Yearly Archives: 2011

The Changing Face of Initiative

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So, I was thinking of doing a series on the “changing face” of various common aspects of the game, comparing how different versions do the same thing. For example, initiative. But it turns out someone else has just already done such a post, and they did it really well. This is a good thing! Less work for me to do. Monsters & Manuals also discusses.

The original motivation was to familiarize myself with how earlier versions of the game did things, as when I played before, I mostly used a heavily house-ruled version of 2nd Edition. There are still probably many other fruitful topics for such a series; if I can accomplish the whole project by merely redirecting myself to content elsewhere on the Internet, all the better.

Goblins as Corruption

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Folkloric, mythical goblins are much more interesting than the “monster ecology” goblinkind that is standard in D&D. I think there is a lot to be gained from trying to access some aspect of the “bogeyman” tradition that originally led to the goblin, rather than the “evil stormtrooper” depiction that has become more common. However, when using goblins, there are a whole set of player assumptions that you have to deal with. If you say “you see 5 goblins”, that will produce a certain quantity of unavoidable meanings in your players’ heads that you probably wish were not there. The first step, I think, is to not mark them as goblins initially, and only later allow the players to identify them. But that still begs the question, what are a more fantastic form of goblinkind that would still work in the context of the game? I don’t think it works to say that they are “really scary” and leave it at that.

Well, who started this modern fantasy trope to begin with? Let’s go back to Tolkien and see what his example actually says, rather than the examples of his imitators. From Wikipedia, on Tolkien’s goblins:

In an essay on Elven languages, written in 1954, Tolkien gives meaning of “orc” as “evil spirit or bogey” and goes on to state that the origin of the Old English word is the Latin name Orcus — god of the underworld.

The article goes on to list 7 possible origins for goblinkind:

  1. Made from the earth
  2. East Elves (Avari)
  3. Sentient beasts
  4. Fallen Maiar
  5. Corrupted Men
  6. A mix of corrupted Elves and Men
  7. Some cross-bred with Men

As is often the case, the banal cliches that have come down to us from the followers of Tolkien are not much connected to the actual ideas behind Middle-earth. None of these examples are close to “just some other race that evolved (or was created by a rival god) and came to be opposed to the PC races”. They all focus on the idea of falling from grace, or corruption.

So let’s say that a goblin is a human that has been corrupted by arcane forces, perhaps to be the slave of some wicked magic-user, or demon. Having a savage, id-like, but still clever, servant would be more than a little useful to such a patron. In addition to creation through dark rituals, perhaps there are locations that are sources of arcane pollution which cause nearby residents to slowly become goblins.

Note that this conception does not preclude a dark lord like Sauron from actually raising a horde of goblins, but it does ensure that they are not “just another race”.

And what happens when the corruptor dies before the goblin? Does the goblin slowly revert to his past self? Or does the goblin start to regain his past mind, but remain corrupted in body?

It is also possible that this would still allow for the use of goblins as a PC race to replace halflings, though it would have to be handled carefully to preserve the desired style.

A Necromantic Miscellany

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The necromancer is both one of my favorite fantasy tropes, and one of the hardest classes to get right. In 2nd Edition, when I began playing, the necromancer specialist wizard was one of the weakest of all the specialists, and the signature spell (animate dead) was 5th level, which meant that any decent necromancer had to be at least 9th level! The Complete Book of Necromancers (DMGR7 “blue book”) is not bad, but in general the archetype has not been very well supported by the TSR editions of D&D. I believe the classification of spells into schools began with AD&D (the 1E PHB has spells categorized by school), but specialists are not given much detail, with the large exception of the illusionist, which is almost a separate class (it has its own spell list separate from that of the magic-user). Dragon #76, from 1983, contains “The Death Master” (page 11), but it is a class intended for NPCs.

So I don’t think it is entirely unwarranted to begin discussion about the necromancer in 2E. The 2E Necromancer requirements are (from Table 22: WIZARD SPECIALIST REQUIREMENTS in the 2E PHB): human, 16 wisdom, opposed to the illusion and enchantment/charm schools.

2E spells in the Necromancy school: cantrip (1st), chill touch (1st), detect undead (1st), spectral hand (2nd), feign death (3rd), hold undead (3rd), vampiric touch (3rd), contagion (4th), enervation (4th), animate dead (5th), magic jar (5th), summon shadow (5th), death spell (6th), reincarnation (6th), control undead (7th), finger of death (7th), clone (8th), energy drain (9th).

That’s not very many.

