I had just finished my spell in the Army. It was compulsory.
National Service and all of that. The Border War had finally ground to a halt,
and all members of the SADF (South African Defence Force) had withdrawn from the
fighting in Angola, and what would later be called Namibia, or South West
Africa as it was still called. The ANC had been unbanned the year before, and
Nelson Mandela was now a free man. There was a promise of better things on the
way.
It was now of course that the National Party began its Third
Force activity. Get all your enemies to fight one another and they will have no
time to fight the power. It’s an old tactic, but it works. The ANC were locked in
a deadly tit-for-tat battle against the IFP, and the AWB were threatening civil
war. It was a bloody time. A terrible time. People were being ‘Necklaced’
daily. If you want to know what that is, Google it. But I must warn you, it’s
fucking horrific. Yet despite all this mindless bloodshed, things were
happening. Good things. Positive things. Yes we were a country tearing itself
apart, but there was light at the end of the tunnel. These could be considered
birthing pangs. Contractions if you will.
I lived in a huge block of flats just off the main road that
cuts through Hillbrow and Braamfontien. We would sit on the roof sometimes at
night looking at the Joburg skyline. It’s not London, or Paris, or NYC, but it
does the job. Sometimes there would be these insane marches coming up the road.
People stretched out for miles, dancing, singing, waving placards. There would
be police choppers buzzing over the city like angry hornets, and squads of
spotters and snipers perched on all the tall buildings in the area. It was
mayhem. Plumes of tear gas and smoke from burning cars blotting out the sun.
Shootings, stabbings, the whole gamut of what man can do to man when angry and
riled up.
It wasn’t always like that. If you weren’t a complete
dickhead Hillbrow could be pretty cool. They had the legendary Hillbrow record
store about three blocks from where I stayed. Wall to wall vinyl. I loved it
there, between the stacks and the bins looking for music. Then one day, on my
way home from buying some milk, I spied a door…
It was at the bottom of a set of stairs leading under a
building. Curioser and curioser, I must explore and see what it is. I shot down
the stairs and opened the door and was immediately hit by the smell of lavender
incense. It was a tiny underground shopping mall of sorts. Carpeted floors,
tiny passages, low ceilings, spotty lighting, and eye wateringingly fogged with
burning incense. It was fucking great.
It was like the kind of place your parents worn you about
when you are a teenager. A den of inequity. There was a Head Shop, selling
bongs, T-Shirts, Rizla, and the usual drug paraphernalia. Then there was a
tattoo parlour adjacent to a small record bar that seemed to specialise in Metal,
Goth, and anything else we in SA would call, alternative… There were clothing shops
that flogged knock off Slayer and Sepultura shirts, 8-hole Doc Martens, the
works. Having spent most of my life in a small town, having access to this sort
of stuff was near impossible, but now having it a stone’s throw from where I lived
was just brilliant. And then I saw it, the sort of shop I had been searching
for all my life… Gargoyles & Goblins, and they sold nothing but
role-playing games.
Shelves filled with I.C.E, D&D, Warhammer Fantasy, you
name it, and they had it. They also had a second hand section brimming with
modules and rulebooks. I chatted with the owner, a bearded long haired dude,
who spoke with just the right amount of contempt for his patrons to remind of ‘Comic
Book’ guy from The Simpsons. I didn’t care, I wasn’t here for him, I was here
for his loot!
I rifled through the merchandise and found two modules that I
had only ever heard whispers about, D1-D2 and the D3 set. Descent into the
Depths of the Earth in all its Gygaxian glory. I had to have them, that’s all
that mattered. They were twenty Rand a pop. Now that might not sound like a
lot, but up until them I had only been earning 130 Rand a month having reached
the lofty heights of a two- liner in the Artillery (that’s being called a Bombardier
for those in the know) and money was tight. So, what do you do in times like
this? I bought them both.
I scurried home, broke, and fearing someone was going to
jump out of the shadows and liberate them from me. I made it to the flat in one
piece, threw open the door and assembled the horde. I spent the next hour or so
going over the first module while the rest of the players rolled up characters
and got themselves ready. We were in for the long-haul. No one was leaving
these four walls until we had finished them. Luckily, it was Friday afternoon.
I was in my room boning up on the game, and you could see
from the very first encounter that E.G.G wasn’t messing around when he wrote
this, it was going to be carefully orchestrated carnage if the players weren’t sharp
enough. After I felt I had a handle on how the game should go, I dimmed the
lights, put some Tubular Bells on the Hi-Fi, and had at it. It was epic.
Characters came and went, Drow were slain, treasure was acquired, and magical
items were found, then stolen, then found again. Characters levelled up, got
killed, were raised from the dead, got killed again, while their players fought
exhaustion and emotions, trying to stay alive.
It was Sunday evening when we finally put our dice down. I
was fucked. Tiny amounts of sleep was the only reprieve I had had away from the
table. And even those catnaps were being intruded on by giant slugs, shriekers,
and the underworld itself. I looked around the room. It was grey with smoke and
cluttered with bits of paper, beer bottles, pizza boxes and exhausted
adventurers. But we had a blast, an absolute blast. We headed up to the roof to
clear our heads and watch the sun go down.
Hillbrow is still there, but it has changed. I wouldn’t dare
set foot in it now. The record store is gone, so too is the underground mall I discovered,
and that means Gargoyles & Goblins is gone as well, along with ‘Comic Book’
guy. Nothing stays the same. Everything changes. It’s the universal law. But I
still have the memories of a great weekend, and I still have those modules too,
and if you look at the top right-hand corner of the creased cover, it still
says twenty Rand.
Great post.
ReplyDeleteI used to love the hole-in-the-wall stores for their second-hand collection, even though the owner was often a jerk and new exactly what he could charge. Ebay changed things, at least here in the States, I think. Many of those places went under.
Fitting post for Earth Day, don't you think? D1: Descent Into the Depths of the Earth was the very first module I ever bought for D&D - before I'd ever even played my first session of Holmes Basic. I just loved the title and the cover. Ironically, I've still never played it.
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