Yearly Archives: 2012

Turning Variations

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Excerpt from Men & Magic page 22

To the right you can see an excerpt from the original turn undead system from OD&D. This basic idea has filtered down through all TSR editions, though it was finally replaced by the bland damage mechanic of Third Edition. The way this table works is really nice mechanically. As the cleric gets more powerful, more types of undead can be automatically turned or destroyed, but a random roll is still require to see if the more powerful undead are affected. As elegant as the results are, it still requires a table. Maybe we can approximate the table with a simple rule? It’s been done before, but here are some other approaches.

The original system works by having auto-turn (and auto-destroy) values based on cleric level, and then adding a bonus of 1 to 3 from a random roll. The percentages behind that random roll are:

  • 2d6, 7+ = 58.22%
  • 2d6, 9+ = 27.78%
  • 2d6, 11+ = 8.33%
So, considering the max HD of the affected target, rolling 7+ gives you one extra HD, rolling 9+ gives you two extra HD, and rolling 11+ gives you three more HD (corresponding to skeleton, zombie, and ghoul on the first level of the turning table). Yes, the HD equivalent is not perfect, but these monsters also have some special abilities and immunities, so the equivalency is good enough for government work. Quantifying undead by HD is pretty much what all the clones do, also.
The traditional turing table works out to this:
  • Max HD of undead turned = (level – 1) + bonus
  • Max HD of enemy destroyed or banished = (level – 3) + bonus
There are several different ways to calculate the bonus. The most obvious and traditional method would be to use 2d6 as described above and remember that 7, 9, and 11 are the magic numbers (corresponding to +1, +2, and +3). One could also translate the equivalent percentages into d20 terms, as Swords & Wizardry and Second Edition did. The idea I’m considering is making it a single d6 roll such that:

  • 4 grants +1 HD
  • 5 grants +2 HD
  • 6 grants +3 HD

This dovetails nicely with some other mechanics that I am considering, but it does still require remembering 3 arbitrary numbers.

The level – 1 is also a bit inelegant (and an extra, if simple, math step in the common case). What if we allowed anyone (non-chaotic) to attempt turning undead, assuming they had a cross? That would be “zero level” turning, whereas classed characters would add their turning level to the roll. It would fit the literature (after all, characters other than Van Helsing can use holy symbols in Dracula, if I recall correctly). I’m not sure if that steps on the clerics toes too much or not. Given my general approach to thief abilities (anyone can try, thieves are just better), it seems reasonable. It would mean that “first level” turning ability would start at the Adept level. Just an idea. Or maybe (level – 1) is not that bad.
Also, the number of hit dice affected can just be Nd6 where N is the cleric level. I think that probably works better than any other way of counting how many undead are affected. In fact, if we wanted to go really simple, and still preserve the basic idea, we could replace the whole system with rolling for the number of HD affected, but also assume that the max HD of any creature turned is N + 2, and that undead of N – 3 HD are destroyed outright. That would mean a character with first level turning ability would be able to turn away 1d6 HD worth of undead, of up to 3 HD each. This could still easily lead to failures at first level even though you always successfully turn at least 1 HD. For example, you could roll a 1 or 2 against a group of multiple single-HD undead.

Assuming you wanted to get rid of the lookup table, which approach would you prefer? Or do you have an even better idea? Or am I a heretic for considering doing away with the table?

It’s notable that most of the clones have decreased the power of turn undead, requiring clerics to roll for weak undead, even as level increases (though with lower target numbers). For comparison, here are excerpts from the Swords & Wizardry WhiteBox and Labyrinth Lord turning tables, which don’t give any automatic results until 4th level:
Labyrinth Lord page 9

Swords & Wizardry WhiteBox page 34

Peter Cushing’s Van Helsing (Grognardia)

Weapons & parrying draft

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Dacian Draco weapons from Wikipedia

Dacian Draco weapons from Wikipedia

This is for a more complete alternate system that is in progress, but should also work with traditional D&D, clones, and simulacra. I know some people don’t like any kind of “roll for defense” mechanics, but these weapon abilities should still work minus the parry (which only comes up occasionally in any case). I’m still not totally sold on the parry mechanic myself; I believe it needs more play testing (but I am optimistic).

