I have had as a policy that every rule I add to the game, those that affect the players directly, must be something that takes virtually no time to play. For example, while my trading system is extensive, from my players point of view, it's just another equipment table (albeit one which the player's can't presume the prices from session to session--they have to look them up). My combat system is likewise. Although took me three hours to write out the details of two combat rounds, we would play those rounds out in a couple of minutes, with most of the time taken up in the players deciding what exactly they wanted to do. The system would not be the time-waster.
That's mostly the reason why I hated Rolemaster and the various systems that were birthed from those early attempts to add detail to the game. They were simply unplayable, as we sat around for hours waiting for the gamemaster to look up table after table. I remember one 24-hour session where we got into a combat involving dozens and dozens of troops against an attacking company of I don't remember what...and us sitting around and sitting around waiting for hit locations to be rolled and critical hits and Elvis in his sidecar knew what else. Killed that campaign.
Sometimes I struggle and struggle with a game idea that fails inevitably because it just takes too long to roll up the results. My efforts at treasure tables, for instance...where you want interesting, complex and bizarre treasure results, but it just gets tiresome at the end of a battle rolling and rolling and rolling out various pieces of jewelry, gems, furnishings, storeroom vittles, luxuries, armors, weapons, magic items, blah. Give me a system where I can produce an easily deliverable list in less than five minutes and I'm there.
I've been playing with the idea of just creating cards, possibly with pictures, or just blanks neatly cut by a print shop, which I can write up all at once, ready to shuffled and be dealt out at a session. Then the players can sift through the pile on the table and divide them up. The logic would be, it wouldn't be satisfactory for the player to write down the item any more...if he wanted to sell the item, or use the item, they better damn well have the card in their possession.
The hold up is that I'd have to create cards for everything they own now, and that's work I'm too lazy to do...but some session I'm going to get a complete list from them and go forward from there.
Another simplicity nightmare is weather. I've done enough interesting things with the weather in this campaign, since it started, to prove two things: A) parties fucking hate weather effects, no matter what they are; B) weather makes everything REAL.
About two years ago, the much weaker third-level party bought passage aboard a ship bound down the Volga river; the pirates aboard overcame them, jacked their possessions and threw them onto the bank--in November. The particular area, about 120 mi. north of Astrakhan, had a terrain much like the swamp from Lord of the Rings...ankle deep water. I worked for many hours prior to the session to produce believable weather tables, temperatures, rainfall, humidity, based off climate statistics from the area--and what followed was a very long session of absolute hell as the party staggered for mile after mile, trying to cross the great flat, ankle deep in freezing or near-freezing water, without proper gear or clothing. Without cantrips they would never have made it. As it was the half the party collapsed from pneumonia within a week and it was touch and go keeping them alive.
Did the party like it? No, they swore through the entire process. Was the adventure memorable? Damn straight. They remember it like they were there. They remember it because every day the weather changes marginally adjusted the nightmare, enough that they were praying for good weather--it really meant something to have it.
Although I've produced similar effects with adventures through deserts and, up until my hiatus (scheduled to end in two weeks, when I can run again, yay), through a snow forest, the actual creation of the weather is a superior bitch. As is the exact effects the weather has on the party depending primarily on what they are wearing and what climate they were raised in. So far, I haven't found an accurate, easy way to manage those variables and for the most part, they get ignored. That is, I unhappily treat the fur-coat wearing player far too similar to the player too stupid to buy himself a jacket, and is now wrapped with leather strips and deerskins.
But I feel I'm close to solving the problem. I hope I can sometime in the next few months, and maybe post the whole system here (that would be nice). At the moment, however, I'm stoked by the discovery of something called "clo"...which fits into an ad hoc point-value system I had earlier been using for clothing. Nice to find an accurate measure.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Hit Points
Just had an interesting thought strike me. It's occurred to me in the past that certain injuries, broken bones, snapped tendons, organ failure and so on isn't particularly reflected by the hit point structure--though because I don't see any system being an improvement on the HP idea, I haven't seen a simple, easy way of handling those injuries. Thus, they are usually "overlooked" while gaming.
Part of the trouble is that healing spells ought to be able to "fix" those things as easily as simple wounds. If a character heals at 1 hp per day normally, then the first level spell, cure light wounds, serves to heal anything which might be conceivably healed normally in six days.
Of course, a broken ulna (bone in your arm) takes twelve weeks to heal, but who's counting, right?
What if we take the very simple approach of saying that certain injuries (how they occur is your problem) require 10x as much healing to repair? For example, suppose your 2nd level ranger with 22 hit points sprains his wrist. And let's suppose we call those points which heal at 10% normal speed as "hard points." To give some measure to the sprain, let's say a sprain is 1d4 hard points...we'll roll the dice and assess the damage as "3".
Normally, to heal 5 hit points, it would require 5 days of rest or a simple healing spell. But in this case, 3 hard points require 30 days of rest. The ranger is temporarily at 19 hp maximum, adding 1 hp more to his maximum each time that 10 equivalent hit points are cured. On average, that would be six days of rest and cure light wounds spells to bring him back to normal.
Not much of a hassle for a sprained wrist, but what about a broken leg? Or gall stones? (what, you've never given your player gall stones?). It would be hard for a 2nd level player group to get 200 healing points together.
The rule has, I think, interesting possibilities.
Part of the trouble is that healing spells ought to be able to "fix" those things as easily as simple wounds. If a character heals at 1 hp per day normally, then the first level spell, cure light wounds, serves to heal anything which might be conceivably healed normally in six days.
Of course, a broken ulna (bone in your arm) takes twelve weeks to heal, but who's counting, right?
What if we take the very simple approach of saying that certain injuries (how they occur is your problem) require 10x as much healing to repair? For example, suppose your 2nd level ranger with 22 hit points sprains his wrist. And let's suppose we call those points which heal at 10% normal speed as "hard points." To give some measure to the sprain, let's say a sprain is 1d4 hard points...we'll roll the dice and assess the damage as "3".
Normally, to heal 5 hit points, it would require 5 days of rest or a simple healing spell. But in this case, 3 hard points require 30 days of rest. The ranger is temporarily at 19 hp maximum, adding 1 hp more to his maximum each time that 10 equivalent hit points are cured. On average, that would be six days of rest and cure light wounds spells to bring him back to normal.
Not much of a hassle for a sprained wrist, but what about a broken leg? Or gall stones? (what, you've never given your player gall stones?). It would be hard for a 2nd level player group to get 200 healing points together.
The rule has, I think, interesting possibilities.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
India
When I research areas for my maps, to identify the various kingdoms circa 1650 and how they are mastered, I can't help but stumble into profound things--including yesterday's pic. Here's what I've found today:
Found this associated with the city of Pathankot within the region of Nurpur in northern Punjabi.
Wikipedia: "Fought for 18 days, the Battle of Kurukshetra involved almost all the Kingdoms of the known world. Shown here is Lord Arjun, the ancestor of the Pathania dynasty and his cousin, and charioteer Lord Krishna between the two warring armies."
This associated with the Northern Areas, Pakistan:
Wikipedia: "There are more than 20,000 pieces of rock art and petroglyphs all along the Karakoram Highway in the Northern Areas, concentrated at ten major sites between Hunza and Shatial. The carvings were left by various invaders, traders, and pilgrims who passed along the trade route, as well as by locals. The earliest date back to between 5000 and 1000 BCE, showing single animals, triangular men and hunting scenes in which the animals are larger than the hunters. These carvings were pecked into the rock with stone tools and are covered with a thick patina that proves their age."
I love pictures like this, from Alwar, Rajasthan:
Yes, that appears to be some sort of fortification on the top.
Almora is a city at 5,400 ft elevation in the Himalayas; this picture was taken in 1860, of the town bazaar. The city was founded in 1568. I doubt the bazaar had changed much:
Found this associated with the city of Pathankot within the region of Nurpur in northern Punjabi.
Wikipedia: "Fought for 18 days, the Battle of Kurukshetra involved almost all the Kingdoms of the known world. Shown here is Lord Arjun, the ancestor of the Pathania dynasty and his cousin, and charioteer Lord Krishna between the two warring armies."
This associated with the Northern Areas, Pakistan:
Wikipedia: "There are more than 20,000 pieces of rock art and petroglyphs all along the Karakoram Highway in the Northern Areas, concentrated at ten major sites between Hunza and Shatial. The carvings were left by various invaders, traders, and pilgrims who passed along the trade route, as well as by locals. The earliest date back to between 5000 and 1000 BCE, showing single animals, triangular men and hunting scenes in which the animals are larger than the hunters. These carvings were pecked into the rock with stone tools and are covered with a thick patina that proves their age."
I love pictures like this, from Alwar, Rajasthan:
Yes, that appears to be some sort of fortification on the top.
Almora is a city at 5,400 ft elevation in the Himalayas; this picture was taken in 1860, of the town bazaar. The city was founded in 1568. I doubt the bazaar had changed much:
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Onetruewayism
Sooner or later I was going to get around to this subject. It has to be the most reflexive, silly, pervasive accusation within the community—leveled more often in the flaming heat of an online discussion than any other insult…and meant, for reasons that escape me, to end the argument by irrevocably branding the opposition as a tyrant.
What I find funny is that it isn’t merely a part of the RPG community…it is as equally pejorative in the BDSM community. There are strange parallels between both groups of people, in that they have a great deal of emotion (and money) invested in an activity for which there is no overarching authority.
If we are going to talk about onetruewayism, I need to pause and establish a position: for the purpose of this post, that position is going to be strictly neutral. Oh, I have an opinion, but that doesn’t matter just now. Just now, I don’t care if there is a one true way or not; I don’t care if in the past this has been leveled at me as an accusation or not; I don’t even care if you, reading this, are convinced, or not, that I am a onetruewayist. That’s not what I want to talk about.
What I’d like to talk about are two completely different communities than RPGs and BDSM, both of which include hundreds of thousands of individuals, both of whom have a great deal invested in terms of both emotion and money, and both of which are far more visible. One of these I have terrific amounts of personal experience with; the other I have almost none.
Neither include an overarching authority. Both have multiple channels dedicated to them on television.
I am talking about home renovations and cooking.
Consider for a moment the various comparisons. A vast number of practitioners. Different people preferring very different foods or home design. Literally thousands of books on the market, ALL of them describing the exact way to cook pasta Florentine or how to lay carpet. Google “chocolate chip cookies” and you will get 3,280,000 hits…with nearly every recipe arguing that it is THE real, award-winning, favorite, home-style, very best chocolate chip cookie recipe in all of creation.
If, however, you search “chocolate chip cookies” & “one true way”, you will get…84 hits.
If you search “dungeons and dragons” & “one true way” you’ll get 1,230 hits.
Okay, okay, that’s not fair. If you search “cooking” & “one true way” you’ll get 3,740 hits.
And “cooking” alone?: 187 million hits. “D&D” alone? 11.8 million.