Part of the problem is that central to my conception of the necromancer is the idea of an undead master, which could potentially result in a character with lots of minions (not a problem for an NPC, but potentially a problem for a PC). Though I understand the reasoning for designing a necromancer class only for antagonists, the optimal necromancer class (for me) is also playable as a PC.
It’s also surprisingly hard to find atmospheric necromancer art, but I’ve included a few links.

Character Creation

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Also sprach Jeff Rients:

Personally I loathe all the canonical cheating methods. I think there are two and exactly two legit ways to generate scores for D&D characters:

1) 3d6 in order
2) write down whatever numbers you like

Anybody stuck on “wants to play a X” should be using the second method. I’ve used this method before. One guy wrote down all 18’s, including 18/00 Str. Somehow, we all survived the experience.

— Comment on Grognardia: Cheating Methods

Random tables as tools for deep design

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A few days ago, Matthew Finch (of Swords & Wizardry) released the Tome of Adventure Design (TOAD; awesome acronym). Of course I bought a copy right away, but I haven’t had a chance to peruse it in detail yet. However, one passage did jump out at me immediately:

I should say up front that these are tables for deep design – in other words, most of them are too long, and contain too many unusual or contradictory entries, for use on the spot at the gaming table. There are already many excellent books of tables for use on the fly; the tables in these books are different. They work best as a tool for preparation beforehand, providing relatively vast creative resources for browsing and gathering, rather than quick-use tables designed to provide broad, fast brushstrokes.

It seems to me that randomness has two direct key functions in old school gaming:

  1. Inject impartial uncertainty into situations that would otherwise be hard to adjudicate (this is common to newer games as well); this function is carried out during game play.
  2. Assist in creativity; this function is usually carried out prior to play.

The first function, when properly employed, also helps create situations which can surprise the referee in addition to the players. This is such a common aspect of table-top RPGs that I don’t think it needs any more discussion.

The second function is newer to me, and also seems to be one of the core OSR referee techniques. I remember playing around with the random dungeon generator in the Gygax DMG, though I’m not sure if it led to any substantive adventure locations. I had the sense, and I think many people still have the sense, that “good” design comes directly from a planner, and that using tables would be somehow cheating. Using tables to design your masterpiece setting would be akin to Dostoevsky using dice and tables to determine the plot of Crime & Punishment (also related: frustrated fantasy novelist syndrome).

This seems to be an almost Hegelian process of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, where the thesis and antithesis are random results which at first glance seem contradictory. The reconciliation of this incompatibility is what prompts the creativity.

There are several other good products that I have come across that are based on similar principles:

More Class Ideas

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Talysman writes about classes as answers to the question “how do you solve problems?” (the discussion at Grognardling is also worth reading, and is what originally pointed me to Talysman’s post).

I would reiterate this as:

  • Fighters solve problems by combat and fighting back.
  • Wizards solve problems with magic. 
  • Thieves solve problems with stealth and trickery.
  • Clerics solve problems by supporting others and channeling the power of a higher being.
  • Monks (replacing halflings) solve problems by evasion and redirection (with a side order of self-mastery, perhaps, allowing abilities like being able to fall farther without taking damage). Self-control, and understanding the limits and capabilities of the self, and seeing the weaknesses of others, are the key to the monk’s powers. 
  • Dungeoneers (replacing dwarves, perhaps as a morlock race-as-class) solve problems by understanding how things work, taking them apart, or building tools. Interestingly, writing about this potential class in this way has totally changed how I am approaching it. Maybe the dungeoneer is just as much an artificer class as anything else. For example, maybe they never get better at fighting like the fighter does (with an attack bonus based on level), but instead build specific weapons which have bonuses. And, the noticing construction elements of a dungeon like the dwarf class (such as sloping corridors) is very much in line with a dungeoneer. I’m not sure how well this would fit with the mood of the campaign I am working on, which is less steampunk and more sword & sorcery, but I’m willing to run with it for a while and see where it leads me. Blogging is just as much about publicly brainstorming as anything else.
  • Elves solve problems more holistically, by being an expression of nature, or the dark powers beyond mundane nature (depending on the tone of the setting). Thus, being inherently magical, they can cast some spells, though without the exactitude of the wizard. They can fight, though not with the training of the fighter. The elf, in this guise, serves as something of a jack-of-all-trades.
The most interesting consequence of this exercise in seeing classes as different ways to solve problems is the abilities it leads to for monks. Evasion is deflecting missiles and having saving throws to dodge or block attacks that would otherwise hit. It should also allow counter-attacks, or using the enemy’s attack against them (where it would make sense narratively). This ability fits the source material really well. It is dangerous to attack a monk, because the monk can use your own strength against you or use the opportunity to strike at your weaknesses.