WEAPONS

All weapons do 1d6 damage. Some weapons have additional benefits, as described below. The anti-plate weapons should obviate the need for a weapon versus AC table.

Melee Weapons

  • Spear: can be thrown, hold at bay, attack from second rank
  • War hammer, military pick, mace: +2 against plate
  • Dagger: can be thrown up to 50’, concealable, auto-hit grapple
  • Axe: re-roll damage of 1, may attack shields directly (and destroy them)
  • Sword: draw and use in same round, allows one riposte
  • Two-handed sword: 2DTH
  • Javelin, can be used as a melee weapon, longer range than dagger or spear
  • Pole arm: hold at bay, 2DTH, -2 when not attacking from the second rank
  • Quarterstaff: one free parry vs. melee weapons
  • Lance: 2d6 damage when mounted and charging

Missile Weapons

  • Bow: one shot per round, better range than anything thrown
  • Crossbow: +2 vs plate, one round to reload
  • Sling: light, cheap ammo

DEFINITIONS

  • 2DTH: roll two dice and take the highest for damage.
  • Riposte: if an enemy misses you with a melee strike and rolls 5 or less on the attack roll, you get a free counterattack.
  • Parry: make a saving throw versus paralyzation to deflect an attack that hits.
  • Hold at bay: attacker must make a save to attack you, upon failure you get a free counterattack.
Or, in more detail:

PARRY

Rather than make an attack, characters may choose to focus on defense. This is called “parrying” but should not be thought of as a single block or deflection (any more than a sword attack is a single cut or thrust). Any character may parry, but must be wielding a weapon or holding a shield in order to do so. Parrying allows you to make one saving throw versus paralyzation to avoid what would otherwise be a successful melee attack. Characters trained in unarmed combat may elect to parry even if not using a weapon or shield. Using a shield also grants you one free parry per turn (this may be used any time before the beginning of your next turn), and unlike standard parrying, shields may also be used to parry missile attacks. Quarterstaffs also allow one melee parry per round in addition to an attack (though note that a quarterstaff requires two hands to wield). No more than one parry may be attempted per turn.

HOLD AT BAY

Usable in place of a standard attack, must target one enemy, no attack roll, usable with spears, tridents, and similar weapons. If enemy attacks the spear wielder, enemy must save versus paralyzation or fail in the attack and be subject to a free attack from the spear wielder. Creatures bigger than large size require multiple spear wielders to be kept at bay.

Thanks to the people on G+ who contributed to the discussion that led to these rules, first here back in May and then here yesterday. Also see The Dragon’s Flagon regarding a similar (but slightly more complex) system for holding enemies at bay with pole arms. The flail is intentionally omitted, though if I did include it I would have it bypass shields and have a bonus to disarm.

Willpower in Traveller

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Advancement as happens in most other RPGs is very limited in classic Traveller. Improving abilities and skills happens during downtime in much the same way as during character creation: in blocks of 4 years. From Book 2, pages 42 and 43:

Limited personal development and experience is possible in the sense of increasing abilities and skills. Such potential for increases is possible in four specific areas, only one of which may be attempted at one time: education, weapon expertise, other skills, and physical fitness.

In each field, the character selects a four-year program of self-improvement, dedicating his or her endeavors in something like obsession, with the general goal of self-improvement. Because individuals do not always have the will to continue with such a program, there is the chance that the program will be planned, but never actually carried out. After the general field has been chosen, the character must make a dedication die roll.

A low intelligence actually aids characters seeking physical fitness improvement:

Physical Fitness: Because many individuals find a regimen of physical conditioning unrewarding intellectually, a dedication throw of 8+ is required (DMs of +2 if intelligence is 8-, and 4 if intelligence is 5-). If the throw is achieved, the character increases his three physical characteristics (strength, endurance, and dexterity) each by 1.

