I was just reading the LotFP module The Grinding Gear. It has lots of secret doors, and none of them have any mechanisms described. This stuck out after just recently reading this post, OSR Contradiction 2: Player Skill vs. Minimal Dungeons, over at Roles, Rules & Rolls. Further, the Grinding Gear secrets are not “optional” extras; they are required to proceed with the adventure. Both Hammers of the God and Death Frost Doom also have major areas (as in, one third or more of the module content) that can only be accessed if a secret door is found (though some of these secret doors provide specific opening procedures).

When searching for information about how other people have run The Grinding Gear, I came across this LotFP forum post (*). Apparently, Moldvay only allows one try per character per secret door, but no other edition of D&D has a similar rule. This is one of those minor rules variations that has major repercussions on the nature of the game (and module compatibility). Jim goes as far as to say:

My entire style of running (and writing!) adventures just wouldn’t work with a “one chance only” approach, and to repeat again, I had no idea this was a rule in any version of the grand ol’ game, let alone having any idea that people actually played that way.

See also the comments quoted in Zak’s review of The Grinding Gear. (It is worth noting in passing that, unlike B/X D&D, LotFP search is a skill that can be improved, though only by the specialist class.) But then Jeff Rients chimes in:

I use the Moldvay/LL ‘one try only’ rule. It makes elven door-finding and dwarvish sliding wall detection more useful. And since the rule is one try per person, it encourages bringing more people on the mission.

And swords, wands and artifacts that detect secret doors are more valuable if you can’t easily find them.

Also, I like the game to have some roads that are just as real as the one trod by the PCs, but for some reason or another they can never go down them.

And then, how does one handle secret doors that don’t have any description if one wants to support descriptive trap finding? Courtney of Hack & Slash implies that such descriptive trap finding was the way the original wargaming pioneers played. This is, I think, the best statement of his method:

You don’t roll a die to determine if you find and open a secret door, you gather information by asking questions and using your personal smarts to make choices to test the situation to discover the door. Then you make choices about how to open the door.* There is one specific way to open the door. There isn’t a ‘proper’ solution to the encounter because there is no reason you are entitled to find the secret door and no reason it is necessary to find the secret door.
…

*But what about searching for secret doors, talking with monsters, and bashing doors? Situations that are common but just use some random game system to determine the result? How is that player skill?

Unlike modern systems where there is no consequences for failure, each of those is a choice that must be made. Do we risk one turn searching and increase the chance of running into a monster? Do we give up surprise to attempt to parley with the monsters? Do we risk the chance of monsters hearing us bash this door? Each is a choice, weighed with consequences for the attempt and for failure. That is why those are examples of skill based play.

Sorry for the extended quote, but it seems important to be clear about the various positions. So, the options are:

1. Non-Moldvay: 1 in 6, as many times as desired; cost: 1 turn
2. Moldvay: 1 in 6, once chance; cost: 1 turn
3. Courtney: description; non-Moldvay option available

My general mode of operation recently has been none of these. My rule has been that if a secret door is indicated and no description is provided, then searching the area is sufficient to locate the door without making any roll. Just saying “I search the room” is not enough (but it does give you a d6 throw chance), but saying “I spend three turns searching the 30 foot north wall” is.

This is clearly not one of those oh my god you’re so stupid you’re doing it wrong kind of things. If Mr. Rients, Mr. Raggi, and Mr. Hack & Slash all have different (and incompatible!) approaches, I think the only conclusion to be drawn is that even within the relatively restricted field of traditional D&D (let’s say this set includes TSR D&D prior to Second Edition and the associated retro-clones and simulacra) there are several common methods of play. Learn how they work, pick your favorite, and modify any modules you run to fit your method of choice.

* Mostly unrelated, it seems like the original name of Hammers of the God was Old Miner’s Shame, which is pretty cool.

Empire of the Petal Throne is an RPG set in the science fantasy setting of Tékumel, inspired by an amalgam of nonwestern cultures, and based heavily on 1974 D&D. And by “based heavily on,” I mean almost identical to. Based on what I have read online, most people come to EPT for the setting, but this is actually not true for me. I am interested in the early mechanics. I first knew that I needed to read EPT when I came across the rule for re-rolling hit dice periodically (now taken to an extreme by the Carcosa dice conventions).

