Animal riding was a second field in the fighter skills we want to add. I know I've already given an overview of this - of everything about what I want to do for the fighter - but as I said, I'm thinking through the process by writing these posts.
I'm still not happy with 'Cavalry' as the name for this field. I could change the name to 'Mounted Animals' or use the title of this post . . . neither strikes me as offering the dignity the field deserves. Ah well.
We need to remember that in keeping the format I've been using for sage abilities, the field is broken down into studies, which are in turn allow abilities. These studies are not interchangeable. For example, from yesterday's post, we can't assume that someone with the ability to fight with a shield automatically possesses the ability to avoid being surprised. We can therefore think of these two things as aspects of two different studies (En Garde & Awareness) that would each be included under the general heading Prowess.
The most rational way to separate the field of Animal Riding is by animal, making the argument that riding a horse is NOT the same as riding a pegasus, a hippogriff or a hippocampus, however horselike the other creatures may appear. It might be remembered that the player taking the field as their own, and then the specialty/study in that field, does mean they get knowledge points for other of the field's studies. Thus, some knowledge at riding a pegasus is gained when learning to ride a horse - just as some skill is gained at learning to ride any other animal. I'm not saying that the individual animals are isolated in their skill-set; only that if you're trained to ride a horse, you'll always be better at riding a horse than you will at some other animal.
We have a very wide range of animals to choose from. There are those mentioned above, along with griffons, elephants, oliphants, unicorns, direwolves, oxen, donkeys, mules, giant lizards, the giant striders of firenewts, nightmares, wyverns, sea horses, dragons . . . and if so desired, non-domesticated animals like bears, zebras, eels, tigers (like the Lady from Niger) or catfish (like Slue-foot Sue) . . . and whatever the hell else we want to add. I grew up on Gor (yes, yes, I know, I know) so I am partial to tarns, high and low tharlarions and kailla (pictured earlier).
This list gets long and yet it seems to me best to keep them separated - and even to add to the list as we think of more thing to add. I'm sure on some level that riding an elephant offers some kind of comparable ability that's useful in riding a catfish.
To get a sense for what those abilities should be, however, we merely need to follow the practices involved with horses.
First, most of these animals are very dangerous. Means of approach, feeding the animal, demeanour when in the animal's presence - these are the first things an amateur learns. Before anyone can begin the process of actually climbing aboard the animal, an important first step is in not being eaten. We can assume that with anything - including a donkey or a horse - that there's a fairly good chance that a rube is going to get a good hard kick or a nasty bite - even if the animal has been broken.
That is obviously a second problem. It is easier to ride a creature that someone else has broken that it would be to breaking the animal ourselves. At the same time, there might be animals that must be broken by the rider - that in turn will attack any other rider as a deadly enemy. A unicorn, for example, surely fits this; for all we know, a catfish or a nightmare may act in the same manner. This will make some of these animals much harder to ride, since breaking an animal seems a little more appropriate for an Authority than an Amateur. Choosing to learn to ride a big nasty beast may not be a good idea at low levels - simply because the character will have to wait four or five levels anyway before they have enough knowledge points to overcome the animal's thinking process.
Unlike horses, not all of the above are social herd animals. Giant eagles (tarns) certainly are not, nor are most lizards and certainly not wyverns and dragons. Therefore the argument that these creatures can be relied upon to follow a leader, like a horse, is questionable. The knowledge needed, therefore, is in communicating with these animals on the animal's level - and that, I argue, is something that cannot be simply improvised. Making an arrangement between rider and dragon would be something on the level of explaining to a fire chief (without prior training) how to fight a fire. We're not going to bullshit our way through that interview! A lot of these animals are very smart, they have peculiar belief systems and they will want to hear certain things. Knowledge of how to ride these beasts will not be just getting into the saddle and kicking with one's feet.
Too, many of these beasts don't have the fight or flight instinct that horses have. Oh, they have a fight or flight instinct; its only that the fight is a little more pronounced with some. Just a bit. Some of these animals are legitimately batshit crazy. Some knowledge abilities have to take that into account. Perhaps it all comes down to how the animal is fed. Or kept at night. Or how much love they get. It all matters.