8+ is a 41.67 percent chance of success. I find this particularly amusing given my recently mentioned desire to start a fitness blog. (For the Traveller-uninitiated, DM stands for dice modifier.)

OD&D loyalty & morale

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In OD&D, when a retainer is hired, the referee secretly rolls 3d6 (adjusting for employer charisma) for the loyalty of that specific retainer, and records the result (this is in Men & Magic, page 13). Morale bonuses are then derived from this loyalty score, as follows:

Effects of Loyalty on Morale (OD&D)
Loyalty Morale
3 or less
 Will desert at first opportunity
4-6
 -2 on morale dice
7-8
 -1 on morale dice
9-12
 Average morale dice
13-14
 +1 on morale dice
15-18
 +2 on morale dice
19 and above
 Need never check morale

This mechanic is, in terms of D&D at least, unique to the 3 LBBs as far as I know. Holmes does not seem to include rules for loyalty or morale, though the paragraph on charisma notes that it should affect retainers (just not how). Moldvay breaks this indirect relationship and just derives retainer morale directly from employer charisma.

What advantage might be gained by doing it the OD&D way? Well, being a 3d6 score gives loyalty a nice bell curve distribution. Most retainers are going to have average loyalty most of the time (adjusted for charisma, of course), but all retainers are going to have poor loyalty every once in a while. This doesn’t guarantee that they will seek other work, but it does affect the morale checks that happen until the next loyalty check. Speaking of which, when should loyalty be re-rolled?

Periodic re-checks of loyalty should be made. Length of service, rewards, etc. will bring additional plusses. Poor treatment will bring minuses.

Per adventure seems like a good starting point, but per session might be a bit too frequent. For the kind of game that I am running right now (G+ hangout, 3 hours per session, explore whatever you like), a re-roll per significant event might be more reasonable. Or maybe I’ll just leave the loyalty score as a constant once it is rolled, a sort of reliability and trustworthiness measure for the retainer in question. The actual morale system is also not clearly defined in the 3 LBBs. They suggest either using the negotiation reaction table on page 12 or the morale rules from Chainmail.

The rules in Chainmail don’t look very well suited for use with retainers. For one thing, they are based on the type of unit (heavy horse having the best morale and peasants having the worst). Also, morale checks are triggered by percentages of casualties taken. The 2d6 reaction/negotiation table from Men & Magic looks much more usable (something like: 3-5, flees/refuses; 6-8 follows orders; 9-12 obeys enthusiastically).

To compare, in Moldvay Basic retainer morale is derived directly from the employers charisma score. This would work out to be 7 + charisma modifier (which has a nice elegance to it, given that the expected value of 2d6 is 7), but this nice symmetry is ruined by the fact that the Moldvay charisma modifier only goes up to 2 in either direction! I never noticed that before.

Morale of Retainers (Moldvay)
Charisma Morale of Retainers
3
 4
4-5
 5
6-8
 6
9-12
 7
13-15
 8
16-17
 9
18
 10

 

According to Moldvay, retainers only need to check morale between adventures “unless the danger is greater than might reasonably be expected” (page B27). The check is done with 2d6, just like monster morale, against the number from that table above, though modified for good or bad treatment. In this system, all retainers have the same inherent loyalty for any given employer.

I’m leaning towards using a system based only on material in Men & Magic. That would be the 3d6 loyalty score as described above, along with a negotiation roll using the morale bonus for situations that require a morale check. I kind of like the individualization the loyalty score gives to NPCs.

Dying Earth Spells for D&D

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Image from Wikipedia

TLDR: download spell PDF here: Dying Earth Spells for D&D.

John left a comment on my recent post about magic-users drawing my attention to a document he put together: Dying Earth Spells for D&D (original Scribd link). This is perhaps the best collection of spells I have seen. Here are some of the spells: The Howling Rune, The Manifold Effigies of Being, The Spell of Celeritous Relocalisation. There were enough entries that I assumed the document was just a list of spell names.