I see this working as follows:

  1. Adversary attacks monk
  2. Monk then chooses to (on a successful save) either get a free counter attack or to redirect the enemy’s attack against themselves
  3. Adversary makes attack roll
  4. Monk makes save
  5. Consequences determined based on result of monk’s save (i.e., monk takes damage if the save fails and the adversary hits the monk’s AC, or monk gets a counter-attack, or adversary’s attack is compared to their own AC, etc.)
Perhaps this dodge/counter-attack/redirect ability can be used a number of times per round equal to the monk’s level. I need to play-test that and see if it bogs down at higher levels. That, in addition to jumping, falling, and some bonus to unarmed strikes, would make a very interesting and viable class.

Halflings & Monks

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James Raggi describes the game role of the halfling as:

Halflings can hide like nobody’s business. And these guys almost never miss a saving throw (regardless of category).

So, mechanically, the halfling class is hard to hit, agile, and sneaky. The first two fit a martial artist pretty well. Monks in AD&D (according to the 1E PHB) have the following abilities:
  • AC bonus (by 13th level, they have a natural AC of 0)
  • Increased movement (for combat mobility)
  • Increasing number of unarmed attacks per turn
  • Can do deadly damage with open hand attacks (by 13th level, 3d4 + 1)
  • Some thief abilities
  • Able to fall greater distances without taking damage
  • Speak with animals as druid
  • Mask the mind from ESP
  • Immune to diseases
  • Immune to haste and slow spells
  • Feign death
  • Limited self-healing
  • Speak with plants as druid
  • Greater defence against charm, hypnosis, suggestion, geas, and quest
  • Psionic mental blast attack
  • Poison immunity
  • Quivering palm super death attack
Like many of the AD&D classes, this laundry list of abilities is a bit overwhelming. The abilities further down only show up gradually as a monk progresses (I had actually forgotten how absurd that list of abilities gets as the monk progresses; to be fair, the AD&D monk also forgoes many benefits that other classes have, such as STR and DEX combat bonuses, can’t wear armor, etc). The mystic in the Rules Cyclopedia is more or less a basic D&D take on the monk class, and has similar abilities. There is also an interesting take on the monk in the first issue of NOD, which makes the monk a subclass of fighter and allows the monk to make a saving throw to deflect arrows and other missiles. [Oct 20, 2011 edit: I just learned that the idea to give monks a saving throw against missile attacks comes from the original Supplement II: Blackmoor.]
Of these abilities, I think the saving throw to knock missiles out of the air is perhaps the most evocative. It is also a great use of saving throw mechanic, which I think is often (poorly) overloaded to perform actions that are more properly skills or abilities. Also, if deflection requires an open hand, it also incentivizes unarmed fighting without resorting to unrealistic restrictions which can be problematic for suspension of disbelief (tangent: this is one of the reasons I love how Weird Fantasy Role-Playing has no armor or weapon restrictions while maintaining class distinctiveness).
Martial artists are also supposed to be hard to hit in general, continually parrying, dodging, and blocking. Both of the old TSR classes represent this as decreasing natural AC. This is not horrible, as dexterity can do the same thing, but it does work against the traditional notion of AC as the class of armor worn. So what if we do away with the AC bonus, and instead give the monk a saving throw against being hit by any attack that they could reasonably dodge or block? Of course, they would only be able to use their saving throw if they were unarmored and have free movement. This, combined with the impressive halfling save progression, would lead to a very viable and interesting class.
A good save is only a defensive and reactive ability though. And, in some sense, if you are being attacked directly when playing a class not designed for direct fighting, you are already in a bad place. So being hard to hit is all well and good, but to be really fun to play the class will have to have some proactive abilities as well. I also like the idea of being able to scale walls acrobatically (think how the characters in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon kick their way up walls and roofs, particularly in the ninja chase scene). Maybe this ability is the inverse of being able to fall greater distances without taking damage.
So, a partial list of abilities:
  • Save against being hit
  • More damage than normal when fighting unarmed
  • Fall greater distances without taking damage
  • Scale walls and obstacles acrobatically
Perhaps something having to do with grappling and restraining would be another good ability candidate.
I feel like this is a good base, but I’m still missing the most important part of the class: a good name. Monk and mystic really don’t fit very well. Monk has too many cultural connotations (I want this class to be able to represent any kind of martial artist character, not just Shaolin monks) and mystic just doesn’t seem to fit at all.Other related discussion:

It is interesting to me that people seemed to have connected the monk to just about every class other than halfling.

