Fortuna Eruditis Favet

I ended the last post by suggesting the DM put the game's steering wheel into the players hands, and see what they can do with it.  That is to say, despite the random elements within D&D, good play has every opportunity to slant possibilities of success in the party's favour — and this must be considered in every decision the DM makes regarding the set up of conflicts, traps, NPC defections/treason and the manner in which exposition is given to the party.  It can be that bad luck brings about a player's death; but bad luck shouldn't be sufficient to kill every member of the party.  Conceivably, it might be ... but its more likely that in the face of a lot of bad rolls, or plans that went awry, it's the party's stubbornness that's to blame.

So, let's talk about bad play, good play, and luck.

It's not desirable that the outcome of a battle, or a round inside that battle, should be known for certain; this also applies to numerous other parts of the game: like risks related to the players attempt to physically overcome obstacles; or knowing precisely where the enemy are, or what they're going to do, or how strong they are; and of course the uncertainty attached to surviving some forms of attack, like charm, breath weapons, etc.  It's expected that these uncertainties are equal between players and non-players ... thus it's the DM's responsibility to play the enemy correctly when it's faced with the party's abilities — of which the DM has full knowledge, but the enemy does not.

This can be tricky.  I assume that in a world of magical spells, any being with an intelligence of 8 or better (average or better by the old monster manual measure) knows when a spell is being cast by a spellcaster.  For my game, I have chosen to interpret "one round" to create a spell as taking a complete round to produce the magic desired.  Here I use the 14th century etymological interpretation of "cast" as "to calculate astrologically."  No part of the round spent "casting" can be used "discharging" the spell.  That must take place the following round, though the discharge takes place at the will of the spellcaster at that time.  This means that a spellcaster, in combat, must spend an entire round formulating a spell — which is then subject to thwarting before the caster is able to discharge it.  If the caster does this in front of creatures with 7 or less intelligence, then the creature has no knowledge of what the caster is doing (or isn't conscious of it happening) — and therefore would have no special reason for targeting the caster.  IF, on the other hand, a creature with 8 or more intelligence were present, it would know what the caster was doing and would have reason to target the caster specifically, given the chance, shouting, "A spell!  He's casting a spell!"  And thereafter, everyone would know that person was a caster in the fight.

If the non-player had personal knowledge of certain spells, say a fireball, then in my game this presumes said NPC would know that specific spell was being cast — my argument for this is that you go to school to learn how to cast the spell, and practice it until you have the wherewithal to produce that magic.  This doesn't personalise the spell to you, any more than you can choose to remove a patient's kidney "your way."  Magic is a science; as a caster, you produce magic scientifically.  And thus any other scientist in the room that also knows that magic, knows what you plan to do when you start weaving the spell.

[Hm.  Maybe I should change my spell-rules from "cast & discharge" to "weave & cast"; would take time]

The way I have my spell rules, it's always a risk to throw a spell; the player doesn't know who's present, or what they know, and no one wants to have a spell snuffed out before it's gotten off.  The effect greatly changes the dynamic of spellcasters in my game, increasing the importance of fighters and choosing other actions, overall making for a better, less paint-by-numbers combat system.  But I digress.

Luck occurs when a die is rolled in the player's favour or not.  Patton said, "Luck favours those in motion," meaning that by seeking out new ideas, acting quickly and unpredictably, the enemy is put on its back heels, forced to play catch-up against the players' strategy.  The phrase is ad hominem to the ancient Latin phrase, "Fortune favours the bold," reflects the incorporation of bravery when taking quick action.  Don't dither, don't weigh your options endlessly: pick one and strike!

The Latins also liked the phrase, "Fortune favours the prepared mind," which takes into account observation, problem-solving and imagination.  The last is particularly helpful in a party that is ready for anything, no matter what comes through the door or erupts from the pavement.  Surprise is a game rule that affects the speed of the player character's response, and that's a matter of luck; doubt, despair, certainty of losing, the shock a player experiences because he or she can't adjust mentally to the situation, that's a lack of imagination and the sign of an unprepared mind.

I see it all the time.

Good play is therefore good strategy.  As we hear the mooks coming, we order ourselves, choosing places; we prep spells (once cast, the spell can be held until discharged); we lighten our loads; we check the exits; we expect anything; and we acknowledge that there may be a need for us to run.  "I've got the first one on the left," says the fighter; "I'll take the furthest one to the right," says the ranger.  "I'll shoot whatever's between them," says the thief.  The cleric unfurls a scroll, but is ready to put it away again if these creatures seem less than frightening.  No point in wasting a scroll on mooks, if that's what they are.

Bad play is therefore predictable.  No one communicates.  Each person acts entirely alone.  One or two run out ahead of the party, because they're anxious to attack as soon as possible.  The mage loads the most powerful spell in his or her arsenal and lets it loose without hesitation, wasting the blast on mooks.  When the mooks arrive, they swarm through the ranks of the party, putting everyone at risk.  After three bad rounds of not hitting, the party blithely assumes that there luck will change ... they can't miss forever, right?  The mooks grapple the fighter to the ground — none of the party gave a moment's thought to the possibility of grappling.  Two lucky hits and the ranger staggers.  The mage and the thief miss again.

Even if the players turn the battle around, they've lost hit points, they're down their most valuable items and spells, their healing is gone and the dungeon is only started.  More than half the time, the battles that parties win are Pyrrhic.  The goal is to win the battle in a fashion that lets the party push forward.  Most parties are so wrapped up in the one that's happening, or about to happen, they don't even consider the next battle.  The prepared mind knows there will be one; knowing what's coming, act quickly and decisively, together; and note it is braver to stand fast, hold the ground you've picked, and face the onslaught as it comes.  And then, when the battle's won, move quickly, fall upon the enemy before it can prepare a counterattack.

But ... the assumption is that so long as we fight, and we're such-and-such a level, and the DM plays "fairly" and "balances" the encounters, a little good luck will see us through.  And it often does.  Producing that Pyrrhic victory.

I do balance my encounters as a DM.  But I balance them for smart parties, not dumb ones.  There are a dozen ways in which five wise, prepared, imaginative players should make mincemeat of a bunch of sloshy mooks that haven't had a real fight in years.

This wasn't the post I originally intended to write.  I was going to write about how scary-looking bits of tunnels freeze parties.  I guess I've kicked that topic down the road to the next post.