Yearly Archives: 2012

Skill Taxes and Ability Scores

As has been mentioned several times previously on this blog, a skill tax is some feature that a player feels compelled to take, not because they are interested in the skill itself, but because someone in the party should have the skill for the good of the group. Perception is such a skill, because you only need one character to be able to notice things (with perhaps one backup if the primary goes down). This is usually considered a bad thing, because the player that takes the skill is down one resource slot compared to all the other players. The same kind of dynamic can arise for things other than just skills (for example, the thief as trap finder and the cleric as healer).

I was thinking about this when reading the 5E playtest materials, which boil down skill-like checks and saving throws to ability scores. This is not a new thing, as people have been making ability checks (and even ability saving throws) for a long time. And I gather other systems (like Castles & Crusades) do something similar. But it does institutionalize and generalize a system that is already rather well understood and well liked.

What is the connection to skill taxes here? If wisdom is perception (one example from the playtest materials) then you also get all the other benefits of a high wisdom when taking it for the boost to perception (never mind for now all the problems with perception systems; my point is about features that players feel obligated to take). And, running this system using 3d6 in order (which will presumably be one of the character creation options in the final product) will help avoid excessive optimization potential.

Faerie Level Limits

Here is a quick justification for why elves (and perhaps other faerie demi-humans) are limited in level progression. Elves are otherworldly creatures that are not completely at home in the mundane world of humanity. Their essence (and magic) comes from a connection to their mystical home, Elf-Land (or the Feywild, or whatever you want to call it). After a time, long for a human but short for an elf, curiosity wanes and an adventuring elf must return home or be diminished.

Elf-Land could be another plane, but I prefer to think of it more in terms of mythic geography, though perhaps with some physical laws warped or changed. Like, as you go deeper into the elder forests things get weird and alien. This is closer to how people conceived magic before the great disenchantment. Somewhat related, I also love the idea in DCC RPG of elves being unable to tolerate equipment of iron (obviously also derived from folk tales). Elves begin with mithril equipment, but replacing lost equipment is difficult (a nice trade-off for their fighter/magic-user flexibility).

At the discretion of the referee, perhaps elves must periodically return to Elf-Land or start to lose magic abilities. An elf that stays to long in the world of humans will actually become mortal (in game terms, a fighter) and probably begin to forget their past existence. And maybe the opposite is true as well? Humans that stay too long in Elf-Land are also changed? Perhaps this is one source of changelings. And time, of course, also flows differently in Elf-Land.

The Seven Secret Crafts

They are:

  1. The Masters of Alchemy
  2. The Masters of Dragons
  3. The Masters of the Elements
  4. The Masters of Illusions
  5. The Masters of Necromancy
  6. The Masters of the Runes
  7. The Mistresses of Witchcraft
In Glantri, these are each secret societies that exist beneath the surface of the wizard-ruled realm. Hidden guilds, essentially. They are detailed on pages 69 through 76 of GAZ3 The Principalities of Glantri. This was one of the books I took along on my recent vacation, and though I didn’t read it cover to cover, I did manage to take in most of it. The supplement in its entirety careens unevenly between excellent and absurd ideas, and is burdened by much the the “gazetteer” portion being presented diegetically (or, less charitably, as fan fiction). But the good parts are so good. And all the interior art is black and white by Stephen Fabian (one of my favorite fantasy artists; see this gallery).

The secret crafts make up one of the best specialist magic systems I have yet come across. They work somewhat like prestige classes, each having five circles (much like levels) which require XP, GP, and training time (not to mention an NPC teacher). A craft specialist learns abilities, which are powers which are usable either daily, weekly, or monthly (depending on the circle), and sometimes have component costs as well. It sounds rather complicated when presented concisely like this, but is quite clear in the text, and I love how there are so many adventure hooks built into the progressions (it’s not at all like level up, choose a power). Each circle also has a minimum wizard level prerequisite. So, for example, you can’t become a master of the first circle until 5th level, and mastery of the fifth (final) circle requires first reaching 20th level as a magic-user. The powers are also not entirely reliable (requiring a percentile roll, with fumbles occurring on rolls of 01).