25 Words & 1-Page Documents

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One of the primary lessons I have taken from my research into OSR design principles is that preparing too much, in addition to wasting time, can also actually result in a less interesting and more constrained campaign. Instead, it is better to pursue a “just in time” strategy.

So, assuming I want to put this theory into practice, what is needed? There seem to be 2 categories of prep required: 1) setting & 2) rules (obviously there is some interaction between the 2, but I think it useful to consider them separately).

For the setting, first a basic concept or inspiration is needed. This doesn’t need to be complicated or even original. Using 25 words or less to summarize seems like a reasonable rule of thumb. Here is my first pass for the campaign I am currently working on:

Outcast adventurers, empty throne, squabbling nobles, mythic demihumans, dark fae elves, black magicians hunted, wizards unleash monsters, no dwarves or halflings, morlocks delve.

The rest of the setting info is probably referee-only. Including:

  • Basic hex map
  • Starting settlement
  • 1 or 2 levels of “dungeon”
  • Encounter tables for areas developed
  • List of hirelings
  • Several interesting surface locations (can be published modules)

We’ll see how that goes. I’m sure I’m overlooking something.

I would even say that you don’t need a map handout for the players. Let them map it themselves, and then be amazed at how their take on what was described differs from the maps behind the screen.

What about rules? Rules prep should includes what classes are allowed, how initiative is handled, etc. (A list of such common rules requirements would be useful to have, but I’m not going to do that here.) The way some people handle this is to essentially rewrite their own version of the classic rules. This is a wonderful thing, as it has given us products like Labyrinth Lord, Swords & Wizardry, and Weird Fantasy Roleplaying. (I realize that there are also other motivations behind the retro-clones and simulacra, such as keeping classic rules in print, but I don’t think anyone would argue that these products don’t also scratch the “this is what I play” itch.) But such extensive work is inimical to the core principle of “just in time” prep.

Instead, assume a common baseline, and then come up with some notes explaining how the proposed campaign differs. Example: B/X D&D baseline, but without clerics, replacing the thief with the LotFP specialist. This will allow you to communicate your vision to someone that is not as obsessive about your setting as you are (probably all of your players).

Divide the notes into the parts that concern the players and the parts that concern the referee. Each should become no larger than a single-sheet document. Situations that almost always require house rules (such as character death) should be included in the player’s document. The 25 word summary could also be the header of the player’s document, to quickly give a sense of the mood.

Sorcerer Class

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Here is a class that I have been working on for inclusion in the basic game.

The sorcerer is a magic-user that has natural arcane talent. He does not study magic or keep a spell book. Rather, his spells are natural talents, and often manifest themselves in idiosyncratic ways. Some sorcerers must engage in particular activities in order to trigger their abilities (e.g., dancing or drawing runes), while others must merely concentrate (decide during character creation). Spells that require somatic components in the rules still require some bodily movement, though the nature of that movement should conform to sorcerer in question. No sorcerer spells require material components. Sorcerers can not create magic items.

The sorcerer uses the same spell progression table as the magic-user, but does not need to memorize spells. Instead, he accumulates a number of spell slots equal to the value of each spell he has access to. For example, a third level sorcerer can cast two first level spells and one second level spell. Thus, he has 4 spell slots, and can use these to cast any combination of spells the level of which he has access to. This wizard could cast 4 first level spells, 2 second level spells, or 2 first level spells and 1 second level spell. He regains use of all spell slots after an extended rest. (I’m not sure about this method of regaining spell slots, but I don’t have any other ideas right now.) Perhaps some sort of active recovery would work better.

A sorcerer may cast the same spell more than once, but each time it is cast, the cost in spell slots increases by one. For example, say that a sorcerer has the sleep spell. The first time he casts sleep, it uses up one spell slot. The second time he casts sleep, it expends two spell slots, the third time, three slots, etc. I’m quite happy with this mechanic, because it encourages the use of more than one spell (the danger with spell point systems is that the caster might merely employ fireball after fireball, which limits creativity). It also reflects the way the sorcerer’s casting is less precise and systematic than a scholarly magic-user.

When the sorcerer gains a new spell slots, he rolls on the magic tables for a new spell. The sorcerer can not learn new spells in any other way, and can not teach other magic-users his spells. This means that some levels a sorcerer will gain more than one spell. For example, when going from sixth to seventh level, a traditional magic-user gains one first level spell slot and one fourth level spell slot. A sorcerer undergoing the same level transition would gain 5 spell slots (1 + 4) and two new spells: roll randomly once on the first level table, and once on the fourth level table. Re-roll if the result is a spell that the sorcerer can already cast. I would encourage players and referees to not re-roll spells in any other case, because the idea of chance, chaos, and lack of control are inherent in the concept of the sorcerer. Respect fate.