What is the point of all these ridiculous statistics? Oh, probably nothing, if you haven’t understood yet. I’m certainly not building up the one true way to define the level of onetruewayism in D&D. I’m just throwing thoughts out there.
I worked as a cook and later, as a sous chef, for 12 years in a variety of restaurants ranging from 1 star to 5 stars, and I found one this was always true: there is a ONE TRUE WAY to make everything…for each restaurant you work at.
The entire restaurant industry has as its fundamental structure the competition between eateries, and while every restaurant will boast loudly and with conviction that they DO have the one true way to make lasagna, it wouldn’t occur to anyone in the business to complain that other restaurants are guilty of onetruewayism.
And while Iron Chef or that fanatic angry freak in Hell’s Kitchen might be rather picky about right and wrong, no one gets upset about it. Of course he thinks he has the right way: he has experience, he has a successful kitchen, he has EVIDENCE that people like the way the lasagna is prepared.
Not all people, no. But like any long-time cook, his opinion would be that people like that are STUPID.
(You know, it’s no different among people restructuring houses…I’m only concentrating on cooking because that’s what I know. The principles are, however, the same—ever talk to three different contractors for the same job?)
Most of the really good cooks or chefs I’ve known (based on how emotionally satisfying their food was) have felt that way. Don’t like my cooking? You’re stupid. The Italian I worked with for a year, who had a 5-star rating and who’s restaurant was filled with mafia, certainly thought that way. I can hear him in my head, answering the accusation that he was wrong to think there was only one true way to make cannelloni: “What the fuck do you know? You own a restaurant? Do people eat your food? Get the fuck out—get out of my place! Get out. Stupid dumb shit.”
(Working with Italians…there’s a post sometime).
But that same Italian would not have said the same thing to someone in THEIR restaurant. That’s respect.
Making a distinct, definitive statement about how a thing is done is not, as it is so often accused of being, a detraction on the way others are doing a thing. So often it’s taken that way. No one likes having someone in their kitchen. My maternal grandmother, who was a terrible cook of the first order, honestly one of the worst cooks I have ever known, was so territorial about her kitchen that she did not draw the line at throwing wooden spoons at little children. She could not be told anything about cooking.
My father, on the other hand, is the exact same way about renovations. Trained as an engineer and entirely competent in wood, steel, concrete or plaster, he has probably rebuilt his house twice from the ground up in the 42 years he’s owned it, one piece at a time. He can’t be told anything about renovations, either. Contractors have tried.
Having the genetic pattern from both sides of my family, I probably have some of the same characteristics regarding both D&D and BDSM. I can certainly understand my father better than my grandmother—before spending a week at her house every Easter, I would have to mentally prepare myself as a ten year old for a long fast. You wouldn’t believe someone would boil steak, would you?
More than once, I assure you.
The only reason anyone has, for themselves, a one true way of doing anything, its because they have reason to believe it really is the one true way. And they think someone else is going to have to make a pretty good fucking argument to prove there’s another. (In the case of my grandmother, that argument was going to have to involve the reappearance of Jesus in some degree). What I or you might think is a good enough argument may not be…not for them. We can only do the best we can, and when we fail we can only shake our heads and tell them to get the fuck out of our place.
Most of the time, my arguments fail. I’m good with that. I have my limitations as a human being. I take comfort in the fact that occasionally, other people’s arguments succeed, and I find that I have reason to change the one true way I’ve been doing something. I appreciate that other people are willing to keep trying with me.
Somehow in the midst of their trying with me, and my trying with them, I’m convinced that there really is a one true way…somewhere.
Shame none of us practice it.
What I find funny is that it isn’t merely a part of the RPG community…it is as equally pejorative in the BDSM community. There are strange parallels between both groups of people, in that they have a great deal of emotion (and money) invested in an activity for which there is no overarching authority.
If we are going to talk about onetruewayism, I need to pause and establish a position: for the purpose of this post, that position is going to be strictly neutral. Oh, I have an opinion, but that doesn’t matter just now. Just now, I don’t care if there is a one true way or not; I don’t care if in the past this has been leveled at me as an accusation or not; I don’t even care if you, reading this, are convinced, or not, that I am a onetruewayist. That’s not what I want to talk about.
What I’d like to talk about are two completely different communities than RPGs and BDSM, both of which include hundreds of thousands of individuals, both of whom have a great deal invested in terms of both emotion and money, and both of which are far more visible. One of these I have terrific amounts of personal experience with; the other I have almost none.
Neither include an overarching authority. Both have multiple channels dedicated to them on television.
I am talking about home renovations and cooking.
Consider for a moment the various comparisons. A vast number of practitioners. Different people preferring very different foods or home design. Literally thousands of books on the market, ALL of them describing the exact way to cook pasta Florentine or how to lay carpet. Google “chocolate chip cookies” and you will get 3,280,000 hits…with nearly every recipe arguing that it is THE real, award-winning, favorite, home-style, very best chocolate chip cookie recipe in all of creation.
If, however, you search “chocolate chip cookies” & “one true way”, you will get…84 hits.
If you search “dungeons and dragons” & “one true way” you’ll get 1,230 hits.
Okay, okay, that’s not fair. If you search “cooking” & “one true way” you’ll get 3,740 hits.
And “cooking” alone?: 187 million hits. “D&D” alone? 11.8 million.
What is the point of all these ridiculous statistics? Oh, probably nothing, if you haven’t understood yet. I’m certainly not building up the one true way to define the level of onetruewayism in D&D. I’m just throwing thoughts out there.
I worked as a cook and later, as a sous chef, for 12 years in a variety of restaurants ranging from 1 star to 5 stars, and I found one this was always true: there is a ONE TRUE WAY to make everything…for each restaurant you work at.
The entire restaurant industry has as its fundamental structure the competition between eateries, and while every restaurant will boast loudly and with conviction that they DO have the one true way to make lasagna, it wouldn’t occur to anyone in the business to complain that other restaurants are guilty of onetruewayism.
And while Iron Chef or that fanatic angry freak in Hell’s Kitchen might be rather picky about right and wrong, no one gets upset about it. Of course he thinks he has the right way: he has experience, he has a successful kitchen, he has EVIDENCE that people like the way the lasagna is prepared.
Not all people, no. But like any long-time cook, his opinion would be that people like that are STUPID.
(You know, it’s no different among people restructuring houses…I’m only concentrating on cooking because that’s what I know. The principles are, however, the same—ever talk to three different contractors for the same job?)
Most of the really good cooks or chefs I’ve known (based on how emotionally satisfying their food was) have felt that way. Don’t like my cooking? You’re stupid. The Italian I worked with for a year, who had a 5-star rating and who’s restaurant was filled with mafia, certainly thought that way. I can hear him in my head, answering the accusation that he was wrong to think there was only one true way to make cannelloni: “What the fuck do you know? You own a restaurant? Do people eat your food? Get the fuck out—get out of my place! Get out. Stupid dumb shit.”
(Working with Italians…there’s a post sometime).
But that same Italian would not have said the same thing to someone in THEIR restaurant. That’s respect.
Making a distinct, definitive statement about how a thing is done is not, as it is so often accused of being, a detraction on the way others are doing a thing. So often it’s taken that way. No one likes having someone in their kitchen. My maternal grandmother, who was a terrible cook of the first order, honestly one of the worst cooks I have ever known, was so territorial about her kitchen that she did not draw the line at throwing wooden spoons at little children. She could not be told anything about cooking.
My father, on the other hand, is the exact same way about renovations. Trained as an engineer and entirely competent in wood, steel, concrete or plaster, he has probably rebuilt his house twice from the ground up in the 42 years he’s owned it, one piece at a time. He can’t be told anything about renovations, either. Contractors have tried.
Having the genetic pattern from both sides of my family, I probably have some of the same characteristics regarding both D&D and BDSM. I can certainly understand my father better than my grandmother—before spending a week at her house every Easter, I would have to mentally prepare myself as a ten year old for a long fast. You wouldn’t believe someone would boil steak, would you?
More than once, I assure you.
The only reason anyone has, for themselves, a one true way of doing anything, its because they have reason to believe it really is the one true way. And they think someone else is going to have to make a pretty good fucking argument to prove there’s another. (In the case of my grandmother, that argument was going to have to involve the reappearance of Jesus in some degree). What I or you might think is a good enough argument may not be…not for them. We can only do the best we can, and when we fail we can only shake our heads and tell them to get the fuck out of our place.
Most of the time, my arguments fail. I’m good with that. I have my limitations as a human being. I take comfort in the fact that occasionally, other people’s arguments succeed, and I find that I have reason to change the one true way I’ve been doing something. I appreciate that other people are willing to keep trying with me.
Somehow in the midst of their trying with me, and my trying with them, I’m convinced that there really is a one true way…somewhere.
Shame none of us practice it.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Simulation
I have wondered if I should bother writing this post, particularly as I know it will be arduous and little understood…and probably not supported. I expect no one to read it and change anything about the way they play…and I hardly care. I have been playing myself this way for so long that I can’t see doing it any other way.
The subject is combat. Before I begin, I need to give some lip service towards the subject of AD&D in general. I don’t play it. I do base much of my world on the books, and I do use many of the tables therein, and generally have its backbone as a structure that I adhere to. But when it comes to the actual, rules-lawyer inspired game, I don’t play it. That is because, as I have said before, the game as written is broken. And I have felt comfortable changing whatever I’ve felt was wrong in order to make a more playable, effective game. I don’t see the changes as “house rules” because I don’t recognize the original text as anything but a guideline. But I know others see it that way…so here are my house rules for combat.
They were suggested to me by a player back in ’88, and after a few months of playing them and tweaking them, it was generally agreed that they represented a faster, more vigorous form of combat. My present players were inducted into the game with the more traditional combat system—none of them complained a whit at my variations. And while I say this often, I will say it again…I’ve never had any complaints, not from anyone I’ve introduced to it. I suppose I’ve had a few people who wouldn’t run in my world—but the combat system was never cited as the reason.
All right then. Preamble over.
I’ve wondered about the best way to describe this system, but I suppose the story teller in me demands the approach below. Any comments I think are special to my system I’ll describe in red. Just for fun, I’ll roll all the dice and describe the events as the dice describe (I won’t cheat).
In a completely different universe, Aggro the Axe (4th level fighter), Abner (5th level mage), Arkayn (4th level cleric) and Arlanni (2nd level thief) are moving down a rock corridor lined with torch sconces (I don’t want to get into light factors for this), disappointed that they’ve found nothing yet. Aggro and Arkayn are at the front.
Approaching them from the other end of the corridor, having just entered from the outside, are Gutboy Barrelhouse (6th level fighter), Balto (1st level monk), Blastum (4th level mage) and Barjin (a 4th/5th level fighter/mage). Gutboy and Barjin are at the front.
