Yearly Archives: 2012

Save or Die Again

In addition to the forums and “Dragon Magazine” blogs like the Legends & Lore column, WotC also has a D&D Next group where they have been posting ideas and getting feedback. Mike Mearls recently had a another piece there on save or die following up on his Legends & Lore article. There’s not much new in the Mearls piece itself, but there was this interesting comment from some guy named eberg:

Here’s an idea, make save or die stuff not be instantaneous. The save and the death occur at the end of the player’s next turn. That gives everyone (including the player) a chance to do something before it happens. So, you are bitten by a giant spider and poisoned, but can chug a potion of anti-venom to give a bonus to the save at the end of your turn. It still happens quickly, so there is the sense of immediate danger, but it still gives a short time for help to prevent (or mitigate) it. Also, the image of a person rapidly turning to stone or feeling the poison spread through their body as everyone rushes to save them is incredibly dramatic.

There is actually some precedent for effects like save or die poison to not be instantaneous. I think this “end of next turn” interpretation is not bad, and one could even push it to the end of the encounter (i.e., make the effect take one ten minute game turn to complete). This also makes damage-based save effects (such as dragon breath or fireballs) actually more deadly in some ways, as their damage happens all at once.

Social Combat is Asymmetric

I was just recently commenting on this flame-bait post (Why “Old School” Games Suck) over at Division Nihil, and it got me thinking about social mechanics and the lack of social combat rules in traditional D&D. I don’t particularly like social resolution mechanics, and I think I have figured out why. Before I get to my ideas, let’s quickly summarize the social mechanics present in traditional D&D (for my purposes here, “traditional” means 1974 OD&D and Moldvay B/X), and revisit the common arguments for and against the inclusion of social mechanics.

First, OD&D. The only way (short of magic) that a PC can influence NPCs using game mechanics is via a high charisma score. Charisma determines how many hirelings of “unusual nature” a PC can command (this includes subdued monsters by my reading). The charisma modifier is also applied to monster reaction (in the text: “In addition the charisma score is usable to decide such things as whether or not a witch capturing a player will turn him into a swine or keep him enchanted as a lover”), though charisma does not seem to influence the general 2d6 reaction roll used for encounters. The possible reactions are: 2 – 5 negative, 6 – 8 uncertain, 9 – 12 positive. See The Underworld & Wilderness Adventures page 12.

No reaction roll is required for hiring retainers in town; the referee is expected to rule on whether or not an offer is accepted (a minimum cost of 100 GP is suggested, with differing incentives for specific classes). As mentioned above, if a monster or NPC is subdued, a PC may attempt to recruit them by making an offer (which must be more than just sparing of life). A 2d6 reaction roll is made, adjusted by PC charisma. From the text: “The monster will react, with appropriate plusses or minuses, according to the offer, the referee rolling two six-sided dice and adjusting for charisma.” Whenever a retainer is taken into service, whether town NPC or monster from the dungeon, a separate loyalty score is also rolled (using 3d6 and adjusted by employer charisma). This loyalty score determines the morale modifier (in other words, the charisma modifier does not affect morale checks directly in OD&D, but does effect them by influencing the loyalty score, which should be re-rolled periodically). See Men & Magic, pages 11 – 13. Another summary and more discussion of OD&D reaction rolls can be found over at The Nine and Thirty Kingdoms.

Moldvay B/X does things slightly differently. Number of retainers is similarly dependent upon charisma, but there is no separate per-retainer loyalty score; the PC’s charisma bonus just applies directly to morale checks. Recruiting standard retainers in town is not handled by referee ruling but uses a 2d6 reaction roll much like recruiting monsters is handled in OD&D. Note that none of the 2d6 reaction rolls, neither retainer negotiations nor monster reactions, are affected by the charisma modifier. See pages B21 and B27 in the Moldvay Basic rulebook.

