Dungeons & Dragons White Box 09

Capture of Non-Player Monsters: Morale dice can cause a man or intelligent monster to attempt to surrender or become subdued. When this happens an offer of service can be made (assuming that communication is possible) as outlined above. Subdued monsters will obey for a time without need to check their reactions, and such monsters are salable (see Vol. II).

It's relevant how so little time was taken with large concepts like alignment or changing character class, but this framing of monsters working with players obtains so much attention. I do not wish to speculate further as to why. While the rule above is clear, I know of very few examples from human history in which foreign human soldiers, surrendering themselves, would be asked, "Hey, would you like to join our army?"

Or, if you prefer, to put that in D&D terms, having slaughtered the orc's friends and family, when he attempts to surrender the party says, "Hey, you have two options: we can either kill you now, but we're rather give you an opportunity to kill all of us in our sleep — we're offering 100 g.p. if you take the latter. What'ya say?"

But the logic of the wargame context is self-evident: we've cornered the monster, reduced it, and now, rather than die, it agrees to join our side... like a sort of RPG dodgeball. Where, in the fashion of none of these creatures having a mind, works fine, because it doesn't matter. But when we impose a psychological presence, one that can make up its mind to surrender or die, the structure reads like a bad farce.

As a set of rules for this new game they're excited about, they can't pick a lane. The result isn't just clumsy on both accounts, now and then it produces situations like the above.

Loyalty of Non-Player Characters (Including Monsters): Men, dwarves and elves will serve as retainers with relative loyalty so long as they receive their pay regularly, are treated fairly, are not continually exposed to extra-hazardous duty, and receive bonuses when they are taking part in some dangerous venture. Judgement (sic) of this matter is perforce subjective on the part of the campaign referee, but there is a simple guideline: When one or more of such characters are taken into service a loyalty check is made by rolling three-six-sided dice. Adjustments are made for charisma and initial payments for service, and the loyalty of the character(s) noted by the referee. (The player will not have any knowledge of what it is without some method of reading minds).

I certainly played this table for some years, because it reappears in the original DMG; in every way it looks like a practical, reasonable, even doable method of managing the effective loyalty of those under your command. It made sense that ideas like this would obtain some fruition and even some durability, because it does address a problem that is more or less insolvable at the game level: how much can you really trust characters who have both personalities and opportunity to abandon you, stab you in the back or otherwise fail to carry out your orders? We know with certainty that not every hireling will be steadfastly loyal, respectful and competent, so... that has to be managed somehow.

It's a crossroads between the two schizophrenic elements of the game's design: it manages the movement of multiple troops and it burshes up against the uncertainties of narrative instability, assuring the players that no matter how well they organise themselves, they cannot control every part of the world. The fear of being stabbed in the night is real, and any one of our subordinates might have that in their dark little hearts. It's a fear that every monarch and quite a few lovers have had. So, do we just call it a "good rule" and move on?  Is that what we have here?

To begin with, it is "perforce subjective," meaning that none of this is actually defined in any objective or mechanical way... which is why I had to give it up for my game. It's just too darned random. After a while, I saw it as an unnecessary and distracting way of creating "drama" for the players that really amounted to nothing good in game terms, so I dropped it. Think of it like instituting a rule in Monopoly where you roll a d20 with the 2d6, and the d20 does nothing unless you roll a "1."  If you do roll a 1, your piece "gets the flu." Nothing really happens, you still collect rent, you just don't "go out" for that turn. You stay where you are and maybe have to pay rent in that same spot again, because you're "staying another night."

At first, that seems like, "Hey, kinda cool, mixes things up." But after awhile it's more like, "This keeps happening. Can we stop using this rule now?"

The friction of disloyalty created here has no solution, no way to fence it off, and as a campaign addition, it's just unwanted noise. Friendly tip: if a rule does little other than make the players groan and say, "Not again," get rid of it. It's not carrying the water you think it is. But that's not the fault of the designers in this case. It's just not that great an idea for something I've never seen a good idea for. It's a phantom of realism that I don't think a random die roll can deliver.

Wouldn't it be interesting if you could just decide in Monopoly to stop on any property square and then just "live there" as long as you want, without being required to leave, as long as you paid rent every turn, or as long as it was your property? Obviously, the game would stop when everyone stopped on their own property and refused to move. I also always thought it would be interesting to play Monopoly with 100 "NPCs" who move around the board and pay rent to the "owners," pretty much assuring the owners never run out of money. More real that way. Just a thought.

I bring it up because it exposes the underlying absurdity of how a lot of games have to abstract reality in order to make them into "games." Monopoly works only because everyone's forced to keep moving — its economy depends on circulation, not realism. The moment players are allowed to behave like real landlords or tenants, the system collapses into stasis. "NPC Monopoly" makes the collapse visible: a world that looks more realistic but immediately stops being a game. The dice and the rules are there to force artificial scarcity and risk, otherwise the loop of rent and ownership just perpetuates itself indefinitely.