Finally, of course, there's the question of raising the animal. As before, some of these animals may be impossible to 'break.' Some of these may need to be raised from an egg or a . . . what do you call them, a 'foul'? The raising process of these animals is crucial.
Those things are enough of a framework to grant a lot of abilities that have absolutely nothing to do with actually riding the animal. Riding the animal is a whole other ball game. Can the rider actually fight from the animal's back? What weapons can be used? How much will the animal maneuver without needing direction? Will the animal dive and catch a falling rider or go merry-by as the rider crashes to a certain death? These are all things the reader may count on me addressing.
Saturday, July 11, 2015
Friday, July 10, 2015
Prowess
Let's try this again, but without the barn. No promises, though.
Looking at Prowess from two posts back.
We don't want to adjust weapon damage and the number of attacks. Nor do we want to screw with armor class or hit points. There are plenty of rules that have already been created in old D&D and a lot of new systems that modify these things. My personal feeling is that AD&D works when adapted by the combat system I use.
Regarding that combat system. Sigh. I've tried so many times to express it here on the blog and I think it always misses the mark (here or here). I started writing it out as a rule system, but between the complexity of the system and the limitations of blogs, it never has seemed to get off the ground. Which is funny, since it seems to take two combats for a player to adjust to the system and figure out how to play it. It is very hands on, very adaptable, very open to the player improvising and on the whole very easy to learn. Not that it seems that way here.
I know that the fighter sage abilities and the study of Prowess will mean a lot of time spent putting up combat rules online. But that's what the wiki is for.
So, staying away from the things above, what rules can we create? Lots, actually. First, we have to start with some premises of the AD&D game (which will in some ways apply to most other systems). Grognards can skip this next paragraph:
Combatants meet and we decide if anyone is surprised. We calculate the distance between them, roll initiative, then one side begins resolving combat. Decisions to parley instead of fighting are made, weapons are drawn, potential grenade missiles are pulled out, spells are cast. Combatants approach, they charge, they fall back, they enter melee or they fire missiles. They may attempt to pummel, grapple or overbear. We figure out the number of combatants per defender, make rolls to see which defender the attacker attacks out of those within reach. Frontage, flanks, rear attacks all adjust chance to hit. One side takes damage, morale is rolled, one side flees, the other chooses to pursue or not. This is basically the formula.
Well, there's a lot we can change. Improved initiative, lack of surprise, speed at drawing weapons, using items we usually don't think of as weapons, improved chance of grenade placement or breaking of grenade (spin the oil bottle, it breaks), morale in the face of charges, limiting friendly fire from missiles, employing tools to pummel, adding judo to grappling, improved overbearing regardless of weight, able to reduce number of attackers through defensive stance, number of defenders per hex, removal of penalties for being attacked by one of two flanks, bonus for attacking from flanks/rear (slight AC adjustment there but sensible), improved morale, improved morale of companions, speed of pursuit and movement bonuses for pulling out of combat.
If we can make a rule for it, we can make a rule suspending that rule for fighters with Prowess.
For example, I have a rule that states a character drops a weapon if they roll a 1 on their attack dice. This weapon then breaks on another die depending on the type of weapon (some break more easily than others). This break can sometimes be interpreted as snapping the weapon by wedging it into a stone wall or cracking the wood so that it is useless . . . or it could mean the character flung it into chasm next to the character. In either case, the weapon is considered forever lost to the character.
If, however, the weapon does not break, it still falls out of the character's hand. I rule that a d8 is rolled. A 1-2, it falls in the same hex as the character and it can be easily scooped up the following round. A 3-8 and the weapon has fallen into one of the six hexes surrounding the character, in which case the character must move to go get it. It could fall under the feet of the enemy, where it is considered out of reach unless the enemy can be made to move. Or it could fall into the hex next to the wall where the character is fighting, in which case it falls off the building and is effectively lost. So there are actually two chances for the character to lose the weapon, depending on the circumstances where the fight is taking place. Naturally, there is also the chance the enemy will pick up the weapon and give it to someone else or use it. There's also a chance the enemy will kick the weapon back and away, or off the cliff.