In a physical combat, both the PC and enemy have hit points, armor class, and an attack bonus. A successful physical attack results in loss of HP both against the monster and against the PC. Both suffer the same fate at 0 HP. This is a symmetric contest, not in the sense of being equal (any number of stats might differ), but in the sense of braving the same danger. To win in combat is to either knock your enemy unconscious or kill them. Note that combat mechanics start to become slightly asymmetric upon the release of AD&D. PCs die at -10 HP rather than 0 HP, unlike monsters (but this is relatively minor; one might easily rule that everyone dies at -10 but that it is ignored for practical reasons other than in cases where monsters might be able to aid each other). Later editions exaggerate this trend in support of PC plot immunity, but in theory the risk of death by combat for both monsters and PCs remains.

Social combat is inherently different than physical combat because it is either asymmetric or agency-destroying. What does winning a social combat mean? I can think of two possible types of social combat. One, changing another character’s opinion or desires. This is what skills like diplomacy and bluff focus on in games that include them. Two, influencing the reputation of another character, either for a specific third party (in which case it reduces to a special case of type one) or within some faceless population (for example, labeling a merchant as untrustworthy within a particular town). A way to influence reputation does not pose the same problems for player choice as a system of direct influence does because it is really modifying the operating environment rather than the operator (see here for a reputation system for D&D). Type one is an example of temporarily taking control of another character. Thus, unlike physical contests, social contests are asymmetric because NPCs do not generally take control of PCs. PCs do not make a reaction roll to determine their disposition toward monsters because the decision about what to do is the essence of the game.

Asymmetric social mechanics are boring because the PC is not risking anything. A fighter risks life when in combat with an ogre. When a PC tries to engages in a debate or negotiation with an NPC, it is not generally possible for the result to be something like: the bandit lord has convinced you that your interest lies with the bandits and you must now fight against the other PCs. It would be possible to make a social combat subsystem with something like a social HP total. When social HP fell to 0, a PC might turn into an NPC (essentially “dying” from the point of view of the player), much like how some sanity mechanics work. But D&D does not have anything like such a system, and that is why diplomacy et al are such dismal failures in practice.

What about charm spells? Don’t they pose the same problems to player agency? The short answer is yes. I have struggled with how to handle this before. In practice, I suspect most referees just avoid using charm spells on PCs, and the Vancian nature of spells prevents them from being used without limit by PCs, unlike a diplomacy skill. A persuasive character could, I suppose, be modelled as a magic-user who specializes in charming by reskinning the magic as some other kind of mundane class power, but this is aesthetically displeasing to me and wreaks havoc with other aspects of the rules. For example, would the wisdom bonus to saves versus magic apply to resisting this diplomancer’s abilities? In my Fourth Edition game, I had a monster with charm powers able to take control of a PC for one action by making a successful attack versus will. The monster was then able to have the PC use a power against the rest of the party. It worked, but it felt very artificial and for me did not add to the immersion of the game experience.

The standard rejoinder is: what if a socially inept player wants to play a socially adept character? How is that different than a physically weak player wanting to play a physically strong character? I would respond in two ways. One, the charisma game mechanics do give characters a way to socially influence NPCs. A socially inept player who might not be able to lead anyone in real life can play a charismatic adventurer who can lead loyal retainers deep into a dim and perilous underworld. If a player does not want to take advantage of that ability, that is on them. Two, roleplaying for me is not primarily about wish fulfillment (I think this is one of the major differences between new and old school gaming, and it probably deserves its own post). The rules are not there to help you create a perfect avatar. They are there to help you create an interesting avatar that, combined with the setting produces an enjoyable experience for all players. At least, that is my world view.

There are a few ways that charisma could be made more potent without introducing a new subsystem or heavily modifying the nature of the game. In OD&D and B/X, there are a number of rolls where the charisma modifier could be applied where it is not currently. Some possibilities:

  1. The charisma modifier could adjust the monster reaction roll.
  2. The charisma modifier could penalize enemy morale checks.
  3. PCs with high charisma modifier could get extra rolls on rumor tables.
  4. A charisma check could grant better prices with merchants.