The crafts are not necessarily as you might imagine them from their names. For example, alchemists are closer to Jack Vance vat wizards than they are to simple potion brewers (though they do that too); the fourth and fifth circle abilities are “transcend energy” and “mutate lifeform” (these are exactly as cool as they sound). The illusionists are not just crafters of phantasms, but rather they tap into the dimension of nightmares, and can build a stronghold there upon mastery of the fifth circle. The rune masters are concerned with true names, and they have probably the most flexible of all powers, able to shape aspects of reality based on the names they know, but also some of the worst kinds of feedback upon fumbles (essentially, reality storms). The dragon wizards are the least interesting in terms of flavor (most of their powers being rather boring attacks), but even they could add to a campaign, particularly their warding abilities, and their final dragon metamorphosis (which could be reminiscent of Dark Sun if played well).

Let me focus briefly on the masters of necromancy in detail, as necromancers have always been my favorite specialist type. The necromancers have only one ability per circle, and the abilities are (with prerequisite levels in parentheses): protection from undead (5th), control undead (7th), create undead (10th), raise dead (15th), and attain lichdom (20th). Here is the fumble (roll of 01) for the create undead ability:

A roll of 01 causes the necromancer’s life-force to be partially drained, his attempt failing lamentably. He suffers 1d6 points of damage per HD of undead he attempted to create, plus 5 for each asterisk (no save). If the necromancer dies, he immediately becomes an undead of the type he attempted to create.

The control undead (second circle) ability can also be used as turn undead, though it “does not require a religious symbol, but only a few gestures and ritual words.” Beware though, a roll of 01 makes the necromancer a pawn of the most powerful undead creature in his presence.

So, what about the bad parts? Well, I’ll just quote two brief fiction segments out of context:

“No sweat, I got it covered. The toughest part is to get back to the hideout faster than the constables’ gondolas–and that I know how to do. I have this new gondola: two rapid-fire magic missile rods mounted on swivels, eight water-elementals in a V, reinforced cabin, magically silenced, and as black as the night… a beauty! Nobody can catch us. Once at the hideout, we can teleport the goods to this place I have in Nyra.”

And:

“Freeze! Glantri Vice!” comes the shout. A heavily-armored gondola loaded with constables slowly sways in their direction. “You are surrounded! Drop your wands and come out with you hands on your mouth!”

Pages 9 and 12. Apparently the mafia is quite active in Glantri.

Despite all its flaws, I can’t recommend this supplement highly enough. The bad parts are easy enough to ignore, and the good parts are really, really good. And this is without mentioning the ancient nuclear reactor buried beneath the city that can turn magic-users into radiation liches. Even the maps alone are excellent. They include a full poster map of a canal city and details by district in the booklet at a scale absolutely perfect for gaming (unlike the absurdly complicated maps I have seen for cities like Waterdeep). This really makes me want to check out the other Mystara Gazetteers, despite my dislike for settings with extensive canon and my dislike for magic as a substitute for technology. Unfortunately, they are quite expensive on the secondary market.

Desiderata

Things that I think would be fun to play, in no particular order.

  • Mystara (Rules Cyclopedia D&D)
  • Vecna Lives! module with pregens (Second Edition)
  • The Old World (Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, obviously)
  • Dragonlance Taladas (some TSR edition of D&D)
  • Hyboria (D&D or Iron Heroes maybe)
  • Pathfinder Beginner Box as a complete E5 game
  • Something using the Grindhouse Edition
  • Something using 3LBB OD&D

I find the idea of trying to run some of these rule systems by the book (at least to begin with) particularly attractive right now for some reason. Maybe it’s because I’ve been running my 4E hack now for so long.

This is a short post because I am flying back home today.

Constraint & Creativity

As anyone who has engaged in creative endeavors probably knows, boundless freedom is often not an aid to creativity. Instead, limits and strictures seem to help channel ideas from chaos into some semblance of meaning and potential newness. Paradoxically, censorship is even a form of constraint which can foster creativity (especially clever ways of communicating that which is prohibited). This expands on my previous post about persistent settings, where I touched on the idea of constraint briefly.

I think constraints function in two main ways to help facilitate creativity. The first is that constraints often give you a place to start, helping to bypass the blank sheet problem. The second is that the task at hand is narrowed down to reconciliation of desired effect with particular limits. These properties should be familiar to people who have studied productivity techniques; methods to get started (getting past the blank page) and methods to break larger, complex tasks into smaller, simpler tasks.