As both parties include humans, both are clearly able to see the torch lights indicating the other’s approach. The two parties stop 30’ apart, or six hexes (I don’t use squares). There are five empty hexes between the parties and the hall is two hexes wide.
After a period of unhappy discussion, the parties decide, more or less at the same moment, to attack one another. At this point, initiative is rolled. Party A rolls a 5 and Party B rolls a 4.
As it happens, Balto has a 17 dexterity, giving him a +2 initiative (same benefit as dex missile bonus), thus his initiative is a “6”. Arlanni, however, has a 16 dexterity, so that her initiative is also a “6”. Thus, these two individuals attack simultaneously.
As both are in the rear, both have no choice but to use missile weapons. Arlanni unwisely decides to use her sling, which requires the whole round (Each round is six seconds; three seconds per side; I decided on six second rounds primarily because I wished the rounds to reflect a single swing and because, otherwise, the slow movements proposed by AD&D just don’t make sense) to wind up, so she will actually attack last. Balto has no other weapon than his staff (one proficiency only at first level), so unless he chooses to jump between Gutboy and Barjin, he must wait. So he waits.
As Aggro is in plate mail and shield, with a 15 strength, his movement per round is “2” (to move one hex requires 1 movement point; to attack requires 2 movement points). As such, Aggro cannot rush forward to attack anyone; at best, he can stagger forward two hexes and set himself for attack…he doesn’t however, aware that his companions will need him to defend, he moves a step forward and into the center of the hall, intending to hold that position like Horatius at the bridge.
Arkayn decides to cast the spell command, which—like Arlanni’s sling—will require a round to cast (remember that the rounds are greatly shortened, and thus the enemy has time to foil Arkayn’s spell; I believe this is much more realistic than the Hollywoodized concept of superpowerful wizards, and certainly makes a spellcaster pick their moment). As Arkayn is dressed in scale mail, he is counting on a better than fifty percent chance of getting the spell off.
Meanwhile Abner, unarmored and with a movement of 5, backs away down the corridor. As most of his spells are effective at fairly high ranges, the farther he is from the enemy’s thrown weapons, the better the chance that his spells won’t be ruined once they’re begun.
Party B.
Gutboy, in splinted and with a strength of 17 has a movement of 3. This means he is capable of moving one forward and attacking; however, he is five hexes away from Aggro. Plus the cleric is throwing a spell. Gutboy, however, has five proficiencies, one of them being a dagger. Requiring 1 move to draw the dagger and 2 to throw it, he hurls the dagger at Arkayn…he rolls a 15; he has no dexterity bonus (and I play with no dumbfuck armor class adjustments), but for a sixth level fighter that hits AC 1. Arkayn takes two damage and the spell is ruined.
Barjin, being a multi-classed mage/fighter, has no armor and thus has a movement of 5. As he already has his hand axe in hand (wisely prepared), he hurls it at Aggro (2 movement) as he runs forward (3 movement). This does not quite close the gap, but he knows Aggro likely cannot move forward one hex and still attack (unless Aggro has, for whatever reason, more than one attack per round, in which case the movement cost per attack is one). Barjin rolls a natural 20 (!), which causes double damage (I used to use critical hit tables, but they got annoying); he automatically rolls the d20 again (another natural “19” or “20” indicates triple damage—though 19s are ignored if the defender is wearing a helmet), and produces a 5. Barjin gets no strength bonus for his hand axe, as it was thrown (and he has a 14 strength, at any rate), but he manages to cause 6 damage. Aggro has 29 hit points, so he is not “stunned.” (“What?” you’re thinking…I will explain when someone IS).
Finally, there’s Blastum. He can see Arlanni winding up her sling, so he’s going to back up also. Like Abner, he has a movement of 5…but he only backs up two hexes, for reasons which will become clear.
At this point, Arlanni lets go her sling bullet. Close range is anything within 15 hexes (PHB, p. 38, range indicated x 3 hexes), but her companion Aggro needs support so she fires at Barjin. She rolls a 1, indicating that the sling has come out of her hand. The stone bounces harmlessly off the walls and the sling itself lands (roll 1-3 to indicate) two hexes in front of her. Arlanni swears.
2nd Round.
Balto still has initiative over Party A. He has a movement of 5 (unarmored monk), but being fairly weak it’s just not wise for him to move to where Aggro has a chance to hit him; formerly he was standing behind Barjin…Balto is still six hexes away from where Aggro is positioned. His best chance is to wait until Aggro is stunned (there’s that word again) so he can slip past and attack the spellcasters. In the meantime, he moves forward three hexes where he can use Barjin as a shield.
Party A (except for Arlanni, whose actions now follow Party B)
Aggro has little choice in action. Separated from Barjin by two hexes, he can’t advance and attack this round (this is why plate mail sucks; and why it SHOULD suck…I don’t punish players because they decide to have it, I punish them because the stuff weighs 45 pounds and is put together with screws, for shit’s sake). He could choose to drop his battle axe (no movement; sheathing it would cost him 1) and draw his hammer, enabling him to throw it the following round, but he decides not to. (If he didn’t stubbornly pick a weapon requiring two hands, he could hold both an sword and a hammer…good reasons why if you’re going to wear plate mail you should think better how you choose to defend yourself). What Aggro CAN do is advance one hex and “engage” Barjin in combat, even though Aggro doesn’t have a chance to attack this round. (Once engaged in combat Barjin has to expend 2 movement to withdraw, plus 1 more to move into an adjacent hex).
Arkayn, miserable that his spell failed, decides now to draw his mace and join Aggro. Arkayn in scale and with a 13 strength has a movement of 3. He can’t quite move forward either and attack Barjin (being separated by three hexes), but he can move forward two and additionally engage Barjin in combat (Each additional person increases the withdraw penalty by 1 move).
Abner, confidently 11 hexes from the nearest enemy, is now free to cast. He considers getting that goddurn it web scroll out of his pack because it will be pretty useful just now. Unfortunately, it’s going to take him one round to get off his pack, another to rummage through the bag, a third to uncap the scrollcase and get the blasted thing out. Then it will take another full round to read it. Instead he decides to cast his suggestion spell (the best third level spell his book allowed, having only a 15 intelligence), which will take two rounds to cast (like all third level spells).
Party B (except for Balto)
At this point, Barjin has only one escape hex…and it will cost him four movement points to enter it. Given his movement of five, he could completely retreat to a point two hexes from Aggro—but what would that accomplish? Gutboy can’t handle both Aggro and Arkayn alone, and Balto is no real help…and besides, Blastum is at the back preparing a spell. Basically, the best thing Barjin can do at this point is attack. Arkayn is an easier target. He rolls a 16, hitting AC 2. Using a long sword, he causes 6 damage. Arkayn has 22 total hit points (these useless characters from the book have no stats!) and is stunned.
(Now what, exactly, does that mean? Whenever any creature takes damage in a given round—from however many sources—which equals or exceeds one quarter of the total hit points at the beginning of that round, the creature is stunned for one round, during which time they can take no action whatsoever. The character falls back one hex—or two plus hexes if struck by a large creature, depending on the size of the creature—and there they remain. For story’s sake, they can be said to be dazed or laying on the ground…if stunned next to a vertical drop, they are allowed a dexterity check, failure indicating that they have fallen. That’s fun to run, let me tell you. If it so happens that Barjin is not stunned himself by Aggro’s next attack, he can move forward and attack Arkayn again, this time needing only 4 damage to stun him, as Arkayn’s total hit points the following round were reduced to 16. The liveliness of this comes from being able to literally beat your opponent to death without them ever having a chance to attack, if the dice favor your attack. It’s fun when it works for the players, it is amazingly distressing when it works for the creatures opposing them)
Balto remains where he is…thoroughly outclassed, he’s best held in reserve. Remember that later in the battle, it may not need much for him to keep either Aggro or Arkayn stunned.
Gutboy rushes forward to back up Barjin. He’s four hexes from Aggro, which means he can advance three and engage Aggro in combat.
Lastly, Blastum actually possesses a web spell…five hexes behind Balto, he will begin casting it. Of course, the spell only has a range of 20’ feet at Blastum’s level, so he’ll have to move forward once he’s cast the spell.
This leaves only Arlanni. Being a thief and not suited for direct combat, she has wisely filled two thin ceramic flasks with oil and has previously prepared them both with cloth wicks. These she keeps carefully in padded pouches hanging from the belt over one shoulder. In leather armor she has a movement of 4; it takes one movement to extract one flask, one movement to draw her flint and tinder, one to set the bottle on the ground and one to ready the tinder for use. The next round she will light the flask and prepare to throw it over the melee in the direction of the enemy mage…
Not that I can’t go on with this, but I’m getting a bit tired. It is a helluva a lot easier to actually run this combat than it is to describe it, along with all the rules that my players have comfortably adjusted to. I hope that this will, to some degree, help explain why combats in my game are interesting enough to draw approval. But perhaps not. Who knows? I find them a great deal more diverting than the example on p. 71 of the DMG. You decide.
P.S. I’ll finish the combat if I’m asked to.
The subject is combat. Before I begin, I need to give some lip service towards the subject of AD&D in general. I don’t play it. I do base much of my world on the books, and I do use many of the tables therein, and generally have its backbone as a structure that I adhere to. But when it comes to the actual, rules-lawyer inspired game, I don’t play it. That is because, as I have said before, the game as written is broken. And I have felt comfortable changing whatever I’ve felt was wrong in order to make a more playable, effective game. I don’t see the changes as “house rules” because I don’t recognize the original text as anything but a guideline. But I know others see it that way…so here are my house rules for combat.
They were suggested to me by a player back in ’88, and after a few months of playing them and tweaking them, it was generally agreed that they represented a faster, more vigorous form of combat. My present players were inducted into the game with the more traditional combat system—none of them complained a whit at my variations. And while I say this often, I will say it again…I’ve never had any complaints, not from anyone I’ve introduced to it. I suppose I’ve had a few people who wouldn’t run in my world—but the combat system was never cited as the reason.
All right then. Preamble over.
I’ve wondered about the best way to describe this system, but I suppose the story teller in me demands the approach below. Any comments I think are special to my system I’ll describe in red. Just for fun, I’ll roll all the dice and describe the events as the dice describe (I won’t cheat).
In a completely different universe, Aggro the Axe (4th level fighter), Abner (5th level mage), Arkayn (4th level cleric) and Arlanni (2nd level thief) are moving down a rock corridor lined with torch sconces (I don’t want to get into light factors for this), disappointed that they’ve found nothing yet. Aggro and Arkayn are at the front.
Approaching them from the other end of the corridor, having just entered from the outside, are Gutboy Barrelhouse (6th level fighter), Balto (1st level monk), Blastum (4th level mage) and Barjin (a 4th/5th level fighter/mage). Gutboy and Barjin are at the front.