In cases with group conflict (like the standard adventuring party against a group of monsters), either the highest charisma could be used, or a group charisma could be calculated as the average charisma of the entire party. On the one hand, I like the idea of the most charismatic party member being able to act as the spokesperson (the “use highest charisma” option), but on the other hand I don’t like the idea of a high charisma being an ability tax (something that one player feels obligated to take for the good of the group irrespective of their own desires). This problem is of course obviated if you are strict about 3d6 in order, as nobody can make a choice to have a high charisma. Calculating an average charisma is also a bit more fiddly (it would require recalculation every time the composition of the party changed). I am also not fond of the idea that one PC with really bad charisma would drag down the entire party.

Mars is Yellow

Being quotations from A Princess of Mars.

From CHAPTER XII:

While the court was entirely overgrown with the yellow, moss-like vegetation which blankets practically the entire surface of Mars, yet numerous fountains, statuary, benches, and pergola-like contraptions bore witness to the beauty which the court must have presented in bygone times, when graced by the fair-haired, laughing people whom stern and unalterable cosmic laws had driven not only from their homes, but from all except the vague legends of their descendants.

From CHAPTER XV:

We made a most imposing and awe-inspiring spectacle as we strung out across the yellow landscape; the two hundred and fifty ornate and brightly colored chariots, preceded by an advance guard of some two hundred mounted warriors and chieftains riding five abreast and one hundred yards apart, and followed by a like number in the same formation, with a score or more of flankers on either side; the fifty extra mastodons, or heavy draught animals, known as zitidars, and the five or six hundred extra thoats of the warriors running loose within the hollow square formed by the surrounding warriors. The gleaming metal and jewels of the gorgeous ornaments of the men and women, duplicated in the trappings of the zitidars and thoats, and interspersed with the flashing colors of magnificent silks and furs and feathers, lent a barbaric splendor to the caravan which would have turned an East Indian potentate green with envy.

The enormous broad tires of the chariots and the padded feet of the animals brought forth no sound from the moss-covered sea bottom; and so we moved in utter silence, like some huge phantasmagoria, except when the stillness was broken by the guttural growling of a goaded zitidar, or the squealing of fighting thoats. The green Martians converse but little, and then usually in monosyllables, low and like the faint rumbling of distant thunder.

We traversed a trackless waste of moss which, bending to the pressure of broad tire or padded foot, rose up again behind us, leaving no sign that we had passed. We might indeed have been the wraiths of the departed dead upon the dead sea of that dying planet for all the sound or sign we made in passing. It was the first march of a large body of men and animals I had ever witnessed which raised no dust and left no spoor; for there is no dust upon Mars except in the cultivated districts during the winter months, and even then the absence of high winds renders it almost unnoticeable. 

Visitors

Older stories in the fantastic tradition often feature a protagonist that is not of the fantasy world. Alice in Wonderland. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. The children that travel to Narnia. John Carter of Mars. Occasionally, a more recent story will also employ this technique (for example, Terisa in The Mirror of Her Dreams), but in general this method is rarely used now. I believe this development is tied to the idea that fantasy settings should be complete within themselves and internally consistent; a replacement for reality rather than an interesting location meant to function as a stage.

Originally, the technique of taking a “real world” person and inserting them into a fantastic setting was probably meant as a way to help the audience accept the fantastic world by giving them someone familiar (the protagonist) to identify with. This structure also works well because as a visitor, the protagonist is not expected to already be familiar with the setting, so they can discover the setting along with the reader. John Carter didn’t get a setting background book when he was transported to Barsoom. This is a good fit for tabletop RPGs: no setting infodump assimilation required.

John Carter and Alice are both essentially planar travelers. This is also more or less what FLAILSNAILS characters are. I used to worry about making sure that all PCs “made sense” in the setting, but I’m coming to care less and less about this. The FLAILSNAILS conventions have taught me that my players can run whatever they want without messing up my campaign setting. My current players have been making characters using the online 4E character builder, which offers a huge variety of races, classes, and powers. None of them have made anything too exotic yet, but with this framework it wouldn’t even matter if they did. Just treat any odd PC the same way you would treat a FLAILSNAILS ConstantCon character.