This free document contains 30 fantastically named spells per level (up to 6th, which God intended to be the highest level of magic-user spells). That is 180 spells, and every single one has a brief description.

Here’s one example:

Evard’s Frictionless Field
R: 1″D: 3 rounds + 1/levelAoE: 1″ squareSave: Special
Save vs. spell or slip and fall. If cast on item then save or drop immediately.

Even better, it is organized by level, not alphabet.

Thank you John for creating such a fantastic resource.

Blogging

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My first post on this blog was published August 21, 2011. So tomorrow is my first blogging anniversary. The first post was about a campaign called Blackwater Falls, which was one of the most successful games I have played in. That first effort has been followed by more than 300 others, and this blog has accumulated over 69k views; moderate success by the standards of our community, I think, but certainly way more than I expected! I had no intent when I began to produce anything so regular, and avoided the idea of a posting schedule intentionally, to keep fun high and pressure low. My only stricture was to try not to post more than once a day, to keep from flooding any potential readers and burning out my own enthusiasm (I have broken this rule once or twice, but only for minor things like links to other resources).

Sometimes I wonder about the effort involved. Blogging is not hard, especially compared to more systematic writing, but it does require an investment of time to get ideas into a form that can be consumed by others. However, I have found that this is a good way to figure out what I actually think about something. My first post drafts, which were never actually published, focused on the design of Fourth Edition, as that was what pulled me back into the hobby after a 10 year hiatus. Well, the edition itself didn’t pull be back in, it was more that 4E was the game my coworkers were playing. So my earliest posts were focused on explaining the ideas of class balance, roles, and power sources to myself.

As noted, those posts never actually got published, as I quickly realized that 4E catered primarily to aspects of the game that I wasn’t really interested in, despite having some innovative ideas (I still think, for example, that forced movement is something which could profitably be introduced to traditional D&D, without recourse to the grid or miniatures). By reading some blogs that focused on 4E, I discovered that other communities online existed dedicated to earlier styles of gaming, and slowly came to the realization that the OSR seemed to be more in line with my own priorities. As it turned out, many of the gaming practices that worked best for me back in my days of 2E gaming were cases of independently discovering things that the original game was designed around, but that were gradually sidelined or eliminated in later editions (and hence largely concealed from me during the 90s).

Despite that, I ran a hacked version of Fourth Edition D&D for something like 9 months, because the player interface was familiar to the people I was gaming with. It was fun. It gave me real experience regarding what “new school” D&D is good at, and what it is bad at. I’m glad, though, to be running and playing rule systems that are closer to my ideal now.

Engaging with the OSR and general gaming community via reading other blogs and writing this blog has been a very effective way of learning about gaming, and I often think I should apply the same strategy to some of my other hobbies. Specifically, I am pretty serious about weight lifting and fitness, and I think that fits the community reinforcement patterns present in blogging very well. I’ve been planning on starting up a fitness blog for a while, but have been hung up on picking a name (something that is always hard for me). I don’t just want to use a nonsense word like I did for this blog! (The story behind this blog’s name is that untimately is how I always mistype ultimately.) I’m also fascinated by economic history. Also blog material? How many blogs can one profitably have? That quote about serving multiple masters (Matthew 6:24) from the Bible comes to mind.

Blogging is also somewhat addictive. As fellow blogger Erik from the excellent blog/setting Wampus Country noted, the addiction of blogging comes from the continuous minor rewards of comment feedback. Should I be ashamed to admit that often the first thing I do in the morning when I wake up is to check my email to see if there have been any blog comments overnight? Intellectually, I know that comment volume is not a good quality metric. The kinds of posts that provoke the most comments are quite obviously not the best posts, looked at with any kind of objectivity. But that knowledge does not make the reward structure of our minds work differently. It’s the same thing that is behind slot machines and treasure drops in Diablo and World of Warcraft. Worth keeping in mind, I think.