As both parties include humans, both are clearly able to see the torch lights indicating the other’s approach. The two parties stop 30’ apart, or six hexes (I don’t use squares). There are five empty hexes between the parties and the hall is two hexes wide.
After a period of unhappy discussion, the parties decide, more or less at the same moment, to attack one another. At this point, initiative is rolled. Party A rolls a 5 and Party B rolls a 4.
As it happens, Balto has a 17 dexterity, giving him a +2 initiative (same benefit as dex missile bonus), thus his initiative is a “6”. Arlanni, however, has a 16 dexterity, so that her initiative is also a “6”. Thus, these two individuals attack simultaneously.
As both are in the rear, both have no choice but to use missile weapons. Arlanni unwisely decides to use her sling, which requires the whole round (Each round is six seconds; three seconds per side; I decided on six second rounds primarily because I wished the rounds to reflect a single swing and because, otherwise, the slow movements proposed by AD&D just don’t make sense) to wind up, so she will actually attack last. Balto has no other weapon than his staff (one proficiency only at first level), so unless he chooses to jump between Gutboy and Barjin, he must wait. So he waits.
As Aggro is in plate mail and shield, with a 15 strength, his movement per round is “2” (to move one hex requires 1 movement point; to attack requires 2 movement points). As such, Aggro cannot rush forward to attack anyone; at best, he can stagger forward two hexes and set himself for attack…he doesn’t however, aware that his companions will need him to defend, he moves a step forward and into the center of the hall, intending to hold that position like Horatius at the bridge.
Arkayn decides to cast the spell command, which—like Arlanni’s sling—will require a round to cast (remember that the rounds are greatly shortened, and thus the enemy has time to foil Arkayn’s spell; I believe this is much more realistic than the Hollywoodized concept of superpowerful wizards, and certainly makes a spellcaster pick their moment). As Arkayn is dressed in scale mail, he is counting on a better than fifty percent chance of getting the spell off.
Meanwhile Abner, unarmored and with a movement of 5, backs away down the corridor. As most of his spells are effective at fairly high ranges, the farther he is from the enemy’s thrown weapons, the better the chance that his spells won’t be ruined once they’re begun.
Party B.
Gutboy, in splinted and with a strength of 17 has a movement of 3. This means he is capable of moving one forward and attacking; however, he is five hexes away from Aggro. Plus the cleric is throwing a spell. Gutboy, however, has five proficiencies, one of them being a dagger. Requiring 1 move to draw the dagger and 2 to throw it, he hurls the dagger at Arkayn…he rolls a 15; he has no dexterity bonus (and I play with no dumbfuck armor class adjustments), but for a sixth level fighter that hits AC 1. Arkayn takes two damage and the spell is ruined.
Barjin, being a multi-classed mage/fighter, has no armor and thus has a movement of 5. As he already has his hand axe in hand (wisely prepared), he hurls it at Aggro (2 movement) as he runs forward (3 movement). This does not quite close the gap, but he knows Aggro likely cannot move forward one hex and still attack (unless Aggro has, for whatever reason, more than one attack per round, in which case the movement cost per attack is one). Barjin rolls a natural 20 (!), which causes double damage (I used to use critical hit tables, but they got annoying); he automatically rolls the d20 again (another natural “19” or “20” indicates triple damage—though 19s are ignored if the defender is wearing a helmet), and produces a 5. Barjin gets no strength bonus for his hand axe, as it was thrown (and he has a 14 strength, at any rate), but he manages to cause 6 damage. Aggro has 29 hit points, so he is not “stunned.” (“What?” you’re thinking…I will explain when someone IS).
Finally, there’s Blastum. He can see Arlanni winding up her sling, so he’s going to back up also. Like Abner, he has a movement of 5…but he only backs up two hexes, for reasons which will become clear.
At this point, Arlanni lets go her sling bullet. Close range is anything within 15 hexes (PHB, p. 38, range indicated x 3 hexes), but her companion Aggro needs support so she fires at Barjin. She rolls a 1, indicating that the sling has come out of her hand. The stone bounces harmlessly off the walls and the sling itself lands (roll 1-3 to indicate) two hexes in front of her. Arlanni swears.
2nd Round.
Balto still has initiative over Party A. He has a movement of 5 (unarmored monk), but being fairly weak it’s just not wise for him to move to where Aggro has a chance to hit him; formerly he was standing behind Barjin…Balto is still six hexes away from where Aggro is positioned. His best chance is to wait until Aggro is stunned (there’s that word again) so he can slip past and attack the spellcasters. In the meantime, he moves forward three hexes where he can use Barjin as a shield.
Party A (except for Arlanni, whose actions now follow Party B)
Aggro has little choice in action. Separated from Barjin by two hexes, he can’t advance and attack this round (this is why plate mail sucks; and why it SHOULD suck…I don’t punish players because they decide to have it, I punish them because the stuff weighs 45 pounds and is put together with screws, for shit’s sake). He could choose to drop his battle axe (no movement; sheathing it would cost him 1) and draw his hammer, enabling him to throw it the following round, but he decides not to. (If he didn’t stubbornly pick a weapon requiring two hands, he could hold both an sword and a hammer…good reasons why if you’re going to wear plate mail you should think better how you choose to defend yourself). What Aggro CAN do is advance one hex and “engage” Barjin in combat, even though Aggro doesn’t have a chance to attack this round. (Once engaged in combat Barjin has to expend 2 movement to withdraw, plus 1 more to move into an adjacent hex).
Arkayn, miserable that his spell failed, decides now to draw his mace and join Aggro. Arkayn in scale and with a 13 strength has a movement of 3. He can’t quite move forward either and attack Barjin (being separated by three hexes), but he can move forward two and additionally engage Barjin in combat (Each additional person increases the withdraw penalty by 1 move).
Abner, confidently 11 hexes from the nearest enemy, is now free to cast. He considers getting that goddurn it web scroll out of his pack because it will be pretty useful just now. Unfortunately, it’s going to take him one round to get off his pack, another to rummage through the bag, a third to uncap the scrollcase and get the blasted thing out. Then it will take another full round to read it. Instead he decides to cast his suggestion spell (the best third level spell his book allowed, having only a 15 intelligence), which will take two rounds to cast (like all third level spells).
Party B (except for Balto)
At this point, Barjin has only one escape hex…and it will cost him four movement points to enter it. Given his movement of five, he could completely retreat to a point two hexes from Aggro—but what would that accomplish? Gutboy can’t handle both Aggro and Arkayn alone, and Balto is no real help…and besides, Blastum is at the back preparing a spell. Basically, the best thing Barjin can do at this point is attack. Arkayn is an easier target. He rolls a 16, hitting AC 2. Using a long sword, he causes 6 damage. Arkayn has 22 total hit points (these useless characters from the book have no stats!) and is stunned.
(Now what, exactly, does that mean? Whenever any creature takes damage in a given round—from however many sources—which equals or exceeds one quarter of the total hit points at the beginning of that round, the creature is stunned for one round, during which time they can take no action whatsoever. The character falls back one hex—or two plus hexes if struck by a large creature, depending on the size of the creature—and there they remain. For story’s sake, they can be said to be dazed or laying on the ground…if stunned next to a vertical drop, they are allowed a dexterity check, failure indicating that they have fallen. That’s fun to run, let me tell you. If it so happens that Barjin is not stunned himself by Aggro’s next attack, he can move forward and attack Arkayn again, this time needing only 4 damage to stun him, as Arkayn’s total hit points the following round were reduced to 16. The liveliness of this comes from being able to literally beat your opponent to death without them ever having a chance to attack, if the dice favor your attack. It’s fun when it works for the players, it is amazingly distressing when it works for the creatures opposing them)
Balto remains where he is…thoroughly outclassed, he’s best held in reserve. Remember that later in the battle, it may not need much for him to keep either Aggro or Arkayn stunned.
Gutboy rushes forward to back up Barjin. He’s four hexes from Aggro, which means he can advance three and engage Aggro in combat.
Lastly, Blastum actually possesses a web spell…five hexes behind Balto, he will begin casting it. Of course, the spell only has a range of 20’ feet at Blastum’s level, so he’ll have to move forward once he’s cast the spell.
This leaves only Arlanni. Being a thief and not suited for direct combat, she has wisely filled two thin ceramic flasks with oil and has previously prepared them both with cloth wicks. These she keeps carefully in padded pouches hanging from the belt over one shoulder. In leather armor she has a movement of 4; it takes one movement to extract one flask, one movement to draw her flint and tinder, one to set the bottle on the ground and one to ready the tinder for use. The next round she will light the flask and prepare to throw it over the melee in the direction of the enemy mage…
Not that I can’t go on with this, but I’m getting a bit tired. It is a helluva a lot easier to actually run this combat than it is to describe it, along with all the rules that my players have comfortably adjusted to. I hope that this will, to some degree, help explain why combats in my game are interesting enough to draw approval. But perhaps not. Who knows? I find them a great deal more diverting than the example on p. 71 of the DMG. You decide.
P.S. I’ll finish the combat if I’m asked to.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Tibet
Above is an 1860 sketch of the Hemis Monastery, which, although indicated on the site as Tibetan, is also indicated as being under the present jurisdiction of India. The above, I think, is an interesting image in terms of D&D, suggesting a possible adventure in which monks are a) aided; b) slaughtered mercilessly; or c) no longer in residence. Obviously, there might be other possibilities.
Having finally completed the mapping of the Arabian Peninsula, I am at last, after a long period interrupted by my injury, finished with the entire Mideast, from the Libyan border to Pakistan. Some might argue that the latter is part of the Arab world, but not in the 17th century; at that time, the Indus Valley, the "Land of the Five Rivers" was firmly in the sphere of the Indian subcontinent and the Moghul Empire. Last night I began some of the sketch-work for both sides of the Karakoram and Himalaya ranges, which included Kashmir and a fair sized quarter of Tibet...which got me thinking.
An indepth geographical analysis of Tibet helps reveal the success of Buddhism among the mountains and salt deserts of the region. If there is a word to describe Tibet, it would be "isolated"...not merely from the rest of the world, but still more from itself. Tibet is a patchwork of valleys surrounded by glaciers, uninhabitable and non-arable lands, each of which exists in an unchanging, self-sustained fashion. Whatever the nearby lakes or grazing lands provide, that is what sustains the people...to travel the necessary forty or sixty miles to the next inhabited valley requires immense stamina and resolve. Most of the inhabitants, particularly before the colonial age, would never have done it, as there is very little the next distant valley, shrouded behind ranges of more than 20,000 feet, that this valley here does not have.
Most of the valleys in Tibet are between 14,000 and 17,000 feet above sea level. In the southern reaches, within two or three hundred miles of the Himalayan range, small rivers ebb from glaciers into deep lakes, frozen or partly frozen for eight to ten months of the year at those altitudes. The population is very sedentary, grouped into herders or fishermen, with the ruling class made entirely of holy men. In each valley, these holy men are respected and provided for, in a wholly feudal manner; and since the Lamaist Buddhists seek Nirvana and not earthly power, there is never any war between the valleys.