A PDF of a very high quality scan is available cheaply on RPGNow (around $10). Unfortunately, it has not been processed with OCR software, so it is essentially just images (i.e., one can’t copy text from it), but that being said it is very readable and much better than some of the Judge’s Guild PDFs I have bought from RPGNow. Reasonably priced hardcopy reproductions are also in print, though I have not seen them myself.

As I wrote above, the EPT rules are almost identical to OD&D, other than a strange fascination with the percentile dice. For example, the six abilities (strength, intelligence, constitution, psychic ability, dexterity, and comeliness) are rated from 1 to 100 and determined by d100 rolls (that’s right, no probability clustered around an average here). With the exception of a d100 table for inspiration, I have never been fond of using the percentile dice for mechanical resolution. So many possibilities are rarely needed. Other dice are frequently used throughout the text, so I don’t think this was a game design decision based on limiting the required dice (like the way the Storyteller system only uses the d10), so I can only conclude that Prof. Barker just really liked percentile dice.

For those that lament the pulling of the OD&D PDFs by Wizards of the Coast, just about all the original mechanics are in EPT (though, of course, none of the iconic monsters or treasures are present, and some of the terminology has been renamed). The text itself is also much better written and organized, though the writing is also extremely dense. The information about the setting is necessarily interspersed with the rules text, and as a complete newcomer to the setting, much of the information is difficult to understand. This is definitely a work that requires multiple readings.

The rulebook starts off with four and a half pages of uninterrupted two column small text that is a world overview. I made my save versus wall of text and actually made it through all of this, though most of the invented words were just processed as squiggles with the exception of common terms like Tsolyánu and Sákbe Road. I realize that some people dig on this kind of unique detail, but it does serve as a very high entry barrier for those interested in the setting or rules but not desirous of studying for an RPG setting. There are literally no common natural points of reference; the world is totally alien other than the products of civilization (e.g., there are swords, shields, spears, etc).

That being said, there are lots of interesting things to learn from this text for those interested in old school play style. Tékumel is, after all, in some sense the first published campaign setting for D&D, and one of the first sets of rules variants (I’m not sure if it came out before or after the Greyhawk and Blackmoor supplements). In fact, I would go as far as to say that EPT is one of the most interesting and valuable RPG products I have right now because it takes the spirit of OD&D and explores it prior to any precedents. And, this is a work written for adults. Not in terms of subject matter (though there are a few mature themes covered, such as slavery), but in terms of an assumed level of attention and engagement. Nothing is dumbed down. And the art is great though not plentiful. Using Tékumel as a reference for inspiration is probably more approachable than running it straight.

Though I seemed to be critical of the setting above, I’m really not. In fact, I love the ambiance. It’s just too much detail and specificity for a tabletop RPG that does not have complete buy-in and intellectual investment from all the players sitting around the table. Even if played with the expected campaign beginning (all PCs are newcomers), there would almost never be an encounter like “there are two giant wolves feasting on the carcasses of a ravaged caravan.” This is not a setting that can be played as intended casually. I do think a simplified Tékumel would be a great base for a setting, and many of the subsystems are really interesting. I’ll touch upon some more of these examples in future posts. I would also be negligent if I did not mention the excellent OD&D Discussion EPT subforum in an introductory post on EPT. So do go check that out if you are interested in Tékumel.

Last night, a new player joined my weekly game for the session. I don’t know yet whether or not she will be a regular. She was completely new to tabletop RPGs and didn’t even have experience with superficially similar video games. Another player helped her create a character (she chose a human rogue) at the beginning of the game. We leaned heavily on one of the default 4E PHB rogue builds, and the process was actually relatively quick (though we didn’t really go into power descriptions or anything).

I gave the new rogue a very simple backstory to get things moving. The PCs had accepted a mission from the queen, so I made the new rogue a member of the queen’s secret police sent to assist the party. To make things interesting, I started the rogue with a free collapsible hand crossbow and six poisoned darts. No name was selected.

There were several open hooks, and the players chose the one that led to Death Frost Doom (they only know about the options via diegetic information, so they were not choosing based on knowledge of modules). When exploring the cabin her character came across the pouch of purple lotus powder. Of course the unnamed rogue decided to partake. New player, Raggi d100 table… I was kind of dreading the outcome. Percentile dice were rolled…

What was the result?