If I had a single piece of advice for other bloggers, it would be to use writing about specific things as a way to get at a general idea. This is not based on a sense that what I am doing is the right way to do it, but rather on what I like to read on other blogs. For example, the Dwimmermount actual play reports on Grognardia are so good because they are not really actual play reports (which, let’s face it, are almost universally boring to read and are only useful as a record of happenings). Instead, they are investigations into how the elements of old school roleplaying work, with a mix of theory and examples taken from the session. Go back and read them some time, especially in chronological order, to see what I mean. Good literary criticism uses reading a novel as a vehicle to say something independently interesting. Similarly with any kind of discourse. I don’t always live up to this ideal, but I try.

So what do I see as the future of this blog? Well, I’m not sure. I keep thinking I should scale back my posts to a few per week rather than approximately daily, but then I worry that if I stop for a few days I may just never return. I would also like to occasionally delve into other games more deeply, especially Call of Cthulhu and early Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, but I think I need to actually play them before I can do that. So I will probably keep on doing more or less what I have been doing. As my Vaults of Pahvelorn game continues, I would also like to start releasing some of my materials from that, along with continued musings on OD&D.

In addition, I have several other larger gaming-related projects that I am working on. I don’t like to talk much about projects before there is really something there, but hopefully these will progress soon to a point where I can start to talk about them without feeling like I am discussing aspirations as opposed to actual things.

Types of Ability Check

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There are two common ways to do ability checks. One is the old school “roll d20 less than or equal to” method that I will call “roll under” or RU in this post. In this method, rolling lower is better. The other is the new school “roll d20 add modifier and hit target number” method that I will call DC (for “difficulty class”) in this post. In the 3E DC method, higher is always better.

The two methods have math that is slightly different. Using the 3E DC method has a slight dampening effect, as all that matters is the modifier (for example, a score of 14 and 15 have the same modifier, and so characters with strength scores of both 14 and 15 have the exact same chances of succeeding on any strength check). It is worth noting beforehand that ability score modifiers are different in 3E than they are in traditional D&D. The Moldvay progression looks like this:

0 0 0 0 1 1 1 2 2 3

Whereas the 3E ability modifiers look like this (and extend linearly off into infinity):

0 0 1 1 2 2 3 3 4 4

Both RU and DC style checks can be used with either style of modifier progression. The table I have included below uses the Moldvay progression, but I don’t think the results are much changed if the linear 3E progression is substituted (you get an extra 5% tier on each end, because of the -4 and +4).

A flat RU check with no bonus or penalty is approximately equal to a DC 10 check. Modifying the difficulty of an RU check is usually done by rolling with a bonus or penalty. To compare the two methods, I have calculated percentages DC 5, 10, 15, and 20 3E checks and corresponding RU +5, +0, -5, and -10 checks. Thus, the columns should be compared pairwise:

  • Easy: RU +5, DC 5
  • Average: RU, DC 10
  • Moderate: RU -5, DC 15
  • Difficult: RU -10, DC 20
So, RU +5 and DC 5 are both “easy” ability checks. I used color in the headings to indicate which columns should be compared; hopefully it is clear. I have further colored the success chances in blocks of 25%. So, from 1% – 25% gets one color, 26% – 50% gets another color, etc.
Score Mod RU +5 DC 5 RU DC 10 RU -5 DC 15 RU -10 DC 20
3 -3 40% 65% 15% 40% 5% 15% 5% 5%
4 -2 45% 70% 20% 45% 5% 20% 5% 5%
5 -2 50% 70% 25% 45% 5% 20% 5% 5%
6 -1 55% 75% 30% 50% 5% 25% 5% 5%
7 -1 60% 75% 35% 50% 5% 25% 5% 5%
8 -1 65% 75% 40% 50% 10% 25% 5% 5%
9 70% 80% 45% 55% 15% 30% 5% 5%
10 75% 80% 50% 55% 20% 30% 5% 5%
11 80% 80% 55% 55% 25% 30% 5% 5%
12 85% 80% 60% 55% 30% 30% 5% 5%
13 +1 90% 85% 65% 60% 35% 35% 10% 10%
14 +1 95% 85% 70% 60% 40% 35% 15% 10%
15 +1 95% 85% 75% 60% 45% 35% 20% 10%
16 +2 95% 90% 80% 65% 50% 40% 25% 15%
17 +2 95% 90% 85% 65% 55% 40% 30% 15%
18 +3 95% 95% 90% 70% 60% 45% 35% 20%