But then again, one could easily argue the lack of demand for goods encourages a social system which eschews war in favor of an eternally pacifistic, eternally unchanging culture.
What humanoid creatures, however, might exist in the D&D equivalent to Tibet? Are yeti potentially Buddhist? Are there stone giants, dwelling beneath the gentle culture, culling the working population like morlocks, even doing so with the blind eye of the lamasaries? That interests me, personally. The thought that a powerful monastery, full of various masters, would calmly disdain to stop the occasional stone giant roaming through a village choosing a tasty morsel for the evening. While the party watches, of course, their help not asked for, the villagers completely apathetic to the whole proceeding (as they accept whatever the monks say is proper). What then does the party do? Seek out the giants, possibly gaining some unexpected response from the monks? What might they be receiving from the giants in return? Or does the party confront the monks, only to discover they don't care the least about the earth-minding peasantry, being concerned only with "higher" affairs?
Interesting dilemna.
Friday, September 26, 2008
My Error
How do I explain gently and tenderly that you, my not so gentle reader, are not your character? How do I convey the proposition that when writing, I expect to be read by corporeal entities and not by fictional, abstract manifestations of those coporeal minds? How shall I make it clear that the use of the second person pronoun, i.e., "You," was implied to mean the individual whose corporeal eyes might chance to glance upon the screen and make sense of the words being used?
The above, hoity toity as it sounds, has been a carefully wrought collection of nouns, verbs, adjectives and so on, meant to convey an accurate message. The hope would be that through the use of large, specifically assigned words from the English language, they might be less misunderstanding. A vain hope, I'll grant...but being accused of vanity would be the least of recent accusations.
You, the poor, wounded reader who has come to this page and felt much maligned, are the reader of this text. And you, poor reader, are not a hero.
I have presumed that those who play the game are inclined to diligently keep track of their experience points, their gold, their equipment, their hit points and such as scores indicating their success. I presume they do that because, factually, the game involves the keeping of various scores. I was not aware there was a game out there that did not include the keeping of these scores. Whatever activities one's character might be involved in, I felt certain that YOU, the individual who was not the character, felt it was more important to be seventh level than sixth.
Apparently I have been wrong in that. And yet, I wonder...for none of the modules that I have ever seen, with or without their insistence on the behavior of characters as heroes, have lacked treasure or experience.
But I digress.
No, poor reader, I stand by what I've said. You're not a hero. However much you may choose to identify with your characters actions, you are not the great fighter of evil you pretend to be. Let me reemphasize that last: "PRETEND to be." I understand that many of you are proud of your magnificent accomplishments, the villages you've lifted from the clutches of powerful overlords, the damsels you've preserved from fates worse than death, the selfless and sacrificing actions you've taken...but dear, suffering reader, none of these things have actually happened. I know. I hate to be the first to tell you.
The social disease I spoke of referred to the contemptuous manner in which many of the pundits proporting to prop up this game insist that we all, whatever our predilictions, MUST be heroes, even though clearly that is quite impossible, as actual corporeal heroes would likely not be playing this game. I must note that none of those who answered my vicious, hurtful accusations in any manner rose to say, "I have helped actual people in their actual lives." Rather, the cry was replete with those who demanded recognition for their suppositional persona--those whom they pretend to be.
I shall try again, more briefly. I stated most clearly that I do not tell my players what to do. My players often choose not to have their characters act as heroes. My players sometimes DO have their characters act as heroes. Most of all, however, my players are preoccupied with the success of their characters in GAME terms...that is, the accumulation of wealth and power. They may choose to make believe their characters as friendly, and they may choose to make believe their characters as murderous bastards. They are FREE to make that choice, as I am a referee, and not a moral judge.
When their characters have behaved as murderous bastards--and once, yes, they did slaughter every individual within a village in order to be SURE the matter would be closed (it was not)--they have never identified themselves, their corporeal selves, as murderers. I'm quite confident that they do not think of themselves as heroes, either...unlike many of you, persecuted souls that you are.
Then there is the final, throwaway line, in reference to pillaging. I grant, a loaded word. Meant, in this context, to be a "grabber," the sort of thing that leaves the reader in the end with something to reflect upon. To pillage, to take as booty, to loot, especially as an act of war.
Perhaps I HAVE led a sheltered life. But for the life of me, I cannot recall a single instance when I have supplied a location with a large chest in which it was not opened. I cannot recall any instance where the glowing, devastating sword in an enemy's hand was not wrested from the body's cold, dead fingers once the enemy was dead. I have no experience with players, informed that a given mine is replete with gold and "hardly defended", who did not immediately make plans to loot said gold...and in looting, to fully intend to have their characters wage unremitting and absolute war against the rightful possessors of same.
I am sorry that so many have been dearly hurt by what I have said. I am sorry that so many who pretend to be heroes have turned that into pretense, fully judging themselves to be better human beings by virtue of what they have pretended to accomplish. I offer no excuses for my behavior in this regard. I addressed readers and expected comprehension. I am clearly at fault.
The above, hoity toity as it sounds, has been a carefully wrought collection of nouns, verbs, adjectives and so on, meant to convey an accurate message. The hope would be that through the use of large, specifically assigned words from the English language, they might be less misunderstanding. A vain hope, I'll grant...but being accused of vanity would be the least of recent accusations.
You, the poor, wounded reader who has come to this page and felt much maligned, are the reader of this text. And you, poor reader, are not a hero.
I have presumed that those who play the game are inclined to diligently keep track of their experience points, their gold, their equipment, their hit points and such as scores indicating their success. I presume they do that because, factually, the game involves the keeping of various scores. I was not aware there was a game out there that did not include the keeping of these scores. Whatever activities one's character might be involved in, I felt certain that YOU, the individual who was not the character, felt it was more important to be seventh level than sixth.
Apparently I have been wrong in that. And yet, I wonder...for none of the modules that I have ever seen, with or without their insistence on the behavior of characters as heroes, have lacked treasure or experience.
But I digress.
No, poor reader, I stand by what I've said. You're not a hero. However much you may choose to identify with your characters actions, you are not the great fighter of evil you pretend to be. Let me reemphasize that last: "PRETEND to be." I understand that many of you are proud of your magnificent accomplishments, the villages you've lifted from the clutches of powerful overlords, the damsels you've preserved from fates worse than death, the selfless and sacrificing actions you've taken...but dear, suffering reader, none of these things have actually happened. I know. I hate to be the first to tell you.
The social disease I spoke of referred to the contemptuous manner in which many of the pundits proporting to prop up this game insist that we all, whatever our predilictions, MUST be heroes, even though clearly that is quite impossible, as actual corporeal heroes would likely not be playing this game. I must note that none of those who answered my vicious, hurtful accusations in any manner rose to say, "I have helped actual people in their actual lives." Rather, the cry was replete with those who demanded recognition for their suppositional persona--those whom they pretend to be.
I shall try again, more briefly. I stated most clearly that I do not tell my players what to do. My players often choose not to have their characters act as heroes. My players sometimes DO have their characters act as heroes. Most of all, however, my players are preoccupied with the success of their characters in GAME terms...that is, the accumulation of wealth and power. They may choose to make believe their characters as friendly, and they may choose to make believe their characters as murderous bastards. They are FREE to make that choice, as I am a referee, and not a moral judge.
When their characters have behaved as murderous bastards--and once, yes, they did slaughter every individual within a village in order to be SURE the matter would be closed (it was not)--they have never identified themselves, their corporeal selves, as murderers. I'm quite confident that they do not think of themselves as heroes, either...unlike many of you, persecuted souls that you are.
Then there is the final, throwaway line, in reference to pillaging. I grant, a loaded word. Meant, in this context, to be a "grabber," the sort of thing that leaves the reader in the end with something to reflect upon. To pillage, to take as booty, to loot, especially as an act of war.
Perhaps I HAVE led a sheltered life. But for the life of me, I cannot recall a single instance when I have supplied a location with a large chest in which it was not opened. I cannot recall any instance where the glowing, devastating sword in an enemy's hand was not wrested from the body's cold, dead fingers once the enemy was dead. I have no experience with players, informed that a given mine is replete with gold and "hardly defended", who did not immediately make plans to loot said gold...and in looting, to fully intend to have their characters wage unremitting and absolute war against the rightful possessors of same.
I am sorry that so many have been dearly hurt by what I have said. I am sorry that so many who pretend to be heroes have turned that into pretense, fully judging themselves to be better human beings by virtue of what they have pretended to accomplish. I offer no excuses for my behavior in this regard. I addressed readers and expected comprehension. I am clearly at fault.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Death
I dislike killing player characters.
While I consider the possibility of death an absolute necessity to D&D, and as such I do kill characters when the circumstances are unavoidable, I’ve never grown comfortable with it. More often than not, my players have had to reassure me that yes, their characters did deserve to die given the events prior to and the choices they made. They usually have to tell me to stop trying to explain why I would have avoided killing them if only it wasn’t necessary for me to bend the facts.
“Facts” being unavoidable conditions…such as the dragon has the opportunity to breathe directly at the player and the player blows their saving throw. Facts like the earthquake invoked by the mage in the narrow chasm has resulted in a rock slide that has killed everyone except the thief, who happened to be using her wings of flying at that moment. Facts like the fighter refusing to disengage from the combat though he’s toe-to-toe with a frost giant and he’s down to 4 h.p.
Would that it was always that clear cut.
To make it more clear cut, I abandoned the DM’s screen during combat years ago, enabling the party to see my die rolls and thus know that every critical was honest and ever miss was honest. Once, as a DM, I used to fudge rolls in favor of the party (that critical was a “miss”), which I could do behind the screen; I’m not any more comfortable with that than I am with killing characters. Fact is, it shouldn’t matter what the dice say, or how overmatched the party is…they should be able to figure out a way to handle it and live.
Now, obviously I’m not throwing titans against third level parties and saying, “Go at it…tough luck for you.” Though I still argue the party ought to be able to talk their way out of it—why would a titan bother killing third levels? Wouldn’t he have gotten tired of that millennia ago?
Most of the time characters get killed on account of two specific faults: an unwillingness to run, and pure folly. The former outweighing the latter at about 10:1.
I’m not really clear on why parties find it so difficult to retreat. The facts of life demand that now and then players have to accept the maxim, “Run or Die.” More often than not something gets in the way of believing it’s really necessary. Like gamblers putting everything on one more throw, players tend to believe that this time the die is going to come up with a critical and the party will get on top of these monsters.