33 Character Suffers Total Amnesia!

So the character with minimal backstory (and no name) had a mind wipe. I can’t make this kind of stuff up. If the player decides to join us again, we now have a reason why she will stick with the PCs. And if she doesn’t, I now have an amnesiac member of the queen’s secret police to use as an NPC.

Dragonlance occupies several strange and important places in my gaming history. It was, I think, my original introduction to D&D. I was browsing in a Waldenbooks or some store like it in a mall with my parents and I came across the book Kaz the Minotaur. I’m not sure exactly what about that book caught my attention. Perhaps it was the stone dragon on the cover. When I brought it to my parents, they wouldn’t buy it for me because it was Heroes II, volume 1. They thought I should begin with Heroes I. So I ended up walking out of the store with The Legend of Huma instead (which, in retrospect, is a better novel). I was around 10 at the time. After that, I began to devour other Dragonlance books, including the main two trilogies (The Chronicles & The Legends).

There are actually a number of elements I like in the Dragonlance setting. For example, the three orders of magic, and how magic is tied to the moons. I have borrowed the institutions of the wizards of high sorcery for several of my own settings. The basic idea is that magic is considered too dangerous for individuals to do as they please with. Instead, a monopolistic organization arose to self-regulate wizards. Upon reaching third level (in game terms) a wizard must take “the test” which controls entry into the the three orders (white, red, and black robes, corresponding to the three moons, three gods of magic, and three alignments). Presumably, this test also would allow the order to screen out the truly psychopathic or insane. Any wizard that does not take the test and join one of the orders is hunted down as a renegade. I also like the background of the Kingpriest’s hubris and the resulting cataclysm sent by the gods to punish the mortals. I like the fact that the “immortals” D&D endgame is actually played out within the Dragonlance Legends.

Speaking of the Legends, lets talk about the Raistlin books. The Chronicles are often criticized for being warmed-over epic fantasy; rather than Sauron, there is the evil goddess Takhisis. Our band of heroes has to recover some artifacts and defeat her and her minions, thus saving the world. Rather than orcs there are draconians. Yes, that is rather derivative, but it is only the first (and less interesting) part of the story. And, the heroes are not victorious due to their valor or character. In fact, they would have failed if not for the actions of Raistlin, who only aided the companions to further his own ends. For all the poor plotting, stilted dialogue, and cliche setting elements, this story still resonates with me. It’s not about a quest to destroy a dark lord. It’s about jealousy, and lust for power, and adventure.

Raistlin was probably the first character in literature that I really identified with. I went on to read many other Weis & Hickman books, including the Death Gate Cycle, which is also flawed but still great for inspiration. What about the DL series Dragonlance modules? I never played them. The idea of playing through or running a story that I had already read was deeply unattractive to me. I rarely used modules at all back then; I developed my own settings and locations. So the “railroad” aspect of Dragonlance was not something that I absorbed.

(The staff in that picture above actually lights up. I built a penlight into the top part. It was pretty cool.) Then, there was Time of the Dragon. Check out the excellent retrospective of this boxed set over at The Mule Abides. The Time of the Dragon is a setting that details the continent of Taladas. It was, if memory serves, the first published D&D product that I owned. I didn’t have a PHB or DMG to begin with, so I needed to make up anything that wasn’t in the The Rule Book to Taladas. There were only 8 monsters detailed in the back of the Rule Book (each taking an entire page, as was the custom back in the 2E days), so those monsters showed up quite frequently in my early games. All the interior art of The Time of the Dragon is done by the fantastic Stephen Fabian, who happens to be one of my favorite fantasy artists.

The main events in the Dragonlance novels take place on the continent of Ansalon, so there are few “canon conflict” problems with running a campaign in Taladas. At least, as presented in this boxed set. I don’t know what they did with the setting in more recent products. Other than the background of the cataclysm, there are not many connections between the two continents. Like the ties between Roman and Greek mythology, the gods even have different names. There is a priestly kingdom of necromancers (Thenol), a sea of lava in the middle (Hitehkel), and a great glaciers in the north sailed by ships with blades like ice skates (the glass sailors). The only weakness of the setting is the minotaur empire which is basically just Rome, but with minotaurs. For some bizarre reason, this was the only part of Taladas that really seemed to get any support or attention from TSR.