This table should be read as follows:

  • RU +5 = add 5 to the score and then roll less than or equal to it on a d20
  • RU -10 = subtract 10 from the score, roll less than or equal to it on a d20
  • DC 15 = roll d20, add the modifier, and roll equal to or greater than

So what does this mean? The takeaway here is that DC checks have much less variance, and are thus less interesting in practice. They tend to be almost binary. That is, a DC 15 check is within the same 25% success bracket for all but the bottom 3 ability scores (that is what all that blue in the DC 15 column means). Compare to RU -5, which ranges from 5% to 60%, depending on character competency.

One last note. The Moldvay system assumes bounded ability scores, describing a population that observes the standard bell curve distribution (and races don’t modify ability scores). This says something about the nature of the characters so modeled, and I think this feeds into the general power curve analysis I did before.

Solutions? The monolith owes you none

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Image from LotFP store

Let’s talk about agency and horror. A big part of horror is not being in control, and perhaps being in situations that don’t make sense. Horror movies use all kinds of techniques in an attempt to achieve this effect, from dissonance in music to odd camera angles. The general trajectory of a horror story usually goes from mundane reality to twisted reality, and then back to mundane reality after the denouement, though sometimes in a way that things can never be the same again (the is a common trope of Lovecraft, due to possession of some forbidden cosmic knowledge).

Agency is, in some ways, the exact opposite of this, and undermines horror to the extent that you have it. True agency implies that the world around you is understandable, is amenable to problem solving, and that ultimately the choices that you make matter. Agency is also what much old school gaming philosophy is based around. It’s the why nonlinear dungeons are prized, and why the sandbox is held up as the setting ideal. On the one hand, roleplaying as a medium is uniquely suited to horror, because the player identifies with the PC in a direct way that is almost impossible to achieve in other forms. On the other hand, choices that matter undermine the sense of helplessness that is intrinsic to horror.

The Monolith from Beyond Space and Time is thus in a tricky place, trying to straddle the somewhat incongruent genres of cosmic horror and gaming that preserves agency. At its best, Monolith presents some truly wonderful vignettes, set pieces, and innovative mechanics that can be used with any traditional fantasy roleplaying game. It also contains some absurdities, however, ostensibly in an effort to evoke the sense of paradox and impossibility of Lovecraftian horror. A few brief notes about the presentation of the module before I continue to talk about the content. The illustrations by Aeron Alfrey are wonderful and unique, and fit the mood perfectly (the lightsurfing invaders image is a particular favorite of mine). The layout is also clear and lacks distracting background images that compete with the text (a problem that has marred some past Lamentations releases). This is the best looking Lamentations module to date, in my opinion.

It’s impossible to talk about this module intelligently without giving anything away, so consider this a spoiler warning. You can jump down to the paragraph that begins “This module is a welcome reminder” if you want to totally avoid spoilers. Despite the hedged praise I have above, there are number of encounters and aspects of Monolith that just don’t seem like they would work very well in a roleplaying context, mostly because of predetermined endings.

Consider, for example, the Owls’ Service encounter (this is beautifully written, by the way, and works much better as a short story than it does as an encounter). In it, the players encounter a clearing with some large owl statues and a skeleton which are surrounded by tangled vegetation. There is no way out, and just to make that clear, here is the advice that the referee is given (page 14):

Slicing through the plants slowly drains HP through sheer exhaustion: 1 point per hour, or whatever is necessary to deliver the message. Parties or players desperately interested in prolonged, miserable combat with an unkillable foe too wet to burn and too deeply rooted to extract should be rewarded: suitably crawly wandering creatures, down where the plants hide them, begin striking for heroes’ Achilles tendons. Meanwhile, sap takes the polish off metal or lacquer surfaces as vines entangle straps and buckles holding armor on. The kindly Referee can provide a fighter’s corpse, pinned by thousands of plant roots and vines, the body slowly becoming the thing that killed it. If players seem particularly slow to get the point, the fighter wears ruined armor just like one player’s, down to the same maker and year stamped on a rivet or vambrace: armor now a useless, scummed-over basin for more plants. Moving back toward the clearing is considerably easier: the plant barrier effect seems directional.