There is a moment in a battle when you know you’ve won. When the overwhelming odds, scattering the party and pressing it back against the wall, suddenly expends its momentum. Sometimes, particularly in combats against a great number of humanoids, when there are literally scores of swinging troops all over the battlefield, the exact tipping moment passes without being fully recognized. Sometimes there’s a fabulous round which slaughters seven or eight of the enemy all at once, relieving the pressure and allowing the mage to drop out of combat again (like a quarterback, sometimes the mage must face enemy getting through the line) and resume casting spells. Either way, it’s the moment parties hope for…sometimes when they should have the brains to sacrifice their losses and run.
But they don’t. They seem to hold onto the same belief as real people that somehow, death can’t happen to them. It’s particularly true with a high level character who has diligently worked their way up from 1st level (all my players begin at first level, even if they must do so in the company of those with titles). Somehow the fact that they have lived so long and avoided so many pitfalls gives them a sense of the infinite…no doubt supported by the belief that no matter what, they have the resources to be raised or, if necessary, resurrected.
Making it all the much harder when the ship they’re commanding goes down in a storm and their body irrevocably lost…or they fail the inevitable resurrection shock survival roll (which I shall hold as required until I die and they put it on my tombstone). Everyone dies. No one gets out alive. If I had a screen, that would be a good thing to write on it. Characters might then remember that I don’t decide to kill them, their own actions bring it about.
So, am I saying that you’d better not be a ship commander or a storm will get you? NO. Before the advent of any such storm, I would give plenty of warnings regarding the coming of such a storm; there would be procedures characters could undergo to protect themselves. Having ballast aboard would help. Having room below decks, and not choosing to cram every cubic inch of the ship with sugar in the interest of profit might be a step in the right direction, thus making it unnecessary for the captain to endure the storm while lashed to the mast. I’ve had players make decisions like that, foolish decisions, resulting in the die forcing me to sink ships and smash masts and the like.
Folly, unlike the choice to flee, is a far more insidious means of having your player killed. I have seen players begin campaigns in arctic climates who failed, upon being given starting capital, to buy coats, gloves, caps or even boots…yet be fully stocked with six daggers, three hand axes and a fully equipped horse. They have bought torches with no means to light them; lanterns with no oil; swords with no whetstone to keep them sharp; arrows without quivers; plates and cups without backpacks to put them in. I’ve had players argue they could keep coins and gems in their mouths, which I’ve agreed to, only to laugh when they’ve been knocked into the water and have had to swim and breathe.
I’ve had players deliberately sleep in the rain rather than “waste” money on a tent and the means to haul it. Players who have deliberately tried to cross mountain passes in the dead of winter, without even snowshoes, believing that somehow snow and cold and hard labor don’t result in hypothermia, and that even so it couldn’t affect someone with an 18 constitution. Players who have died drinking from muddy puddles in the desert because they forgot to use the purify water spell they possessed; who have realized only after the fact that they could have avoided the whole encounter with the wraith if only they’d remembered the protection from undead scroll in their backpack; who, after time and time again having the opportunity to identify a potion, find they have to drink it and “hope for the best” because they never did.
It would be nice to think that all players are terribly clever nerds, but anyone can forget something stuffed into a backpack ten months ago, scratched hastily on page 8 of their character sheet, only to be discovered long after the item would have been useful.
And still, I hate to kill characters. I get no pleasure from it, no sense that I’ve “succeeded” in making my world a harsh, difficult place to live. I would rather everyone had a chance to make it through, to rise up to be masters of all they survey…yes, “paper masters” if it must be noted…but it wouldn’t mean anything if everyone automatically reached their destination.
It’s admirable when a party is made of participants who have all lost somebody along the way: sometimes with lament, sometimes with a sour humour (yeah, I really fucked up on that one), rarely without a thought (I did have a henchman rise as a wraith once and drain a couple of levels off the druid because the player failed to bury and say words over his faithful follower—the party buries everyone now, fanatically).
I don’t think it’s a good idea for DMs to intervene in the death of a character. I think, however much I dislike it, there is a fundamental need for me to remain separate from the misery that sometimes accompanies the game. Not unsympathetic, mind, just separate. This hand might pat you on the shoulder, but this other hand continues to hold onto the die that killed you, unremitting.
While I consider the possibility of death an absolute necessity to D&D, and as such I do kill characters when the circumstances are unavoidable, I’ve never grown comfortable with it. More often than not, my players have had to reassure me that yes, their characters did deserve to die given the events prior to and the choices they made. They usually have to tell me to stop trying to explain why I would have avoided killing them if only it wasn’t necessary for me to bend the facts.
“Facts” being unavoidable conditions…such as the dragon has the opportunity to breathe directly at the player and the player blows their saving throw. Facts like the earthquake invoked by the mage in the narrow chasm has resulted in a rock slide that has killed everyone except the thief, who happened to be using her wings of flying at that moment. Facts like the fighter refusing to disengage from the combat though he’s toe-to-toe with a frost giant and he’s down to 4 h.p.
Would that it was always that clear cut.
To make it more clear cut, I abandoned the DM’s screen during combat years ago, enabling the party to see my die rolls and thus know that every critical was honest and ever miss was honest. Once, as a DM, I used to fudge rolls in favor of the party (that critical was a “miss”), which I could do behind the screen; I’m not any more comfortable with that than I am with killing characters. Fact is, it shouldn’t matter what the dice say, or how overmatched the party is…they should be able to figure out a way to handle it and live.
Now, obviously I’m not throwing titans against third level parties and saying, “Go at it…tough luck for you.” Though I still argue the party ought to be able to talk their way out of it—why would a titan bother killing third levels? Wouldn’t he have gotten tired of that millennia ago?
Most of the time characters get killed on account of two specific faults: an unwillingness to run, and pure folly. The former outweighing the latter at about 10:1.
I’m not really clear on why parties find it so difficult to retreat. The facts of life demand that now and then players have to accept the maxim, “Run or Die.” More often than not something gets in the way of believing it’s really necessary. Like gamblers putting everything on one more throw, players tend to believe that this time the die is going to come up with a critical and the party will get on top of these monsters.
There is a moment in a battle when you know you’ve won. When the overwhelming odds, scattering the party and pressing it back against the wall, suddenly expends its momentum. Sometimes, particularly in combats against a great number of humanoids, when there are literally scores of swinging troops all over the battlefield, the exact tipping moment passes without being fully recognized. Sometimes there’s a fabulous round which slaughters seven or eight of the enemy all at once, relieving the pressure and allowing the mage to drop out of combat again (like a quarterback, sometimes the mage must face enemy getting through the line) and resume casting spells. Either way, it’s the moment parties hope for…sometimes when they should have the brains to sacrifice their losses and run.
But they don’t. They seem to hold onto the same belief as real people that somehow, death can’t happen to them. It’s particularly true with a high level character who has diligently worked their way up from 1st level (all my players begin at first level, even if they must do so in the company of those with titles). Somehow the fact that they have lived so long and avoided so many pitfalls gives them a sense of the infinite…no doubt supported by the belief that no matter what, they have the resources to be raised or, if necessary, resurrected.
Making it all the much harder when the ship they’re commanding goes down in a storm and their body irrevocably lost…or they fail the inevitable resurrection shock survival roll (which I shall hold as required until I die and they put it on my tombstone). Everyone dies. No one gets out alive. If I had a screen, that would be a good thing to write on it. Characters might then remember that I don’t decide to kill them, their own actions bring it about.
So, am I saying that you’d better not be a ship commander or a storm will get you? NO. Before the advent of any such storm, I would give plenty of warnings regarding the coming of such a storm; there would be procedures characters could undergo to protect themselves. Having ballast aboard would help. Having room below decks, and not choosing to cram every cubic inch of the ship with sugar in the interest of profit might be a step in the right direction, thus making it unnecessary for the captain to endure the storm while lashed to the mast. I’ve had players make decisions like that, foolish decisions, resulting in the die forcing me to sink ships and smash masts and the like.
Folly, unlike the choice to flee, is a far more insidious means of having your player killed. I have seen players begin campaigns in arctic climates who failed, upon being given starting capital, to buy coats, gloves, caps or even boots…yet be fully stocked with six daggers, three hand axes and a fully equipped horse. They have bought torches with no means to light them; lanterns with no oil; swords with no whetstone to keep them sharp; arrows without quivers; plates and cups without backpacks to put them in. I’ve had players argue they could keep coins and gems in their mouths, which I’ve agreed to, only to laugh when they’ve been knocked into the water and have had to swim and breathe.
I’ve had players deliberately sleep in the rain rather than “waste” money on a tent and the means to haul it. Players who have deliberately tried to cross mountain passes in the dead of winter, without even snowshoes, believing that somehow snow and cold and hard labor don’t result in hypothermia, and that even so it couldn’t affect someone with an 18 constitution. Players who have died drinking from muddy puddles in the desert because they forgot to use the purify water spell they possessed; who have realized only after the fact that they could have avoided the whole encounter with the wraith if only they’d remembered the protection from undead scroll in their backpack; who, after time and time again having the opportunity to identify a potion, find they have to drink it and “hope for the best” because they never did.
It would be nice to think that all players are terribly clever nerds, but anyone can forget something stuffed into a backpack ten months ago, scratched hastily on page 8 of their character sheet, only to be discovered long after the item would have been useful.
And still, I hate to kill characters. I get no pleasure from it, no sense that I’ve “succeeded” in making my world a harsh, difficult place to live. I would rather everyone had a chance to make it through, to rise up to be masters of all they survey…yes, “paper masters” if it must be noted…but it wouldn’t mean anything if everyone automatically reached their destination.
It’s admirable when a party is made of participants who have all lost somebody along the way: sometimes with lament, sometimes with a sour humour (yeah, I really fucked up on that one), rarely without a thought (I did have a henchman rise as a wraith once and drain a couple of levels off the druid because the player failed to bury and say words over his faithful follower—the party buries everyone now, fanatically).
I don’t think it’s a good idea for DMs to intervene in the death of a character. I think, however much I dislike it, there is a fundamental need for me to remain separate from the misery that sometimes accompanies the game. Not unsympathetic, mind, just separate. This hand might pat you on the shoulder, but this other hand continues to hold onto the die that killed you, unremitting.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
You're Not a Fucking Hero
I must confess, some of this post was inspired by a post by JM, master of "Call of the Dungeon," which I shall get around to adding to my links when I am not quite as lazy as this.
His post is about NPCs as heroes and the player characters who are compelled to love them, among other pertinent issues. I would like to make a slightly different point.
None of my players is a "hero" in any sense of the word. Being in my campaign, and having really no requirements on their person to DO anything beyond what they have a mind to, most of their personal motivation tends to be towards A) wealth and B) gaining another level...A being somewhat helpful in acquiring B.
As a DM, I am supposed to be A) appalled and B) bored. I'm not, actually. There are so many interesting ways to frustrate a party's interest in either of their goals that I am rarely bored. As for being appalled, I have no idea why. Is not the goal in Monopoly to gain wealth and land and wipe out your competitors? Isn't that the goal in life? I don't see the problem.