Once per day, the sorcerer can let loose wild energies and cast a random spell. This uses up all remaining spell slots, with level balance being made up by damage. The spell cast thusly may be of any level, even a level that the sorcerer can not yet cast, but the targets and all details are up to the referee. Such random spells may only be cast during a time of great stress, such as during combat. I’m not sure about this ability yet, but I really like the flavor. Perhaps the random spell should not be of any level, but rather the sorcerer’s level + N (maybe N = 3?).

There is a 50% chance that a critical failure results in a spontaneous spell discharge of one of the spells the sorcerer can normally cast. The wild magic drains spell slots if available, and if they are not available, the balance is made up by damage.

A sorcerer can not be killed by damage from his own spell casting. Instead, if such damage reduces him to 0 HP, he is knocked unconscious and is stable at 0 HP.

The sorcerer can use leather armor but no shield and simple weapons. Club, short sword, light crossbow, spear, quarterstaff, dagger.

Other similar ideas:

Blackwater Falls

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You have received notice that the great sorcerer, Wolfgang Constantine, your patron and friend, has died in mysterious circumstances. The missive further indicates that you were included in the wizard’s will, and as such have been bequeathed a part of the Blackwater Falls estate.

So began one of the most successful RPG campaigns that I have participated in. This was in the late 90s. Some friends and I were tired of campaigns that did not last, so we wanted to put something together that would require a very small upfront investment in preparation, and would not require extensive referee work from any one person.

The principles of the game were as follows:

  • Your character must have a relation to the archmage Wolfgang Constantine (this would also provide an easy way to introduce new characters as needed, since not all of the inheritors had been located)
  • Referee duties would be rotated
  • Multiple characters were allowed, but we had to pick only one to play at the beginning of each session (this also meant that we didn’t have to wait for one set of characters to get back before starting another adventure, particularly if different players were involved)
  • Referees were not to use important NPCs created by others (this was to allow recurring villains and sub-plots)
  • The world map began mostly unspecified and would be elaborated as needed over the course of play (it started as a college of wizardry, a town, and the Blackwater Falls mansion)
  • The mansion itself, built into a cliff of black stone over which tumbled a waterfall, was huge and unexplored; no one knew how big it actually was, or what purpose it served
  • In addition to the exploration of the mansion and its catacombs, the PCs would have to deal with tax and debt collectors coming after the great wizard’s heirs (Constantine was a big spender, but everyone was afraid to try to collect from him, since he was such a powerful and feared wizard)
  • PCs must start and end every session at the mansion (if at all possible)

We called this a “house” game, since the PCs started and ended every session at the Blackwater Falls mansion. At the time we attributed the campaign’s ultimate success mostly to the idea of referee rotation and the “house” concept (which we borrowed from some older White Wolf gamers, though I don’t know if the term was in general use). Looking back on this now, though, I think that the real reason the campaign worked was that we had unwittingly stumbled upon many of the principles of old school gaming. The lack of initial setting specification. The megadungeon (in the mansion). The lack of too much pre-planned plot (mostly due to the rotating referee duties). In other words, we started with only the principles of what would make a successful RPG, and we ended up with old school D&D (the rules for adjudicating success and failure were different, but the way we played the game was remarkably similar). The only major principle we were missing was the use of random tables. The focus on treasure was even there, since all the characters started out poor, but needed to accumulate funds to pay off Constantine’s debts.

The game started using AD&D 2E rules (with some modifications to support a pseudo-Victorian and steampunk setting), but after some play was transitioned to a generic homebrew skill system based roughly on White Wolf games (after all, back then the smart kids were playing Vampire and Mage, not D&D). But the rules were mostly immaterial. It was the sense of exploration, at least for me, that made the game work.

That’s what makes the OSR so fascinating to me, getting back into this hobby. I’m currently running a 4E game (3 sessions in), more or less because that is the system my coworkers expect. I hope to make use of some of the old school ways though. In fact, I partly see this blog as an investigation into the following question: can an old school sandbox game be run effectively using a modern ruleset? I am greatly inspired by the empirical style of James Maliszewski’s Dwimmermount campaign. My experience so far is that combat is slow, clunky, and does not lend itself well to creativity and imagination. But I don’t yet consider this to be a fair appraisal, because I am still learning the rules (as the referee), and we are playing with at least one player who has never played any tabletop RPG before.