The greatest thing about Exalted is that you get to live in the He-Man universe. You can run around, catch meteors out of thin air, and then hurl them at Skeletor. Well, not literally, of course, since White Wolf hasn't bought up the He-Man license to my knowledge, and therefore you'd only be asteroid-hurling at a Skeletor likeness: you make a Dawn Caste Solar, and then send him to fight a necromantic Midnight Caste Abyssal. Some of the available charms are so lethal, so badass that you might have to make a trip to the local gaming store, that is unless you want to play it ghetto and re-roll the same die over and over. Chances are you don't have enough d10s.

All childhood nostalgia aside, the universe that White Wolf created with Exalted (unlike their other role playing systems) is not just based on popular folklore, there's a lot of new and foreign landscapes to wrap your mind around, new concepts, strange history, and best of all, a freakishly interesting weave of story elements for to toy with. You can be half-ghost, half-demon, half-god or just a regular Exalted, not that there is such a thing. There's no typical, mythology-derived standard Exalt, the ceiling is clear for virtually any idea, no matter how unusual, no matter how strange, and certainly you can be any degree of creative; the limits are basically non-existent.

The element gamers come to terms with quickly is you don't just make a party of Exalts and roam the countryside in search of adventure, although I admit it's a funny idea to explore. You could make a party including a character whose attack dice are in the double-digits, while running around with a sorcerer capable of killing a normal human in one action, and a pirate with a knack for getting into (and out of) trouble, but unless you're a group of twinks who play only so you can 'win', or you're a group who wants to fiddle around with a one-shot outrageous adventure, this formula simply won't work. Basically you'd be like China in a nuclear war; the whole game would be out to get you because you'd simply be the most powerful and reckless force in the world; and then you could begin the funeral rites for the now-murdered Suspension of Disbelief.

Sunday night was maybe the second night of our game; I learned to bring my Gameboy, because last time there wasn't a lot for me to do during most of the scenes. You see, I'm playing an Abyssal, and everyone else (except Dylan, who is playing a Sidereal) is playing a Solar. It'd be like Monkey vs. Robot if we were to interact at this stage: I'd whip out some Labyrinth-circle Necromancy (of doom) and they'd unleash the fury of their Bad Ass Kung Fu I Kill You Technique; not pretty. I patiently half-listen while Jade Orchid and Sagacious Dawn interact in an important conversation about something politically critical to some murder-spree my character knows nothing about. Dylan's again reminding the other players about how Resplendent Destiny works, and I have passing thoughts about what my Nemissary probably looks like.

Game moves on, some good role-playing leads to interesting discoveries of some variety and the walking dead are put to rest by the altruistic fists of a pirate; not just because zombies and pirates are cool, of course. But I still haven't finished my scene that was left dangling from a painfully high cliff last game. The storyteller is busy managing a scene, so Jason (the only other character from my scene) and I decide to run the culmination ourselves, since we basically just had role-playing to do, no dice were going to be necessary, and therefore no storyteller would be needed.

To recap, my character was on reconnaissance from her most Illustrious Deathlord, The Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears, catching wind of an unclaimed army, a brand-new manse, the owner of which is potentially a new Deathlord, I gathered my bodyguards (all 150 of them) and decided to figure out WTF was going on. The guy who owns the manse refuses to tell me anything unless I help him and his army claw down the kind people of Great Forks, in which the population is sadly suffering from an epidemic case of being alive; a condition my character is happy to help rid them of.

After our armies arrive in Great Forks, one of my minions tells me he thinks they have a champion - a God-blooded - so we should be wary. "Bah," I say, "a simple God-blooded mortal does not frighten me!" and on we marched. Jason's character, as my character would discover, is no simple God-blooded. So after he cuts through my Deathknight, my Nemissary, and my 5000-strong Army of the Dead he interrupts my Hundred Shade Breath with a blade to my throat. Thus begins our conversation. So I screw with him a little, he leaves with an unfortunate derangement, and an even more unfortunate need to explain to the surviving soldiers of Great Forks how he walked away from all of that. I left without a scratch; he's very lucky I didn't use my Ivory Razor Forest Necromancy, and I am very lucky to have smooth-talked my way out of dying by his blade.

Although the amount of dice needed for some of the challenges is sickeningly high, as are the stunts and charms an individual is capable of performing, a good group of gamers are still more than capable of keeping the emphasis where it belongs: on the power of role-playing. It keeps the game from being a Dragonball Z-like escapade of mindless killing, character-twinking, and ridiculous excuses for using abominable powers. That's not to say it isn't cool to be role-playing as an evil Deathknight bent on world destruction, but it would be hard to explain how and why if you couldn't experience it with the depth and breadth possible with table-top gaming.

© 2004 T. Martin