I have been running campaigns since 1980, and I have had my basic philosophy about being a DM since pretty much day one...though it took years to hone it to a fine edge. I don't want to tell players what to do. I understood from the beginning that my role as DM was referee. A referee does not play the game. He or she does not tell players how to play the game. That is why there are different words to define the different roles involved.
I have never known a single player to express any desire whatsoever to forsake either wealth or experience in favor of making an NPC's life more rich and full...that is, to risk death to free a village. I have met a few players who were prepared to forsake wealth and experience in order to be an enormous jackass, mocking both the game and the other players, and they have been ejected from my campaigns as necessary. But really, I don't think it fills anyone's heart to know that somewhere, in someone's imagination, there are a bunch of make believe people living happier lives, although I had to sacrifice my sixteenth level paladin to make it so.
What a bunch of fucking HOOEY that mindset is.
There are those who play obstensibly towards such goals. Because they are FORCED to, by DMs who think in terms of story lines and who doggedly drive their players through campaign after campaign with carrots and sticks. And because it is well recognized that a player would be royally pissed off should his paladin die for some bullshit paper village, such DMs are absolutely required to ensure that when a player dies (if ever), it only happens outside the door of some enormous carrot...*cough, cough*...I mean treasure.
Such players in such campaigns are not heroes either. They are pawns, slaves, dupes, addicts (how else do you explain their willingness to continue in such campaigns?) and woefully uninformed. But they're not "heroes." They are not self-sacrificing themselves for anything.
This whole fucking hero perception of the game is a deep, sickening disease, one that has single-handedly created 4e and which distorts hopelessly the majority of the participants not just in D&D, but all RPGs. The rise of the mythology of the hero has kept step with the same social disease which says that none of us are allowed to live for ourselves except in terms of how we pretend to live for the sakes of other people. Oh, we can gather treasure and get powerful, but we have to do it on the sly, we can't just slaughter for pleasure...we must pay lip service to the greater good.
WHAT is this fucking social religion doing in my D&D game? And what is the greater good in a fantasy setting, except the myopically programmed vision of a DM who can't think for himself, but must follow the never ending deluge of shit texts poured out from the mind of corporate games designers?
No heroes, please. Let's all be pillagers, like the game intended.
His post is about NPCs as heroes and the player characters who are compelled to love them, among other pertinent issues. I would like to make a slightly different point.
None of my players is a "hero" in any sense of the word. Being in my campaign, and having really no requirements on their person to DO anything beyond what they have a mind to, most of their personal motivation tends to be towards A) wealth and B) gaining another level...A being somewhat helpful in acquiring B.
As a DM, I am supposed to be A) appalled and B) bored. I'm not, actually. There are so many interesting ways to frustrate a party's interest in either of their goals that I am rarely bored. As for being appalled, I have no idea why. Is not the goal in Monopoly to gain wealth and land and wipe out your competitors? Isn't that the goal in life? I don't see the problem.
I have been running campaigns since 1980, and I have had my basic philosophy about being a DM since pretty much day one...though it took years to hone it to a fine edge. I don't want to tell players what to do. I understood from the beginning that my role as DM was referee. A referee does not play the game. He or she does not tell players how to play the game. That is why there are different words to define the different roles involved.
I have never known a single player to express any desire whatsoever to forsake either wealth or experience in favor of making an NPC's life more rich and full...that is, to risk death to free a village. I have met a few players who were prepared to forsake wealth and experience in order to be an enormous jackass, mocking both the game and the other players, and they have been ejected from my campaigns as necessary. But really, I don't think it fills anyone's heart to know that somewhere, in someone's imagination, there are a bunch of make believe people living happier lives, although I had to sacrifice my sixteenth level paladin to make it so.
What a bunch of fucking HOOEY that mindset is.
There are those who play obstensibly towards such goals. Because they are FORCED to, by DMs who think in terms of story lines and who doggedly drive their players through campaign after campaign with carrots and sticks. And because it is well recognized that a player would be royally pissed off should his paladin die for some bullshit paper village, such DMs are absolutely required to ensure that when a player dies (if ever), it only happens outside the door of some enormous carrot...*cough, cough*...I mean treasure.
Such players in such campaigns are not heroes either. They are pawns, slaves, dupes, addicts (how else do you explain their willingness to continue in such campaigns?) and woefully uninformed. But they're not "heroes." They are not self-sacrificing themselves for anything.
This whole fucking hero perception of the game is a deep, sickening disease, one that has single-handedly created 4e and which distorts hopelessly the majority of the participants not just in D&D, but all RPGs. The rise of the mythology of the hero has kept step with the same social disease which says that none of us are allowed to live for ourselves except in terms of how we pretend to live for the sakes of other people. Oh, we can gather treasure and get powerful, but we have to do it on the sly, we can't just slaughter for pleasure...we must pay lip service to the greater good.
WHAT is this fucking social religion doing in my D&D game? And what is the greater good in a fantasy setting, except the myopically programmed vision of a DM who can't think for himself, but must follow the never ending deluge of shit texts poured out from the mind of corporate games designers?
No heroes, please. Let's all be pillagers, like the game intended.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Noodling with Stats
One afternoon about two years ago I was noodling around with the statistics involved with the various player abilities, and came up with an interesting formula. It involves the manner in which abilities are acquired from birth.
Now, I must take a moment to firmly establish that I play only the AD&D books; I haven’t seen any articles which might apply in this instance, I’m not familiar with anything from 3e or 4e which might apply, and if you’re not familiar with the simple character generation of 3d6 for player abilities then you might not get this. I don’t care, really…I just felt a disclaimer at this time was appropriate.
My suggestion is this. A baby is born with 1 ability point (I’ll explain why later). Each year, as the baby grows older, 1 to 7 ability points are added (2d4 minus 1). These might be distributed randomly or not. In the beginning, you could decide that each ability has to be filled by 1 point before any further randomization could occur.
What I mean is, until strength, intelligence, wisdom, etc. are each at one point, none of them can equal 2. If, as it happens, you roll 1 point to be added in the baby’s first year, it could mean that the baby’s strength and constitution (or any other two attributes) would equal one (don’t forget we started with one) and all other abilities would still equal zero…which would mean the baby was a sickly child, not likely to live past its first disease.
On the other hand, if the baby rolled a 7 in its first year, allocate one point to each ability and the allocate the two extra points randomly (d6). This would be a robust child.
I’m an advocate of the random delegation for each point, as I believe this would make the child more interesting. Particularly as 1-7 points are added for each year, or a total of 10 times for a child of 10. As the average of 1 to 7 on 2-four-sided dice is “4”, the total average for a 10-year-old would be 41. If we add 1 point at the age of 10, this makes it a nice, round 42.
This is coincidentally the same average you would get if you rolled 2d6 for each ability stat.
However, the above system is more random. It could be that a 10-year-old child might have an unlikely 18 strength (each point after adding 1-10% or possibly 1-20%, depending on the DM) or other ability, or be severely lacking in some characteristic. You could establish a maximum of 18 or 19 for every ability (future points would be allocated elsewhere), and a minimum of 2 points in each ability at the age of 10 (or not).
From this pool of 10 year olds, schoolmasters might pick their students for training as fighters, thieves, mages or monks. The best students would be those who wound up with freaky totals, such as being 10 with a 14 wisdom or a 13 dexterity. Those who got all average rolls, with nothing above an 8, would be discarded as bad apples.
You might even make the argument that bad genetics returns constantly bad apples, so that among peasants the return is consistently low rolls amounting to an addition of only 32-41 during the course of a child’s first 10 years, while an increase of 43-53 is more common for a member of the nobility. You could muck around for awhile creating tables along those lines…that’s up to you.
At any rate, a particular child whose average at 10 is in the 43+ range gets selected for training. Some that are trained are dropped for attitude or lack of funds, or otherwise fail, while a small percentage rise to leveled class.
The difference between 2d6 per ability and 3d6 per ability is a total of 21 points. If we presume that the over the age of 11 to 15 the individual continues to gain 1-7 points of ability per year, and we add 1 point for the reaching the age of 15, this conveniently works out to the same number of points gained: 21.
Unlike the first 42 the individual gains, these are ability stats gained through training. No training, no gain in stats.
Now, in terms of the distribution of those 21 points, you may again opt for a completely random system, or you may devise a die roll for particular classes. For example, a thief rolls a d8 for each point gained; 1-5 indicates each of the other abilities besides dexterity, while 6-8 indicates dexterity. A ranger could roll a d12: 1-3 strength, 1-2 intelligence, 1-2 wisdom, 1-3 constitution, 1 dexterity, 1 charisma. It’s up to you.
The result would be, by the age of 15, the individual would have his or her normal average ability stats…a maximum of 108, a minimum of 18. Work it out if you like. Its not very likely that you’ll roll six “3”s or six “18”s on 3d6, but the average, the minimum and the maximums are the same as the system above.
Fascinating, huh?
I personally wouldn’t use this system to roll up characters (takes too long, for one thing), and I use the old method of rolling 4d6 and ignoring the lowest die anyway. However, I would use this system to roll a child, and I would certainly use it year by year if a player of mine had an offspring (alas, when a player of mine did about fifteen years ago, this system never occurred to me).
What I find particularly interesting is the way the system breaks down the various potential classes of society.
Look here. Suppose we consider that peasant class, giving them 2d6 automatically, making them weaker in both body and mind than virtually every educated or healthy person. This would be a good reflection of the actual state of the peasantry during the late Middle Ages—more subsceptible to disease (lower ability means lower ability check), less robust, less likely to have ever read anything or know anything, more likely to have idiots as part of their population, generally less attractive on account of their lifestyle…and so on.
This doesn’t mean that a peasant might not be leveled; all that is required for fighter is a 9 strength. A thief merely needs a 9 dexterity. It would eliminate the chance for a paladin, however, or an illusionist.
Now let’s consider a class above ordinary serf: the laborer. Not an extraordinary example of humankind, but possessing a particular skill above and beyond the typical peasant. Let’s suppose that during their teenage years they received some training…in only one ability. This might mean that a coolee would have 2d6 in five of his ability stats, but 3d6 in strength. A courtesan might have 3d6 in charisma; an actor in intelligence; a juggler, in dexterity.
(I never liked the idea of actors, dancers and such being classes. These are not particularly difficult professions to enter; if you don’t believe me, go join an acting troop and ask yourself how bright these people are).
Now, lets take the next social class, that of artisan. These are individuals who have not just a particular trait, but dual traits enabling them to perform more difficult tasks. A cabinet-maker needs intelligence and dexterity; a blacksmith needs strength and constitution; a con-artist needs charisma and wisdom. Whatever the particular needs, assume that the individual has two ability characteristics of 3d6, and four of 2d6. A truly dedicated artisan, like a stonecutter (strength, dexterity and constitution), might have three abilities of 3d6.