So - Avoid throwing weapon under foot of enemy would be a useful skill to have. So would, Avoid throwing weapon off cliff. These are options the player would like to have. Obviously, we don't want to completely avoid the chance, but throwing a d10 instead of a d8 for where the weapon winds up is easy, right? 1-4 under the character, 5-10 in an adjacent hex. Offering a saving throw to the player if they want to scramble for the sword before it bounces off the cliff; or an option, such as, "Well, you can dive for the sword and save it, but you're AC 10 for the enemy's next swing; your choice."
At least there is a choice. That's all players want. A choice, a chance, a slight edge that adjusts the troubles they're experiencing in their favor. We don't have to go all out and give them three times the damage to make them happy. They'll be happy if they can, just once, stop their favorite weapon from falling off a cliff.
Looking at Prowess from two posts back.
We don't want to adjust weapon damage and the number of attacks. Nor do we want to screw with armor class or hit points. There are plenty of rules that have already been created in old D&D and a lot of new systems that modify these things. My personal feeling is that AD&D works when adapted by the combat system I use.
Regarding that combat system. Sigh. I've tried so many times to express it here on the blog and I think it always misses the mark (here or here). I started writing it out as a rule system, but between the complexity of the system and the limitations of blogs, it never has seemed to get off the ground. Which is funny, since it seems to take two combats for a player to adjust to the system and figure out how to play it. It is very hands on, very adaptable, very open to the player improvising and on the whole very easy to learn. Not that it seems that way here.
I know that the fighter sage abilities and the study of Prowess will mean a lot of time spent putting up combat rules online. But that's what the wiki is for.
So, staying away from the things above, what rules can we create? Lots, actually. First, we have to start with some premises of the AD&D game (which will in some ways apply to most other systems). Grognards can skip this next paragraph:
Combatants meet and we decide if anyone is surprised. We calculate the distance between them, roll initiative, then one side begins resolving combat. Decisions to parley instead of fighting are made, weapons are drawn, potential grenade missiles are pulled out, spells are cast. Combatants approach, they charge, they fall back, they enter melee or they fire missiles. They may attempt to pummel, grapple or overbear. We figure out the number of combatants per defender, make rolls to see which defender the attacker attacks out of those within reach. Frontage, flanks, rear attacks all adjust chance to hit. One side takes damage, morale is rolled, one side flees, the other chooses to pursue or not. This is basically the formula.
Well, there's a lot we can change. Improved initiative, lack of surprise, speed at drawing weapons, using items we usually don't think of as weapons, improved chance of grenade placement or breaking of grenade (spin the oil bottle, it breaks), morale in the face of charges, limiting friendly fire from missiles, employing tools to pummel, adding judo to grappling, improved overbearing regardless of weight, able to reduce number of attackers through defensive stance, number of defenders per hex, removal of penalties for being attacked by one of two flanks, bonus for attacking from flanks/rear (slight AC adjustment there but sensible), improved morale, improved morale of companions, speed of pursuit and movement bonuses for pulling out of combat.
If we can make a rule for it, we can make a rule suspending that rule for fighters with Prowess.
For example, I have a rule that states a character drops a weapon if they roll a 1 on their attack dice. This weapon then breaks on another die depending on the type of weapon (some break more easily than others). This break can sometimes be interpreted as snapping the weapon by wedging it into a stone wall or cracking the wood so that it is useless . . . or it could mean the character flung it into chasm next to the character. In either case, the weapon is considered forever lost to the character.
If, however, the weapon does not break, it still falls out of the character's hand. I rule that a d8 is rolled. A 1-2, it falls in the same hex as the character and it can be easily scooped up the following round. A 3-8 and the weapon has fallen into one of the six hexes surrounding the character, in which case the character must move to go get it. It could fall under the feet of the enemy, where it is considered out of reach unless the enemy can be made to move. Or it could fall into the hex next to the wall where the character is fighting, in which case it falls off the building and is effectively lost. So there are actually two chances for the character to lose the weapon, depending on the circumstances where the fight is taking place. Naturally, there is also the chance the enemy will pick up the weapon and give it to someone else or use it. There's also a chance the enemy will kick the weapon back and away, or off the cliff.