Loviatar 8 & Roads


For Loviatar #8, I’m not going to talk much about the hex features this time. Instead, I would like to draw attention to an aspect of Christian’s maps which in my experience is quite unique. This aspect is the roads that connect the landmarks within all the hexes. Considering the four hexes, 001 has four roads leading out of it, 002 has two connecting roads, 003 has three roads, and 004 has three roads. Consider the kind of network that will develop if that continues.

Image from Loviatar Zine blog

This is an interesting blend of a hexcrawl and a pointcrawl, and is an outgrowth of the rather radical bottom-up approach of the B/X hex articles in Loviatar. This network of relationships makes the setting feel far more locally detailed than most D&D settings I have seen (which tend to be more defined by nation/race borders). Hex 004 also continues the creative use of traditional monsters, with the otyugh, gnomes, and a giant serpent with a secret.

OPD Modules

Back in my 2E days, I used to almost never run modules. The only module I can remember using was this Ravenloft module RA3 Touch of Death. But I’ve been using modules more recently, and the experience really is quite different than writing your own scenarios. My current 4E game was my first experience as a referee using the system, so to begin with I wanted to use a module to get a sense of how the system was expected to be used. I ran part of Seekers of the Ashen Crown (really, I just borrowed the first dungeon and discarded the plot railroad). This was before I had discovered the OSR, and I was just getting my feet wet after having not played for upwards of 10 years.

Since then, I have run Pod-Caverns of the Sinister Shroom and Tower of the Stargazer (a B/X one-shot unconnected to my current campaign). Both of these were very successful and I feel like I’m getting the hang of making a module my own, but the utility of the traditional module format is not very good. As artifacts to use at the game table (either PDF or hard copy), different kinds of information are jumbled together and page flipping is constantly required. Many new school players talk about innovation in game design and how we should not be slaves to nostalgia. Like in computer engineering, they say, sometimes you need to break old interfaces (and discard compatibility) in the service of progress. When I think of actual progress in game design though, the first thing that comes to mind is the one page dungeon (OPD) format.

I wrote before about some techniques for module preparation. Basically, boiled down, that post amounts to annotating modules by separating the different types of information. During play, one should not need to digest large blocks of text, as that slows down the flow of the game. My recommendations in that past post do help, and the process of summarizing (much like taking notes when reading) also helps to assimilate information. It is a way of reading actively rather than reading passively. For those of us without photographic memory, this can make a big difference regarding retained knowledge.

We can still do better though. For my next adventures, I am planning to translate the modules into the OPD format for use during play. Some might object that the work required is almost as much work as creating a scenario from scratch, but I disagree. Such a position undervalues the underlying creativity required to create a really engaging scenario. Of course, I haven’t done such a translation yet, so we’ll see how much work it takes. Of the published modules I have read so far, I feel like Stonehell Dungeon comes the closest to my ideal format (it uses a two page facing variation on the one page dungeon) though the OPD pages don’t have many memory cues for descriptive elements.

There is a place for detailed textual descriptions like are standard in traditional modules, but I feel like the optimal referee play-aid should almost never require a context switch (i.e., page turn). So, for me, a perfect module would be a textual overview followed by detailed descriptions of areas and NPCs. In addition, there would be an OPD for every zone which would include short-form stats and basic reminders about details. A facing page (or on the reverse) could include extra details for encounters with more moving parts (like a potion rack with lots of different possible effects or a puzzle). In addition, there should be a map-only version of the zone OPD to facilitate restocking. The best tool for getting the feel of a location is not the best tool for actually running that location. Think about the difference between a novel and a script.

John Carter

Short review: I loved it. This is the best fantasy adventure movie I can remember seeing since The Lord of the Rings and the original Star Wars trilogy. The cute sidekick (Woola) was actually cute rather than annoying, and all the characters were well-drawn (though John Carter himself was a bit dour).