It's the same tension D&D never resolved. The game keeps pretending its simulated world has natural rules and realism, but what keeps it alive isn’t realism — it's the arbitrary mechanics that keep players moving, questing, rolling. The moment you actually model how life or economics really works, the game stops being a game and becomes sociology. Or a way to organise improvisational theatrical performance.

Non-player characters and men-at-arms will have to make morale checks (using the above reaction table or "Chainmail") whenever a highly dangerous or unnerving situation arises. Poor morale will mean that those in question will not perform as expected.

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

I wanted to separate this from the above because although the "periodic re-checks" are something I've just deconstructed, it's worth noting that length of service IS a way to mitigate the irritation of the loyalty table. I do feel it should be compressed, however — that a successful roll should effective double or triple the degree of loyalty the NPC gives. And this shouldn't be kept secret: it should be expressed to the player honestly, with the recognition that we can tell, quite a lot of the time, from the way people act, look, speak to us, perform their work, arrive on time, remain with us in times of trouble and so on, whether or not they're loyal.

Moreover, while we live in the 21st century, with its multiplicity of distractions and opportunities, "loyalty" for us is a very different kettle of fish for what it was in medieval times. We can quit a job and get another within a week. We can journey across the country to where there are jobs. We don't sleep in the boss's company, we're not with the boss 80 hours a week. We can talk to friends on the phone to release stress or bitch about our boss. NONE of those options is available to the 14th century hireling. There's nowhere to go, there's no means to get there, we live cheek and jowl with others who also work for our boss and there's literally no way for us to eat if we lose this job. Under these conditions, "loyalty" holds a far greater importance than our present day experience. IF an employee lasts for three months, and IF they're fed and not ill-treated, there's no rational reason why they should ever want to leave. It's not like "desertion," the threat on the table, carries the practicality for them that it does for us.

The exception is the "highly dangerous or unnerving situation" described above. It makes sense that during an actual confrontation with death, a legitimate fear will probably manifest — that's hormonal, however, not intellectual. We don't desert in the moment of making a morale check because we suddenly lose faith in the commander. If we didn't have faith in the commander, we leave the night before, the week before, even the month before the battle. Not "in" the situation, when it's too late to measure our loyalty, but when the situation gives a whiff that it might happen. The morale check "in" the situation is one of two types: a lack of personal belief in one's competence, or if you prefer, cowardice, where you go to the battle thinking you'll handle it and then you can't. That's pretty much a first-time thing. After that, cowards know they're cowards and after that they run before the battle starts.

The other is a crisis of faith, and I don't mean in the commander. Persons of that day and age really did believe they were going to heaven. It wasn't something they question. Death, for many, really was a release, one that gave them the temper to go ahead and fight, because it was essentially a win-win situation for them. Succeed or get release. Comforting.

But if the coward on your left or the one on your right suddenly breaks and runs for the hills, then another does, you don't know they're a "coward." You might think, "they know something I don't." Whereupon your faith is tested. And maybe you hear your commander shout to stand fast, but maybe you don't... battlefields are very loud. Worse, at the moment just before the hit happens, when two forces collide, there's a moment of doubt that occurs that tells you, "this is it, we're going to die"... which is fine if you're ready to die, if you believe in the win-win. If you don't, and you do break, that won't just get you killed (you're easier to bring down if you're back is to us) but it gets your mates killed to, because now the enemy can pour through your line like a seive. Picture that scene from Gondor in Lord of the Rings, when the Rohan cavalry hits, and orcs break before the hit happens. In melee, that's death for the side that breaks first. That first two seconds of a battle can win or lose the whole thing in one fell swoop.

None of this has anything to do with the liege, not in that moment. The contrary is marketing: Napoleon's men held them off at Borodino because of Napoleon. In reality, they held them off at Borodino because things just happened that way. Which makes a much less interesting story. Better to tell the one about the guard being thrown in and Napoleon asking who'll he'll fight with tomorrow. Stories make these things less like what a battle is really like — a chaotic, irrational mess, where the technology didn't permit the instant communication we have now, which still doesn't fully work to keep the pervasive bedlam, madness and confusion that IS taking place. To imagine that anyone inside that loves anyone except the one next to them is absurd... yet we've been told that by newspapers for 400 years and people want to believe it.

Morale makes complete sense for role-playing. A morale modifier based on someone not present doesn't. 'Course, we have to ask ourselves... is this a rule to be gotten rid of because it aspires to be realistic?  Or should it be embraced because it isn't real, like the discussion about Monopoly above? Which one, in your opinion, makes a better game?

Relatives: The referee may allow players to designate one relative of his character to inherit his possessions if for any reason the participant unexpectedly disappears, with or without "death" being positively established, for a period of one game month, let us say. At this time the relative would inherit the estate of the character, paying a 10% tax on all goods and monies. The relative must start at the lowest level of the class he opts for, but he will have the advantage of the inheritance.

IF the character returns, he takes possession of his estate once more (referee's option as to willingness of the relative to give it up) but must pay an additional 10% tax in order to regain his own. Optionally the relative may be allowed to stay on as a non-player character in the service of the player-character. Loyalty of the relative in such a circumstance would be at a penalty of from 0 to -6, and he would possibly intrigue to regain control.

