781-1784

Poins and Hal illustration, by Fred Barnard, c. 1870

Falstaff with big wine jug and cup, by Edward von Grutzner, 1896

Bardolph, by Henry Stacy Marks, 1853

Prince Hal and Pistol illustration, by Henry Courtney Selous

Mistress Quickly, Nym, and Pistol, by Charles Cattermole, 1880

Falstaff with Doll Tearsheet, by Henry Fuseli, 1805