The visuals were amazing and the acting was mostly top-notch. There are a few minor cosmetic things I would have changed, but I’m not going to go into those because they were for the most part irrelevant to the spirit of the story. I think it is admirable how close they stayed to the original stories, especially compared to what Hollywood writers usually do with scripts. I’m also impressed by how they did not water down the Confederate soldier aspect of John Carter’s character.

Personally, I think the name of the movie should have been Barsoom. John Carter is just too bland for most movie consumers. Most of the people I talked to had no idea what it was about and were not familiar with the books by Edgar Rice Burroughs. John Carter of Mars would have been better, but still not ideal, as I think it would read as too campy for mainstream audiences. Barsoom sounds mysterious and alien. It would have given the studios a better franchise to work with too. Future titles could have followed the pattern of the book titles (“Warlord of Barsoom,” “Gods of Barsoon,” etc). Unfortunately, due to the studio’s loss on the first installment, we will likely not get a second.

The major criticism I have read by others is regarding the addition of the tragic backstory (see Grognadia and Howling Tower). This actually didn’t bother me that much; being a soldier on the losing side of a war is pretty tragic too, and I don’t think the addition overwhelmed his character. The courtly southern gentleman aspect didn’t really come through at all though, which in my mind is a bigger failing. And where was the southern accent?

Brewing Poison

One of the skills I gave to my version of the thief class is brew poison. If the thief is not rolling for skill selection, brew poison will be gained at eighth level. Here is the text from the class description:

Brew poison: given 1 day and 100 gp, a thief can brew one dose of save-or-die poison sufficient to threaten the life of a human-sized opponent. How larger or smaller creatures react to poison is by referee ruling. 5 in 6 chance to identify and know effects of examined poisons. Other recipes (such as for a paralytic poison) can be found, or can be synthesized based on reverse-engineering an identified poison.

Brewing poison is actually a thing that any class can attempt, assuming they have a recipe and can procure the ingredients. I would probably make the components cost double for a non-thief. What really makes the thief ability special though is that the thief can brew poisons with no chance of accidentally poisoning themselves. For non-thieves, I use the following rule:

Given a recipe, ingredients, and basic facilities, anyone can attempt to brew poison. There is a 1 in 6 chance of accidental poison exposure. In that case, a standard save versus poison is required to avoid the poison effect.

The other two aspects of the thief ability that are special are that the thief basically gets the recipe for save or die poison for free and also gains the identification/reverse-engineering ability.

Starting above first level

In a recent Rule-of-Three article (via Erik Tenkar via Keith Davies), Rodney Thompson wrote about varying character generation complexity by starting above first level. As the mechanical complexity of building a 3E or 4E character is one of my biggest complaints about post-TSR D&D, this is of great interest to me. To quote:

Additionally, we’re looking at having the classes gradually layer in more capabilities over the first two or three levels, rather than providing a large number of class features at level 1, so that players new to the class have a short period of time to learn the basics of their class through play. Experienced players could simply start at 3rd level if they want to leap right into a more advanced starting experience.

I think this is an excellent approach, and one that I have been advocating for some time. I have observed before that in terms of both power and complexity a first level Fourth Edition character is approximately equivalent to a 4th – 6th level traditional D&D character. So why not let every group start at the place that they want to?

The important principle here is to expose complexity slowly through play rather than all at once at the beginning. That also makes the game more social, as other players will experience your character’s progression. The magic-user, for example, is a very complicated class, even if you restrict available spells to the core rules of whatever edition you are playing. The only reason that this complexity is tractable (and why the class remains playable by people not interested in system mastery) is because the spells are introduced gradually during level progression (see also this post by Jeffro for the apotheosis of this insight).

I would also like to see more advancement options tied to events within the game world. Thus, a fighter who wants to learn a special whirlwind attack ability might need to seek out a master to learn from, or discover an ancient manual of techniques. Then, they could use their next advancement point (or whatever) to learn that ability (maybe in place of a base attack bonus increase). This increases the uniqueness of individual characters and combats bonus inflation while not adding any complexity. Positive effects all around.