So - Avoid throwing weapon under foot of enemy would be a useful skill to have. So would, Avoid throwing weapon off cliff. These are options the player would like to have. Obviously, we don't want to completely avoid the chance, but throwing a d10 instead of a d8 for where the weapon winds up is easy, right? 1-4 under the character, 5-10 in an adjacent hex. Offering a saving throw to the player if they want to scramble for the sword before it bounces off the cliff; or an option, such as, "Well, you can dive for the sword and save it, but you're AC 10 for the enemy's next swing; your choice."
At least there is a choice. That's all players want. A choice, a chance, a slight edge that adjusts the troubles they're experiencing in their favor. We don't have to go all out and give them three times the damage to make them happy. They'll be happy if they can, just once, stop their favorite weapon from falling off a cliff.
Damn Barn
I do have to put this together on my wiki; but as it needs organization, there's nothing wrong with my thinking through the process on the blog first.
So, let's go back and look at Prowess again from the previous post.
As I said, I'm not interested in increasing the number of attacks or the amount of damage the fighter does. This is always the premise for adjusting fighter abilities and frankly, I think it's dissonant in thought structure. The fighter will inevitably increase attacks and damage through gaining levels and acquiring equipment! Adding even more to that is simply doubling down on the same system that's already in place. Why not just half the amount of xp required to go up a level and have done with it?
The problem comes from adopting an overly abstract combat system. Yes, yes, we can make the system very 2-dimensional in structure in order to encourage the fluidity of the system - but it also means that we take away most means we have to tweak that system. If, for example, we invent a system where every weapon does the same amount of damage (1d6), then we get rid of any need to refer to the instrument as a sword, a dagger or a club. "I swing with my weapon" is the only phrase that has relevance. We have rendered everything else gray.
Players accept this graying of rules because it is believed it makes combat easier to manage. Less abstraction makes for greater complexity, while complexity sucks the life out of a combat. Virtually every system that steps away from abstraction winds up producing an excessive number of tables and rules for using tables to account for the greater number of events that would be expected in a more complex combat simulation.
I think the thinking is muddy. The error isn't that less abstraction makes things more complicated; the error is thinking that more detail makes things less abstract. Take the classic deviation from abstraction: hit location. The supposition that by introducing a table that tells the player what part of the body will be hit, we will increase the immersion of the experience. It is similar to the weapon argument I made above; knowing what part of the body is hit removes the grayness, yes?
There is a very distinct difference between these two concepts, one that is always missed by would-be designers. I, me, I am the one that chooses what weapon to use. This makes it personal. Personal elements do promote immersion, because these are elements that I control. Hit location, on the other hand, is controlled by the die. It is impersonal. I am not in control.
In choosing the weapon, I develop a strategy that fixates on how much damage the weapon does as opposed to how heavy it is, how likely it is to break, how hard it is to replace, how many hands does it need, what is its range, how effective is it against different monsters, etcetera. These are considerations that affect my choice.
To produce a similar effect from hit location, I need to be able to control the exact amount of armor that I wear on different parts of my body; I need to know exactly what effect occurs if I am hit on the arm versus the leg, and which leg, and which part of my chest (because both sides are not the same), and my neck versus my head, so that I can comparatively shop for what parts of my body I really want to cover. I need to know the width of my shield and how widths affect movement, the same with the material the shield is made from, etcetera. Finally, I want rules on targeting other persons, because I want to remove the randomness, I want to make it personal, I want to feel like if I hit him in the arm I meant to do so, because it produced this result that works great when I then hit him in the thigh and drive for his weapon-bearing shoulder.
Note the difference in difficulty between attack and defense. Defense is harder to manage, it is harder to build a rule system for and it is generally less exciting than hitting. In hit location, the only thing that makes it interesting is targeting.
But, if we target, we know we're always going to want to target the best way to kill the person. If I know the head is the kill spot, then I don't care about anything else. It doesn't help to make a rule about what happens to my target if I go for his legs, if the head is ultimately the kill spot anyway. If it's better to go for the legs first and then the head, sure, that's great, but once that's the pathway we've settled on then it Might Just As Well Be Gray.
