My Journey into Fantasy

From Coal Dust to Crits: My Journey into Fantasy

I was born in 1963, which puts me right on the cusp of the Baby Boomer generation—though I've always felt more like a child of the transition. I arrived in the same year that Doctor Who first hummed onto British television screens, and as a result, Jon Pertwee is, and always will be, "my" Doctor. To understand my relationship with fantasy, you have to understand that specific era of British history: it was a time of wobbly sets, "shabby-kitchy" aesthetics, and a landscape that was rapidly changing.

The Aesthetic of the Shabby

Growing up in the North of England during the Thatcher years, my world was shaped by the "grind." I lived just south of the coal mining areas that were being decimated by the strikes and the relentless march of deindustrialization. It was a grey, industrial reality, and fantasy became the ultimate escape from that humdrum existence.

This background gave me a very specific aesthetic. While some people want their fantasy worlds to be pristine and high-gloss, I've always preferred mine a bit "shabby." I think of the 60s and 70s Doctor Who sets—held together with hope and sticky tape—or the campy, technicolor grit of the 1966 Batman. There's a soul in the "slightly-worn" look that feels more real to me than any high-budget CGI ever could.

Dark Satanic Mills and Merchant Princes

My politics naturally swing to the left, and that inevitably bleeds into my worldbuilding. In my games, the "Great Evil" isn't always a dark lord in a tower; more often, it's an uncaring noble or a greedy council.

In my current campaign, this manifests in the rivalry between two merchant houses. On one side, you have House Vettia, who represent the rare ideal of the ethical employer. On the other, you have House Mureno. They are the embodiment of "shabby greed"—a Machiavellian entity operating out of "dark satanic mills." They are the fantasy version of the industrial machines that ground down the North, focused on capital and control at any cost.

The Lead-Pewter Roots

Like many who found the hobby in the 1970s, I didn't start with roleplaying; I started with wargaming. My introduction to the table was through H.G. Wells' Little Wars and the tactical complexities of Age of Sail naval combat.

When I eventually moved into D&D, I brought that "crunchy" mindset with me. For a long time, the game was played as a tactical exercise first, with the narrative growing organically out of the mechanics later. Even today, I still love a system with meat on its bones. I'm a fan of Level Up: Advanced 5E, specifically because elements like Combat Maneuvers and Ranger Knacks provide mechanical weight to the story. They aren't just rules; they are the tools that allow a character's expertise to manifest in the narrative.

The Library of the Imagination

My literary journey was just as foundational. I read The Lord of the Rings at sixteen—I still have those original paperbacks—and though I'll admit I skipped the poetry and the Elvish lore, the sense of scale hooked me.

But it wasn't just Tolkien. I was raised on the gritty energy of 2000 AD and the Marvel-produced Doctor Who Magazine. It was there that I met Absalom Daak, Dalek Killer. He was a Conan-like figure, a rebel with a chainsword who didn't care for the rules. That "anti-establishment" energy is a thread that runs through all my favorite characters.

A Hall of Heroes

Over the years, the table has seen many legends:

Barlow the Archmage, with his loyal (and likely overworked) kobold servants.

Luke de Lacey, the High Priest.

Serog, the half-goblin Grandfather of Assassins.

But the one who stands above them all is Corinne the Red, a Paladin of Tyr. Her story reached its zenith during an epic quest into the Abyss—navigating the lethal corridors of the classic Verbosh setting—where she eventually struck down the demon Servash. It was a victory of both tactics and heart, earning her a "retirement" into the service of her god as a demigod.

The Journey Continues

Looking back, the "grind" of the industrial North didn't just drive me toward fantasy; it gave my fantasy a foundation. It taught me that heroes aren't just people with swords; they are people who maintain their ethics in a "Mureno-style" world. Whether I'm navigating the political machinations of merchant houses or calculating a perfect combat maneuver, I'm still that lad from the North, looking for a bit of magic in the middle of the machinery.