Crossposted here.

There is, I think, an element of historicism to the stuff I put together for a fantasy game. As much as I love fantasy as an idea, I strongly dislike a lot of it in implementation. Religion in particular often rankles me in fantasy stories, and the half-formed cultured that behave irrationally but not interestingly. Too often for my tastes, a fantasy religion is too simple or straightforward. Something potentially fascinating like a fire cult — so much potential! — has little more presentation than "Fire good! Kill protagonist." Something like a society of cannibals is... just a society of cannibals. "Flesh good! Kill protagonist."

That, then, is why I think I like this historicity so much. Robert E. Howard said that

There is no literary work, to me, half as zestful as rewriting history in the guise of fiction.

And English fantasist G.K Chesterton remarked

It is the chief value of legend to mix up the centuries while preserving the sentiment; to see all ages in a sort of splendid foreshortening. That is the use of tradition: it telescopes history.

I love that trade in primordial human experience. Howard's stories plainly depicted the cultures in which he set them, and he unabashedly let the reader know their real-world analogues. Tolkien's epic The Lord of the Rings draws very heavily from Beowulf and Der Ring Des Nibelungen. I did a lot of the same in Vampire — I plundered history ruthlessly, and placed the vampires inside it. I put the Nibelungs in Demimonde. I do the same in D&D because the presented pantheons don't speak much to me. I don't need Bane, Cyric, Corellon Barkchips, or their "toaster evils" and unbelievably simplistic, because-the-sourcebook-says-so dogmas.

Sure, I can accept a flying, invisible, ethereal Halfling that can shoot at-will lightning, but I have to believe why he's doing it. I don't need setting-justified gods that lead me down the path of the preprogrammed experience when I have Marduk, Thoth, Lugh, Mithras, Mars, Heimdall, and any number lunatic god-kings who placed themselves among the ranks of the divine. I don’t need Zhentarim, Calimshan, or the drow when I have all of history to draw on, like R.E. Howard did — often barely filing off any serial numbers — with his Shemites, Vendhyans, and Picts. I think they resonate more. I think they strike a chord in the cultural memory of people. And, frankly, they're just plain cooler because they actually were.

As I ease into work on One Hundred Kingdoms -- which isn't going to be its real name, as we've already established -- I want to hit the system first. I already know that story flow and characterization are going to be important, and I want systems that enhance that. I don't want to design the setting first, though, because I don't want the setting to dictate the system, I want the play style to dictate the setting, and therefore support the system.
 

What if, instead of a gold standard, a silver standard, a real estate standard, or fiat, the standard used as the basis for an economy was information? Each culture would be engaged in a race with its neighbors to continue progress in whatever avenue of information it sought to mine.

What would a unit of information currency look like? What would it be?

An economy of information doesn't necessarily mean an economy of truth. One culture might focus on scientific research while another might focus on philosophy or faith, the information of which would be subjective or even speculative. One culture might even develop misinformation, with its progress based as much in its own success as how greatly it impedes others.

The economy doesn’t even need to be a national one. This might be an arm of government, an institution, or a cross-cultural group of thinkers, activists, or agents.

Does this sort of thing already exist? Certainly, some idea of status exists among academia, but it lacks a unit of currency, and something for which that currency can be exchanged.

I write longhand. Call me archaic, but there’s something simply wonderful about the feeling when the tip of the pen meets the paper. The comfortable skritch-skritch as the words make their way onto the physical artifact in front of me, the smell of a new notebook as its cover opens for the first time, the orderly lines ready to accept whatever’s written on them — these are all the joys of  doing it the old-fashioned way.

My preferred pen is the Uni-Ball Vision Elite. It has a fine enough  line to be legible, and a nice, heavy feel that leaves me with the satisfaction of something real committed to paper.

Of course, my favorite notebooks are Moleskines. If you’ve ever written in one, you know why. The large, ruled notebook is my workhorse, and the cahiers serve light duty, never further than a pocket away.

All the digital work, from word processing to e-mail correspondence to online research and layout, occurs on a Mac. Scrivener handles all the drafting duties (and outlining, and storyboarding, and research organization, and so on).