The framing here is critical though. It’s important that players not see the first three levels as training wheels that experienced player should want to bypass. Rather than capabilities layered in over levels 1 through 3, I think capabilities should be layered in slowly over the entire level range.

I also think there is an inverse relationship between potential setting deadliness and work required to build a new character. If you want save or die with teeth you can’t have character generation as complex as 3E or 4E. Players simply won’t stand for their special snowflake PC (which took an hour or more to build) being killed in the first ten minutes of play because they did something stupid. To be honest, I really can’t see any other way that you can get both players who are interested in quick character creation and players who are interested in complex character builds to play the same game.

Minor actions considered harmful

One thing I have noticed when refereeing my current Nalfeshnee Hack 4E game is that combat takes longer (this is of course a common observation regarding Fourth Edition). I think this comes down to three factors. The first is that HP has increased dramatically in comparison to past editions whereas damage dealing capability has not (and in some cases has regressed). The second is that the grid encourages pondering positional possibilities, much like chess. The third is that players need to make more decisions per turn due to the formalization of actions during combat, and the possibilities for each type of action tend to be heavily suggested by explicit power and maneuver lists (decreasing the need for action creativity). Compare player turn structure in traditional D&D to Fourth Edition.

In traditional D&D, a player’s turn was this:
  1. What do I do?
Sometimes this includes some movement, and there are limits to that movement in the rules, but the concept is not that of a resource to be spent (in my experience). Further, special powers are not used every turn, as generally they are scarce resources, so there is no obvious list to select from (though this breaks down somewhat for high level casters, as the number of spell slots increases).
In 4E, every turn a player must as ask themselves the following questions:
  1. How will I spend my standard action? (Check power list for options.)
  2. How will I spend my move action? (Move, shift, or charge/run?)
  3. Does it make sense to take a minor action? (Check power list for options.)
  4. Should I take any free actions?
  5. Do I want to make any action substitutions?
  6. What order will I take my actions in?
In practice it is of course more streamlined than that, as players develop common patterns when using certain characters, but this is itself something of a problem in my eyes because it acts as barrier to creativity (note that something similar can happen in traditional D&D also; we’ve all seen players whose actions are continually “I attack the monster with my sword”).

The action substitution step is also worth mentioning because it is quite complex in terms of decision possibilities. There is a hierarchy of action types: a standard action can be used for a move but not the other way around. A standard can also be used for a minor action. So, for example, some of the common possibilities are:

  • Move, standard
  • Standard, move
  • Minor, minor, move
  • Move, minor, move
  • Etc.
You can see that there are quite a few possibilities, and all of them also have implications for the spacial relationship of the grid.

Another blogger just mentioned a similar observation. Zombiecowboy wrote:

But I think the biggest problem is what I call the economy of actions. My players feel that they need to eek out every little last drop of potential from their characters, making sure that they spend every action that they can. Did I do something with my free, minor, move, and all mighty standard action this turn?

And, because of how interrelated the 4E rules are, it is very difficult to simplify this process through house rules without doing significant violence to the rest of the ruleset. For example, I considered doing away with minor actions entirely and moving back towards the traditional approach, or at least simplifying the choices to: move-move, action-move, move-action. However, many powers are primarily useful in combos (use minor power X in order to set up favorable conditions for the use of standard power Y; combos).

Healing powers also tend to be minor actions. This is kind of ridiculous in my opinion, as it allows the cleric to move, shoot a laser (ahem, “lance of faith” at-will power), and then heal allies all in one turn. So such a change would also affect some classes more than others (and some “builds” more than others). Players that are used to the 4E concept of class balance tend to be unhappy with such changes.


Unrelated complaint: damn it Google! Because I am in Canada, whenever I view a blogspot blog it rewrites the URL to .ca rather than .com now. Why? It’s so annoying. Whenever I want to copy and paste a blogger URL I now need to edit it because .com is obviously a more stable address. I wish they would stop redirecting me to google.ca from google.com too. When I type a URL into the URL bar, that’s really the place I want to go. Redirection should only be used for transitions where content is actually being moved.