I was just looking through this boxed set again for this post, and man is there a lot of content in there. Some highlights. There is an elevation map of a gnome citadel in the sea of fire just begging to be turned into a vertical megadungeon. Included are also several level maps, one of which is a fungus farm level. With encounter tables. There are 8.5 x 11 cardstock pages with paintings of people from various cultures, some with NPC details on the back. There is a full unkeyed dungeon map called “Tomb of the Great King.” There are schematics for gnome inventions, including hang gliders and lava guns. There is a full city map easily usable as the base of a campaign. And I am just scratching the surface. I totally did not intend this post to be gushing about Time of the Dragon, but damn. This is one high-quality product. For more photos of the stuff in this boxed set, check out this post.

I sold most of my books when I went off to university in 1999. I didn’t play much over the next few years, and almost missed the Third Edition years entirely. Between 2000 and 2009, I played one session of Shadowrun (which I hated), one session of Midnight (which was cool), and one session of Ars Magica (which was complicated and didn’t go anywhere). Some time in 2006 or 2007 I did buy a copy of the 3E core books, which I read and admired for their elegance compared to the 2E of my youth, but I never used them to play and ended up selling them.

Fast forward to some time in 2010. One of the guys in my office decided to run a Fourth Edition game. It lasted for a few months, and I played in it for the first half (eladrin warlock, if you must know). Then, in the summer of 2011, for no particular reason, I thought it might be fun to run a D&D game of my own for my office mates. I decided to use 4E as it was the most recent edition and I still was not very familiar with it. The best way to learn something is to do it, right? (This experiment turned into the Nalfeshnee Hack.) I started to follow some Fourth Edition blogs. At this point I still didn’t know Moldvay B/X or OD&D from a hole in the ground.

One site I was reading (I think it was Square Fireballs) linked to a post How Dragonlance Ruined Everything at some blog called Grognardia. Thus was I introduced to the OSR. The more I read about “old school gaming” principles, the more I saw these principles at work in my own most successful past games. And the things that I didn’t understand back then (save or die, level drain, oracular dice) did actually have an inner logic, even if the books often didn’t do a good job at communicating that logic. Within the gaming community online, it seemed like all the interesting ideas, all the interesting innovation, was coming from the OSR. And so, Dragonlance has been my gateway into the realm of gaming twice now, though in dramatically different ways.

While searching for something completely unrelated, I came across this system by Arcana Creations for archetypal multiclassing. One might also call it class-and-a-half multiclassing, for reasons that will become clear. It was written for Castles & Crusades, but looks usable with any similar fantasy game. The basic idea is that a multiclassed character has a primary class and a secondary class, and the secondary class is reckoned at half the level of the primary class.

There are a few brilliant ideas here. For example:

• Least restrictive weapon list but most restrictive armor list
• Experience needed for advancement: primary class + (secondary class / 2)
• Most secondary class powers only accrue at second (i.e., 2/1) level
• Limit of 2 classes helps prevent multiclassing for optimization purposes
• Average hit dice with bias toward the lower (e.g., d6 and d8 = d6)
• Fighter/magic-user is different than magic-user/fighter

It’s not explicitly stated, but I would say attack progression was take best.

Though I prefer allowing all weapons (basing damage on hit dice) and armor (but making armor penalties more salient) no matter the class, I still think the “least restrictive weapon list but most restrictive armor list” is very elegant for those limiting weapon selection by class.

Since you only really get access to the secondary class powers at second level (as first level is 1/0), there are few immediate benefits, so motivation is less likely to be power gaming. For example, a fighter/magic-user does not get to prepare any spells until second level, though they would be able to use magic items or cast from scrolls as a magic-user immediately. A first level magic-user/fighter would be able to wield any weapon though.

One variation I might try would be to roll hit dice for both classes and then divide the total by two rather than adjusting the hit die itself since I like to re-roll hit dice every adventure.
Example: Fighter/thief at level 5. With my hit die variation (and based on Moldvay hit dice), HP would be equal to (5d8 + 5d4) / 2. Minimum XP required (numbers from B/X) = 16k + (9.6k / 2) = 20.8k. Functions as a second level thief. At level 6 will function as a third level thief.

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.

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.