The point being, each social class is partially defined not just by its likely hit points, but also by the range of abilities it possesses. Thus, a full-fledged leveled individual would have 3d6 for his or her abilities in each characteristic.
This is not the end, however. What about characters better than ordinary leveled persons?
We already presume that player characters have a better average than just 3d6. Why not a given ability of 4d6 (with maximums or not, depending on the deity-status of the individual)? Either with the player condition of the top three of the four dice, or just all four dice added together to give an average of 14 and thus a common 17 or 18 ability in their primary stat?
We could easily presume that zealots, adventurers, heroes, commanders, lesser nobility and greater nobility would have, progressively, 1 to 6 of their characteristics equalling 4d6 instead of 3d6. Thus, ordinary leveled persons, guardsmen, sages, unadventurious priests, embezzlers and such would have lower stats, while ship captains, dukes and overlords would be expected to have their abilities overloaded with 17s, 18s and even 19s.
I’ve tried it. Gets good results.
Now, I must take a moment to firmly establish that I play only the AD&D books; I haven’t seen any articles which might apply in this instance, I’m not familiar with anything from 3e or 4e which might apply, and if you’re not familiar with the simple character generation of 3d6 for player abilities then you might not get this. I don’t care, really…I just felt a disclaimer at this time was appropriate.
My suggestion is this. A baby is born with 1 ability point (I’ll explain why later). Each year, as the baby grows older, 1 to 7 ability points are added (2d4 minus 1). These might be distributed randomly or not. In the beginning, you could decide that each ability has to be filled by 1 point before any further randomization could occur.
What I mean is, until strength, intelligence, wisdom, etc. are each at one point, none of them can equal 2. If, as it happens, you roll 1 point to be added in the baby’s first year, it could mean that the baby’s strength and constitution (or any other two attributes) would equal one (don’t forget we started with one) and all other abilities would still equal zero…which would mean the baby was a sickly child, not likely to live past its first disease.
On the other hand, if the baby rolled a 7 in its first year, allocate one point to each ability and the allocate the two extra points randomly (d6). This would be a robust child.
I’m an advocate of the random delegation for each point, as I believe this would make the child more interesting. Particularly as 1-7 points are added for each year, or a total of 10 times for a child of 10. As the average of 1 to 7 on 2-four-sided dice is “4”, the total average for a 10-year-old would be 41. If we add 1 point at the age of 10, this makes it a nice, round 42.
This is coincidentally the same average you would get if you rolled 2d6 for each ability stat.
However, the above system is more random. It could be that a 10-year-old child might have an unlikely 18 strength (each point after adding 1-10% or possibly 1-20%, depending on the DM) or other ability, or be severely lacking in some characteristic. You could establish a maximum of 18 or 19 for every ability (future points would be allocated elsewhere), and a minimum of 2 points in each ability at the age of 10 (or not).
From this pool of 10 year olds, schoolmasters might pick their students for training as fighters, thieves, mages or monks. The best students would be those who wound up with freaky totals, such as being 10 with a 14 wisdom or a 13 dexterity. Those who got all average rolls, with nothing above an 8, would be discarded as bad apples.
You might even make the argument that bad genetics returns constantly bad apples, so that among peasants the return is consistently low rolls amounting to an addition of only 32-41 during the course of a child’s first 10 years, while an increase of 43-53 is more common for a member of the nobility. You could muck around for awhile creating tables along those lines…that’s up to you.
At any rate, a particular child whose average at 10 is in the 43+ range gets selected for training. Some that are trained are dropped for attitude or lack of funds, or otherwise fail, while a small percentage rise to leveled class.
The difference between 2d6 per ability and 3d6 per ability is a total of 21 points. If we presume that the over the age of 11 to 15 the individual continues to gain 1-7 points of ability per year, and we add 1 point for the reaching the age of 15, this conveniently works out to the same number of points gained: 21.
Unlike the first 42 the individual gains, these are ability stats gained through training. No training, no gain in stats.
Now, in terms of the distribution of those 21 points, you may again opt for a completely random system, or you may devise a die roll for particular classes. For example, a thief rolls a d8 for each point gained; 1-5 indicates each of the other abilities besides dexterity, while 6-8 indicates dexterity. A ranger could roll a d12: 1-3 strength, 1-2 intelligence, 1-2 wisdom, 1-3 constitution, 1 dexterity, 1 charisma. It’s up to you.
The result would be, by the age of 15, the individual would have his or her normal average ability stats…a maximum of 108, a minimum of 18. Work it out if you like. Its not very likely that you’ll roll six “3”s or six “18”s on 3d6, but the average, the minimum and the maximums are the same as the system above.
Fascinating, huh?
I personally wouldn’t use this system to roll up characters (takes too long, for one thing), and I use the old method of rolling 4d6 and ignoring the lowest die anyway. However, I would use this system to roll a child, and I would certainly use it year by year if a player of mine had an offspring (alas, when a player of mine did about fifteen years ago, this system never occurred to me).
What I find particularly interesting is the way the system breaks down the various potential classes of society.
Look here. Suppose we consider that peasant class, giving them 2d6 automatically, making them weaker in both body and mind than virtually every educated or healthy person. This would be a good reflection of the actual state of the peasantry during the late Middle Ages—more subsceptible to disease (lower ability means lower ability check), less robust, less likely to have ever read anything or know anything, more likely to have idiots as part of their population, generally less attractive on account of their lifestyle…and so on.
This doesn’t mean that a peasant might not be leveled; all that is required for fighter is a 9 strength. A thief merely needs a 9 dexterity. It would eliminate the chance for a paladin, however, or an illusionist.
Now let’s consider a class above ordinary serf: the laborer. Not an extraordinary example of humankind, but possessing a particular skill above and beyond the typical peasant. Let’s suppose that during their teenage years they received some training…in only one ability. This might mean that a coolee would have 2d6 in five of his ability stats, but 3d6 in strength. A courtesan might have 3d6 in charisma; an actor in intelligence; a juggler, in dexterity.
(I never liked the idea of actors, dancers and such being classes. These are not particularly difficult professions to enter; if you don’t believe me, go join an acting troop and ask yourself how bright these people are).
Now, lets take the next social class, that of artisan. These are individuals who have not just a particular trait, but dual traits enabling them to perform more difficult tasks. A cabinet-maker needs intelligence and dexterity; a blacksmith needs strength and constitution; a con-artist needs charisma and wisdom. Whatever the particular needs, assume that the individual has two ability characteristics of 3d6, and four of 2d6. A truly dedicated artisan, like a stonecutter (strength, dexterity and constitution), might have three abilities of 3d6.
The point being, each social class is partially defined not just by its likely hit points, but also by the range of abilities it possesses. Thus, a full-fledged leveled individual would have 3d6 for his or her abilities in each characteristic.
This is not the end, however. What about characters better than ordinary leveled persons?
We already presume that player characters have a better average than just 3d6. Why not a given ability of 4d6 (with maximums or not, depending on the deity-status of the individual)? Either with the player condition of the top three of the four dice, or just all four dice added together to give an average of 14 and thus a common 17 or 18 ability in their primary stat?
We could easily presume that zealots, adventurers, heroes, commanders, lesser nobility and greater nobility would have, progressively, 1 to 6 of their characteristics equalling 4d6 instead of 3d6. Thus, ordinary leveled persons, guardsmen, sages, unadventurious priests, embezzlers and such would have lower stats, while ship captains, dukes and overlords would be expected to have their abilities overloaded with 17s, 18s and even 19s.
I’ve tried it. Gets good results.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Sand, Sand and, oh what the hell, Sand
Oh no, the real world is a boring place for D&D.
I've been steadily working my way around the outside of the Arabian Peninsula, down from the irrigated lands around Mecca and into Yemen, the highlands of Sheba, the scattered lands of Hadramaut and southern Oman, the Portuguese colony of Sur and the somewhat lusher lands along the south shore of the Gulf of Oman. And I have this to say.
I am sick to fucking death of deserts.
Ah, but I don't get to pick. I'm on a quest to map what's there, and being the purist I am I won't just inject a big fertile area in the middle of Arabia to reduce the boredom. There are lots of fertile areas in the world. There need to be vast, featureless, empty deserts also.
The world is a very, very big place. I keep getting reminded of that.
I estimate that I've done about 10% of the world's land area to date. That's about four and a half year's work. So, by the time I'm 90, I'll be done.
'tis to laugh.
Frankly, I don't really care how long it takes me. I enjoy doing it.
Which helps with the fact that I'm right now mapping out an area which my party will probably never visit. They hate deserts (after having spent months in the Kara Kum, Turan and eastern Persia), and aren't likely to wander around the fringes of the Rub' al Khali.
But I'm working on it anyway, partly because I like it, and partly because I need to define the edges of the Peninsula so I can compute shipping distances between India (which I have only a circle on a map) and Egypt, as well as other regions along the Red Sea. Up until now I've been guessing at that distance...and I do like to be precise.
So I'll add a piece of Hadramaut just for the hell of it. I honestly doubt most people would be able to identify this coast on a map.
Yes, I know, there are a number of labels missing, what are the flats, mountains, rivers, so on...at some point I'll muck about doing that, but usually I just refer to an atlas.
If you want more information about what's shown, I suggest reading a book. As opposed to someone's cheap adventure design.
I've been steadily working my way around the outside of the Arabian Peninsula, down from the irrigated lands around Mecca and into Yemen, the highlands of Sheba, the scattered lands of Hadramaut and southern Oman, the Portuguese colony of Sur and the somewhat lusher lands along the south shore of the Gulf of Oman. And I have this to say.
I am sick to fucking death of deserts.
Ah, but I don't get to pick. I'm on a quest to map what's there, and being the purist I am I won't just inject a big fertile area in the middle of Arabia to reduce the boredom. There are lots of fertile areas in the world. There need to be vast, featureless, empty deserts also.
The world is a very, very big place. I keep getting reminded of that.
I estimate that I've done about 10% of the world's land area to date. That's about four and a half year's work. So, by the time I'm 90, I'll be done.
'tis to laugh.
Frankly, I don't really care how long it takes me. I enjoy doing it.
Which helps with the fact that I'm right now mapping out an area which my party will probably never visit. They hate deserts (after having spent months in the Kara Kum, Turan and eastern Persia), and aren't likely to wander around the fringes of the Rub' al Khali.
But I'm working on it anyway, partly because I like it, and partly because I need to define the edges of the Peninsula so I can compute shipping distances between India (which I have only a circle on a map) and Egypt, as well as other regions along the Red Sea. Up until now I've been guessing at that distance...and I do like to be precise.
So I'll add a piece of Hadramaut just for the hell of it. I honestly doubt most people would be able to identify this coast on a map.
Yes, I know, there are a number of labels missing, what are the flats, mountains, rivers, so on...at some point I'll muck about doing that, but usually I just refer to an atlas.
If you want more information about what's shown, I suggest reading a book. As opposed to someone's cheap adventure design.
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