But this is a nuance that is generally lost.
I can feel the weapon in my hand. That matters. I like that I'm using a spear not a sword. Because I can throw the spear or use it vs. charge. Where damage is concerned, however, I just want to know how close I am to killing. Every other consideration is meaningless. The difference in weapon only matters because the sword kills in some situations better than a spear. The sword does more damage than the spear. I can't throw it. The spear does less damage but I can throw it. These alternatives are distinctive.
In many campaigns, however, no chance is ever, ever, ever given to throw the spear. Or the players just don't think about it. Context isn't encouraged. The DM rushes the combats to get to the other side and everyone just throws dice anyway. Whereupon the distinction is lost, so who cares anyway? Make every weapon do 1d6 damage. Will make no difference in that campaign.
We have run into it so many times it has become dogma:
It's bogus, but the prejudice is there. We've all played games that were trash and we've all gotten frustrated when the complexity of the rules made adapting to the game impossible. But in our anger and frustration, we've rushed out and lynched the wrong culprit. Complexity is a normal part of most of the things we do - just look at the computer you're reading this on. No, no, no, the real culprit is bad design. Abysmal design. Design that tried to add colour to peripheral, unimportant, deservedly gray parts of the game . . . that in turn failed to produce any value in exchange for it's increased complexity.
We deal with these computers because they do amazing things. We don't put up with a bad combat system because it does shit.
Damn. I've gone way off into left field. This is not what I was going to talk about. I just wanted to make the point that to make rules for adjusting combat without adding to number of attacks and damage, we need a system that lets us access player choice. Prowess as a sage study is no good at all if the players aren't encouraged to adjust their combat strategies through the acquisition of new approaches, tools, abilities and so on . . . and that isn't possible in a bland, overly abstract system.
We need a complicated system if we're going to give the players more choices. Choice is the Holy Grail.
If you are right now designing a combat system that doesn't start from the position of giving the player more choices, then stop now. Rip it up. It will fail. You're totally looking at the wrong problem.
The question isn't, "How do we make this more real?"
The question, dear reader, is "How do I give more opportunities for my players to participate?"
If they're allowed to participate MORE during combat, they won't care if it's complex. They'll want complex. Hell, so long as there's return for their actions, you won't be able to make it complex enough.
This is the problem the game world is having where it comes to video games. After 40 years, they're still too simple. It still isn't like, well, anything is alive . . .
We do get that A.I. would be insanely complex, right?
So, let's go back and look at Prowess again from the previous post.
As I said, I'm not interested in increasing the number of attacks or the amount of damage the fighter does. This is always the premise for adjusting fighter abilities and frankly, I think it's dissonant in thought structure. The fighter will inevitably increase attacks and damage through gaining levels and acquiring equipment! Adding even more to that is simply doubling down on the same system that's already in place. Why not just half the amount of xp required to go up a level and have done with it?
The problem comes from adopting an overly abstract combat system. Yes, yes, we can make the system very 2-dimensional in structure in order to encourage the fluidity of the system - but it also means that we take away most means we have to tweak that system. If, for example, we invent a system where every weapon does the same amount of damage (1d6), then we get rid of any need to refer to the instrument as a sword, a dagger or a club. "I swing with my weapon" is the only phrase that has relevance. We have rendered everything else gray.
Players accept this graying of rules because it is believed it makes combat easier to manage. Less abstraction makes for greater complexity, while complexity sucks the life out of a combat. Virtually every system that steps away from abstraction winds up producing an excessive number of tables and rules for using tables to account for the greater number of events that would be expected in a more complex combat simulation.
I think the thinking is muddy. The error isn't that less abstraction makes things more complicated; the error is thinking that more detail makes things less abstract. Take the classic deviation from abstraction: hit location. The supposition that by introducing a table that tells the player what part of the body will be hit, we will increase the immersion of the experience. It is similar to the weapon argument I made above; knowing what part of the body is hit removes the grayness, yes?