The real meat of the encounter is similarly meaningless in terms of gaming content. There is no way to learn about it, defeat it through skillful play, or even avoid it. It is merely a way to inflict a tragic fate upon a PC. As Raggi writes:

Solutions? Explanations? The Monolith owes you none.

The Owls’ Service is a great story, but a terrible encounter. Inescapable tragedy is horrific (it is the source of the horror in the Oedipus cycle, for example), but I’m not sure it has any place in a roleplaying game, at least when applied to PCs. There may be exceptions for games with a very limited objective. Paranoia, perhaps? Or Call of Cthulhu? I don’t really have experience with either. In any case, I think that Monolith is marketed to games interested in weird fantasy, not inescapable fate. Also, many of the consequences of this module only flower in the context of a campaign that continues; it doesn’t really deliver its payload as a one-shot (the same thing is true of Death Love Doom, the other recent Raggi module, which I will probably cover in a future post).

The plateau encounter is another example of a “screw you” encounter that is impossible to avoid. The characters suddenly find themselves on a plateau and “turning around and going back is not an option” (page 15). Any attempt to descend the cliff safely results in damage as if they fell the entire distance, but jumping off the cliff is completely safe, and there’s not really any way to determine this from the player’s perspective. Further (same page):

If a character jumps off the edge in despair with the serious intent of committing suicide (Referee judgment), the character of course does not die, and they get to reroll all of their ability scores, keeping any results that are greater than the original values.

I consider this encounter to be a total failure from the design perspective, though it has potential to be interesting with a bit more infrastructure, especially if the hazard is also a shortcut of some kind. That would provide an interesting choice.

Here are a lot of things things that I liked, too. The mist encounter. Why should geography always work as expected in a fantasy world? Does anyone remember the enchanted forests from some of the Zelda games? This effect is similar, though I also believe it could use some clues. The community of hedonists is well crafted, if you like moral dilemmas (and this one is much more interesting than the standard “monster babies” dilemma). The great weapon whose wielder is also its sheath.

There is a fascinating bit of agency inversion at work in this module, though it does not live up to its promise. PCs have almost no agency at all while in the valley (most of the valley encounters force the players to engage with them, and don’t allow players to affect the outcome in meaningful ways). However, once they get inside the monolith, there is no physical layout at all. Expressing a desire for something causes it to manifest. If you desire the exit, it appears before you. If you desire something to fight, that triggers an encounter with monolith denizens. There are many other examples of locations keyed to player desire rather than game world spacial relationship (and it is worth noting that the module has no maps). There is something really interesting about going from no agency to absolute agency, which might actually work if the lead-in encounters weren’t quite so crude in their drive to force players to experience the referee’s cool thing no matter what they do.

Despite these seemingly harsh criticisms, this module is a welcome reminder that these games are what we make them; there are no limits. Why not make dungeons where certain aspects can be mentally adjusted by the PCs? Why not mess with time? Who cares if the economy of the starting village is upended by loot from the dungeon? The consequences of these things are the stuff that memorable games are made of. As referees, we are often too cautious, not wanting to rock the boat for fear of “unbalancing” a campaign. To quote Heath Ledger’s Joker again:

Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos. I’m an agent of chaos. Oh and you know the thing about chaos, Harvey? It’s fair.

That is, in the end, the rub, and the reason that I can’t wholeheartedly recommend Monolith. There are parts of it that are not fair. There are no clues to many of the tricks within, which would be required for an agency-preserving game. Exactly what fair means in the context of a tabletop RPG deserves a more thorough treatment that is beyond the scope of this post, but I would be curious if anyone else who is familiar with the contents of this module would argue that it is fair.