Mixing results from random tables is thus a method of introducing constraints. How are these disparate results reconciled? How does it make sense that there are berserkers in the first room and goblins in the second room? Why is a dragon encountered only six miles from a town? Is it perhaps the hidden servant (or master) of the town mayor? Why is there a desert right next to the sea? How does the isolated town support itself? Matt Finch calls this process deep design in his Tome of Adventure Design (one of my favorite RPG books; I have not spent nearly enough time with it).

Some other ideas for limitations:

  1. Limit yourself to a core rulebook or boxed set. I’m leaning towards using the OD&D 3 LBBs (I already have a basic alignment-based taxonomy to use as an organizing principle).
  2. Only take monsters from one (non-standard) bestiary (there has been some blog discussion about this over the past few months regarding the Fiend Folio).
  3. Only use certain tools during creation. Scott Driver is doing this with his Dwarf-Land setting by using a typewriter. One could also hand-write everything.

Persistent Campaign Settings

I’ve been thinking recently about settings that grow, not just over the course of a single campaign, but over the course of many campaigns, perhaps with multiple groups. This, as I understand it, was how Greyhawk and Blackmoor were run, to some approximation. I don’t know how Gary or Dave managed their setting timelines, or even if they cared about things at that level of detail. It seems like Jeff runs Wessex in a somewhat similar way, with various groups of people on G+ and in real life. Rob Conley’s Majestic Wilderlands is perhaps another example.

Obviously, there could be some logistical complications with this. What if multiple groups are playing at the same time and affect each other? What if one group plays in “the past” with regard to other groups? It seems like temporal paradox could potentially be a problem, though realistically I don’t think it would be difficult to avoid.

Another potential issue is that such a setting could become too important. That is, a referee might be more cautious with trying new things, and might also become more sensitive to players that don’t take the setting seriously. I don’t think this would be a problem for me (I love to see what kind of mischief players can get up to), but I can see it being an issue for some. It is probably best to not go overboard on setting background (though this is easier said than done).

Certain kinds of games seem like they would work better with this kind of setting than others. It should probably be generic enough to appeal to casual players (though this need not be a requirement, depending on the players you have access to). At the very least, you don’t want barriers to entry to be too high. Adventures that begin and end in town and can be completed in a single session would be the easiest to run, but are not required (and you don’t want to dissuade players from trying things that might make an impact on the setting, like establishing a stronghold). But maybe these things are just good setting design guidelines in general, and not tied particularly to the kind of persistent play I am gesturing toward. I’m not sure.

I think it has been much more common recently to make campaign settings more disposable. I blame this partly on an embarrassment of riches; there are so many published RPGs and settings out there, and many look like they would be fun to try. Thus the dreaded “gamer ADD” of bouncing around between different options rather than sticking with one and letting it develop. Personally, I’ve had a number of settings that are (or were) “mine,” but I’ve never stuck with any single setting long enough for it really to develop any kind of depth. Constraint breeds creativity, so maybe stricter guidelines about how you are allowed to add detail to the setting might help. Only as preparation for specific sessions, perhaps?

The aspect of this that most intrigues me is how the remnants of one campaign (or group of players) could affecting other, future campaigns. I can imagine setting down enough information for a beginning campaign, writing down a fantasy date (year, month, day), and starting the first set of players out, recording what happens, and incrementing the dates as necessary. Then, the next group would start out at the last marked date, and so forth. It would be like maintaining a “fantasy present” so that you would always know when it is whenever you sit down to play, and what happened recently. Those Oriental Adventures event tables might be interesting, and also see this post by Zak (though his example is explicitly not an in-game day-by-day calendar).

Do any of you have a setting that keeps developing as specified above? If so, did you start with a published setting, or did you start from scratch? How many campaigns or groups has your setting supported? Have you progressed through multiple historical or technological eras? I’m talking about actual play here, not just writing campaign history. What about multiple game systems? Have you ever “upgraded” (or downgraded)? Do you think the diversity of products available now makes such fidelity unrealistic? Are there any techniques that you use to record campaign developments?