Characters without a relative will lose all their possessions should they disappear and not return before whatever period is designated as establishing death.

I must admit, it's an interesting concept. I have had parties divide up the goods of dead party members who actually died during the campaign, but never for a player who simply didn't show up to play again. Presumably, they're not present to hand their things over, they're somewhere in the game world, who knows where... so how would a present player inherit?

But, let's overlook that. I can see this working as a solution for some DMs who have trouble keeping players. We have four people start our campaign; they roll up their characters, buy their equipment, participate. I have a scanner now, so I could simply scan in their characters at the end of the night before they went home. And I could tell them, whoever doesn't show up at the next running, half your cash on hand and your gear will be divided among the players who do show up, unless you designate one player who will get the whole half-share.

Miss two sessions, and the players — or the inheriting character — receive the rest. It is punitive, yes, but give me a moment and I'll explain the deeper logic.

If you put up a sign in a hospital that says, "Wash your hands," you'll get some compliance, but for the most part it ends up being around 60%. But when experiments were done that included a motion sensor that triggered a cheerful voice for those entering the bathroom that said, "Don’t forget to wash your hands!" compliance jumped to above 90%. And even stranger... when the cheerful voice was replaced with Elmo's voice? Compliance jumped still higher.

If your players know that not showing up for a game will mean more than just missing a session, but actual consequences that are, in fact, entirely punitive but NOT real (it's imaginary goods and money, yes?), they'll actually think twice before not showing up. It will be in their heads, "I'm doing more than skipping... I'm making a decision that means I can't go back, right now, when really I'm not sure about that." The willingness to avoid the decision will help bring people to your campaign a second day, because they'd rather commit than lose something. It won't work with everyone, but it will increase your repeat players. Which gives more time for them to consider seriously committing to your game. Creepy, huh?

The rule as written above is, for all that, pretty clumsy. Why, exactly, does a receiving relative have to start at the lowest level of the class opted for? Are we talking about a given player running Charlie, then having Charlie designate Rick as the relative... so that when Charlie retires, Rick can get Charlie's stuff? But if that's the case, then why the line, "if the participant unexpectedly disappears?" I can't make those two things line up. If Alexis, Me, is designated the relative, and I already have a 5th level fighter, Zortan, and I get Charlie's stuff... why does my Zortan have to restart at the lowest level? Or are we saying that the relative has to be a new character... and if so, why?

I'm guessing that the authors are trying to fix a meta-problem — players vanishing without warning — by treating it like an in-world event. They reach for the only structure that exists for absence: death and inheritance. But because they don’t distinguish player absence from character death, they end up writing a legal clause for a metaphysical paradox. The rule reads like someone tried to make a "save file" system before computers existed, and then buried it under pseudo-medieval succession law.

BASIC EQUIPMENT AND COSTS:

It will be necessary for players to equip their characters with various basic items of equipment. Selection of items is strictly up to the players, and Gold Pieces are taken away accordingly (players may sell to one another, of course, and then Gold Pieces would be transferred).

That's... a really strange way to introduce an equipment list, which is what follows. It's like someone narrating capitalism to Martians. Like we don't do that. Just put it in a day to day context: "Selection of things you want is up to you, and money is taken away (from you) accordingly. Your friends may sell you stuff, and then money would be transferred."

Yeah. That's how money works. Did they think we didn't know?

It is the tone of people writing rules who don't know what they're doing, and are grossly overcompensating. Which is why a copyreader might have been a really good idea... again.

In any case, players spend gold (not capitalised, it's not a proper noun) from their starting funds to buy equipment, animals, goods, services and other items.

I'd like to limit my comments on this. There are numerous egregious issues that aren't worth harping upon — how, for example, do I calculate the cost of a pair of shoes from the above, made of calfskin leather and reaching knee high? Or the price of a single-bed room on the waterfront of a second-rate city off the beaten trade routes? Or how much it costs to replace the capstan, the tiller or the main mast of my large merchant ship?

The schizophrenia is back. If the game is a wargame battle simulation, what do I need a large galley for? Where do I store it when we're not using it? If it's a role-playing game, how come I know how much two different holy symbols cost, but there are no clothes or building materials on this list? Why can I buy a merchant ship but not a house? What food am I buying when I buy rations? And how much does food that is not rations cost?

This is almost exactly the same list that's used four years later with the Players Handbook, the list that first inspired these rules of me and my mates back 45 years ago. The priorities are largely dungeon based, but even there... how long is the stake or the spikes? What fibre is the rope made from? How much does a sword weigh? How much is a belt and a scabbard? What is the effective difference between a steel and a silver mirror, and how does that play in the game? Does the lantern incorporate glass? Why is it "chain-type" mail but not "plate-type" mail? These questions came easily to our lips and we weren't university students. I understand why these got a pass in 1974, with the game having no footprint. Why weren't they resolved in 1978?

This is a sore spot with me, and it's enough for this post.