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AncestralMemories

You are on the archive wiki. The new wiki is here. Disclaimer: Any facts in this are wrong, or at least wildly misleading, since they are culled from the sieve-like memories of ancient Claw-types who are pushing their mid-thirties or forties(Giles?), and who have long histories of making things up for fun and the amusement of their friends - see roleplaying. If you know better, please fix it.

The Founding

(Andrew's version. Anthony, Giles or Johno's versions may differ wildly. As in all good ideas, many claim to have had the idea to start Claws. Here is my claim.)

1988. Winter.

(Reagan was in the White House, PW Botha in Pretoria, U2 had just released the Joshua Tree, only yuppies and people from Jo'burg owned CD players. email!was!manually!routed!with!bang-paths as Internet had not yet reached the southern hemisphere, local dial-up bbs'es were cool. It was a Dark Age.)

Maybe July. Thursday. Raining...

A soggy figure walks through the late afternoon rain down the road leading downhill from UCT. First-year engineering plastic drawing board under the arm. "Drafting sux, but better than being drafted to Angola" he thought.

Reaching the intersection (pre-traffic lights) he found his way into the small and grotty fading white-paint 2 storey student resident that lurked at the crossroads like a flyblown dead chicken offering to Legba. What was that smell? - oh, that is the basement pub, just a pit they pour Castle and youth into.

He nervously asks a hulking 3rd year for directions - "Hoffenberg?"
"The weird one? - upstairs and at the end of the hall." The 3rd year goes back to his dope.

Up the stairs, down the long dark dank corridor, lit only by a buzzing half-lit florescent.

He thought again why he was here. With matriculation last year, his regular players from the school club he'd founded in Fish Hoek in the early eighties had scattered to the winds. Some had opted to do their army callup first(and would return shattered PTSD wrecks) while others had gone to Tech or Stellenbosch, or even overseas to avoid conscription. Only 2 had joined UCT engineering with him, making the long daily train-ride in from the south-easter-blasted nether peninsula. And now, 6 months without a game, and unable to resist the cravings any longer, he is driven to cross the cultural divide between first-years who live at home and commute and those who Reside. He has heard dark rumors(and they were dark and hushed in those days of religious persecution) of roleplayers from 'up-country'. Here.

He knocked. "Ja?" Turned the rusty doorknob. And entered the dank cave that was the Hoffenberg room.
A bookshelf near the door held the complete Warhammer and Dragon mag collection. Two figures sat on the floor, dice in evidence, source-books open, including the new and shiny Unearthed Arcana.

"Hi, I'm Andrew Sturman"

"I'm Johno(Hoffenberg). This is Rich(ard Pruss)."
Both were from 'up-country',possibly Jo'burg and strangers in these parts. Johno was the same age as Andrew, 18, while Richard was older and wiser? having done his army stint.

"I heard you guys were into AD&D? Me too."
....

Some time later, after a long discussion of favourite characters I'll spare you.

"So how about starting a roleplaying club at UCT? I have some friends who play, and I met this
guy from SACS called Anthony who plays..."

"Ja, that sounds excellent. Come and meet this other joburg guy we play with, Giles (Embleton).
If anyone can figure out the varsity politics to get a club going, it will be him. He knows everyone."

....

Back through the rain to another res. Enter a door. Clouds of smoke. Darkness as the windows are all
blotted out by black banners with runes on them. He has a cd player. It howls. "What's that?"
"Sisters of Mercy" says a old voice from the gloom...

....

Shift to summer holidays late 1988, Cape Town's first roleplaying tournament, Capecon happens in some
overheated civic hall somewhere in the god-foresaken hinterlands, possibly Pinelands. Sponsored by Wizards Warehouse, it is shambolic, with R15 gift vouchers for prizes. The adventure(by someone who will remain nameless, but now he is a she) is badly typed, incredibly linear and daft. Everyone dies due to an unlimited supply of skeletons(the module says "keep sending more skeletons till everyone dies").
It is a huge success. I DM for a bunch of germanic Northern Suburbs types - their regular DM's name is Eckhard. another player says he's "Wolf" - I say "not your character, your real name". Another is called Sven. They are also at UCT and I tell them about the roleplaying club we're forming. They are keen, and promise to sign the petition in reg week next year.

....

And so, after getting forms, gathering 12? signatures, drafting a constitution with silly titles for officeholders,
and electing a committee in a dusty upstairs english tut room in Beattie, a society was born. (registration week 1989)

.....

I have big plans for turning my last 3 years of AD&D campaign called 'Dragon Fire' into a tournament. It will be better than Capecon, and some engineering students called, confusingly, Brian Thomas, and just Thomas. offer to help
with the diagrams of the traps. So Dragonfire? was born.

And there I'll leave the tale to someone with fresher memories...AndrewSturman