OSRCon 2

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That’s me in the black t-shirt, sort of in the middle (source)

I spent saturday morning at OSRCon exploring Dwimmermount with fellow blogger Ram (and several others). James M. was referee. I rolled up a second level magic-user named Eknuv and we proceeded to explore the dungeon. It felt like we were very successful (though who knows what all we missed), as we avoided a poison gas trap, defeated several groups of monsters, and discovered a hidden treasure room worth 10,000 GP. Along with other experience, this was enough to promote all of our characters to level 3, which we did. After that, we explored part of dungeon level 2 as well. Overall, this was a great example of how to get a lot done in a limited time, even with many players, and Zak’s suggestion about starting games where players can do things right away holds just as much for in person games as it does in G+ games.

In addition, delving Dwimmermount highlighted the value of small details. You really don’t need a paragraph of description to make a room interesting. One or two features is enough. For example, there was one room that was empty save for small metal rings set into the stone floor making up a pattern. We didn’t figure out what those rings were for, if anything, but the lingering mystery in and of itself is intriguing. This is a good reminder, being in the process of developing a megadungeon of my own. There were many other rooms with similar details, such as columns made of different elements. I’m sure some of those relate to puzzles that we did not solve.

Ed Greenwood running a Forgotten Realms setting (source)

I also played in a Labyrinth Lord game run by Carter Soles (from The Lands of Ara blog). I played Zephyr the cowardly fighter (whose character sheet I unfortunately did not retain, as I needed to leave the game early). That game was basically a commando assault against what seemed to be a haunted keep. As proper adventurers, of course we went in through the roof. There were undead sheep.

The conference as a whole was a lot of fun, though small. I got to play part of a Tunnels & Trolls game run by its creator, which was totally new to me. I also got to watch Ed Greenwood run a session in his Forgotten Realms. In hindsight, I wish I would have made more of an effort to exchange contact info with local OSR gamers or others that I might only know from blogs (for example, I now know that Akrasia was there, though I didn’t meet him). So, if any other readers just happened to be there, leave a comment! Maybe we can get some local Toronto OSR action going, at least semi-regularly.

Level Drain

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D&D wraith (source)

In my OD&D session this past monday, one of the PCs was hit by a wight and lost a level. Miraculously, four first level characters with a few zero level retainers defeated a group of 5 wights (3 HD creatures with numerous invulnerabilities and the fearsome energy drain). Thus, I had to clarify how level drain was going to work.

Talysman posted this interpretation of level drain back in January. When levels are drained, experience points are not decreased, though all level-associated characteristics (hit dice, spell progression, attack rank, turning undead, etc) are adjusted down. Assuming the character survives the ordeal, the lost levels can be regained. This separates the idea of experience points from the idea of level in this limited case, but I don’t think that will cause any major problems.

In Talysman’s example, gaining a single experience point is enough to recover a level, but no more than one level can be regained per session. So, in essence, a drained level forces a PC to be run at below strength for one or more sessions. This is a bit less final than permanently losing all that XP, but still costs the player time. I can see how this would make sense in game world terms, too. An encounter with undead should be a harrowing experience, and characters need some time to recover their confidence and abilities afterwards. I don’t think this weakens level drain too much, as the wickedest aspect of level drain remains: PCs killed and reduced to level zero rise again, adding to the ranks of the undead.

The basic idea works particularly well for Vaults of Pahvelorn, as HP is rerolled every session in any case. So there is no hassle about remembering the previous hit dice rolls. However, it does require a few minor adjustments to fit my other rules. For example, I award XP when treasure is spent, so by Talysman’s rules a surviving PC that has been level drained would immediately regain a level following the session (assuming they had some treasure to spend). I think that PCs should be required to run at least one session at the lower level for the drain to have impact. Thus, rather than regaining lost levels after accumulating more XP, one lost level will return per following session survived. Practically speaking, this is almost the same thing, as it is a rare session that results in zero XP.