The Gods are Fickle

Jack over at TOTGAD recently reminded me of his cleric spell preparation house rule: the referee chooses half (or all) of a cleric’s prepared spells every day. Here is his original post on gothic character classes. I think that I would like to try out something similar: random spell determination for clerics. This would represent the incomprehensible and mysterious nature of the gods. In terms of game play, this would also differentiate the feel of the cleric from the magic-user even more. Intuition versus reason.

The only downside that I can see is that some players might feel best served by just waiting several days until they get the spells that they want. To make this work in general, strict time records must be kept. But we’re all good Gygaxians, so that’s already a given, right?

5E Wizards

Mike Mearls has a design column up talking about Wizards. There are a few interesting things here, and also a few possibilities that I don’t think would suit the kinds of games I like to run. But before I talk about those things, let me observe that there seem to be an awfully large number of things that are still up in the air considering that the first public play test is in just over a week.

The aspect that is potentially most problematic from an old school point of view is the treatment of cantrips (basically, at-will powers by another name). This is because having unlimited uses is fundamentally at odds with the resource management that is core to low-level traditional D&D. It is possible to make this work, but the cantrip powers have to be chosen very carefully. For example, there can be no light cantrip. I’m not 100% opposed to something like an at-will attack power (for example, see this post about cantrip scrolls) but an at-will attack does fight against the perception magic as strange and special. This ultimately comes down to a setting question: high magic or low magic?

Traditionally, D&D magic is reliable (with the possible exception of spell interruption). Dangerous magic (spell fumbles, insanity systems, etc) is flavorful and fits much fantasy literature and mythology, but can be hard to model for a game about problem solving. I think both of these styles can work well, but I’m not sure how they can coexist. It seems like a decision needs to be made here. Maybe dangerous magic should be saved for another class such as the warlock?

There are a few points that I am fully on board with. For example, I have never much liked enhancement spells (stoneskin, haste, etc) because in my experience they lead to excessive preparation before any possible conflict. The casting of such spells does not represent interesting strategic or tactical planning. It’s just finding a way to stack bonuses. Once these bonus spells start to feel mandatory, something is wrong.

I like what Mr. Mearls has to say about the creative use of spells (for example, using grease to help a rogue escape). This comes back to the idea of associated or disassociated mechanics and fluff as crunch. That is, in the design process does the effect of the spell come first or the meaning of the spell come first? (Tangentially, I usually hate the terms fluff and crunch, but that roles/rules post also implicitly shows why those words can be so harmful to game design.)

The other possibility that I like is a decrease in the number of spell slots, especially for higher level wizards. Just in terms of practicality, tracking all those spells and deciding which to prepare per adventure is a lot of work. A smaller number of slots makes consumable magic items more valuable as well. Also, having too many slots doesn’t fit either Vancian or mythological literature very well; magic is more often portrayed as more limited. Having many spell slots also doesn’t fit much recent fantasy (like the One Power of The Wheel of Time or the Force in Star Wars). Those types of magic would probably be better served by a mana point system (which I have no problem with as a supplemental class, just not for the core wizard).

Thulsa Doom is Skeletor

While reading the excellent Del Rey Kull collection, I came across this passage in the story The Cat and the Skull (page 114):

Kull tore the veil away with one motion and recoiled with a gasp. Delcardes screamed and her knees gave way; the councillors pressed backward, faces white and the guard released their grasp and shrank horror-struck away.
The face of the man was a bare white skull, in whose eye sockets flamed livid fire!

“Thulsa Doom!”
“Aye, I guessed as much!” exclaimed Ka-nu.
“Aye, Thulsa Doom, fools!” the voice echoed cavernously and hollowly. “The greatest of all wizards and your eternal foe, Kull of Atlantis. You have won this tilt but, beware, there shall be others.”

Totally Skeletor. The Del Rey edition is filled with art by Justin Sweet (like, one every few pages). Here is the one illustrating the scene above:

Somewhat related, these are the reading materials I took along for vacation reading (not including the three lifetimes worth of digital material I have on my tablet). Still reading Warhammer too, but I decided to leave that massive book at home.

In case that picture is not clear, those are WMLP No. 1, Coercion, Capital, and European States: AD 990 – 1992, the old D&D Gazetteer GAZ3 The Principalities of Glantri, Changeling: The Dreaming (for some faerie inspiration), and the aforementioned Kull collection.