There is a very distinct difference between these two concepts, one that is always missed by would-be designers. I, me, I am the one that chooses what weapon to use. This makes it personal. Personal elements do promote immersion, because these are elements that I control. Hit location, on the other hand, is controlled by the die. It is impersonal. I am not in control.
In choosing the weapon, I develop a strategy that fixates on how much damage the weapon does as opposed to how heavy it is, how likely it is to break, how hard it is to replace, how many hands does it need, what is its range, how effective is it against different monsters, etcetera. These are considerations that affect my choice.
To produce a similar effect from hit location, I need to be able to control the exact amount of armor that I wear on different parts of my body; I need to know exactly what effect occurs if I am hit on the arm versus the leg, and which leg, and which part of my chest (because both sides are not the same), and my neck versus my head, so that I can comparatively shop for what parts of my body I really want to cover. I need to know the width of my shield and how widths affect movement, the same with the material the shield is made from, etcetera. Finally, I want rules on targeting other persons, because I want to remove the randomness, I want to make it personal, I want to feel like if I hit him in the arm I meant to do so, because it produced this result that works great when I then hit him in the thigh and drive for his weapon-bearing shoulder.
Note the difference in difficulty between attack and defense. Defense is harder to manage, it is harder to build a rule system for and it is generally less exciting than hitting. In hit location, the only thing that makes it interesting is targeting.
But, if we target, we know we're always going to want to target the best way to kill the person. If I know the head is the kill spot, then I don't care about anything else. It doesn't help to make a rule about what happens to my target if I go for his legs, if the head is ultimately the kill spot anyway. If it's better to go for the legs first and then the head, sure, that's great, but once that's the pathway we've settled on then it Might Just As Well Be Gray.
But this is a nuance that is generally lost.
I can feel the weapon in my hand. That matters. I like that I'm using a spear not a sword. Because I can throw the spear or use it vs. charge. Where damage is concerned, however, I just want to know how close I am to killing. Every other consideration is meaningless. The difference in weapon only matters because the sword kills in some situations better than a spear. The sword does more damage than the spear. I can't throw it. The spear does less damage but I can throw it. These alternatives are distinctive.
In many campaigns, however, no chance is ever, ever, ever given to throw the spear. Or the players just don't think about it. Context isn't encouraged. The DM rushes the combats to get to the other side and everyone just throws dice anyway. Whereupon the distinction is lost, so who cares anyway? Make every weapon do 1d6 damage. Will make no difference in that campaign.
We have run into it so many times it has become dogma:
"Adding Rules Makes The Game Unplayable"
It's bogus, but the prejudice is there. We've all played games that were trash and we've all gotten frustrated when the complexity of the rules made adapting to the game impossible. But in our anger and frustration, we've rushed out and lynched the wrong culprit. Complexity is a normal part of most of the things we do - just look at the computer you're reading this on. No, no, no, the real culprit is bad design. Abysmal design. Design that tried to add colour to peripheral, unimportant, deservedly gray parts of the game . . . that in turn failed to produce any value in exchange for it's increased complexity.
We deal with these computers because they do amazing things. We don't put up with a bad combat system because it does shit.
Damn. I've gone way off into left field. This is not what I was going to talk about. I just wanted to make the point that to make rules for adjusting combat without adding to number of attacks and damage, we need a system that lets us access player choice. Prowess as a sage study is no good at all if the players aren't encouraged to adjust their combat strategies through the acquisition of new approaches, tools, abilities and so on . . . and that isn't possible in a bland, overly abstract system.
We need a complicated system if we're going to give the players more choices. Choice is the Holy Grail.
If you are right now designing a combat system that doesn't start from the position of giving the player more choices, then stop now. Rip it up. It will fail. You're totally looking at the wrong problem.
The question isn't, "How do we make this more real?"
The question, dear reader, is "How do I give more opportunities for my players to participate?"
If they're allowed to participate MORE during combat, they won't care if it's complex. They'll want complex. Hell, so long as there's return for their actions, you won't be able to make it complex enough.
This is the problem the game world is having where it comes to video games. After 40 years, they're still too simple. It still isn't like, well, anything is alive . . .
We do get that A.I. would be insanely complex, right?
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Sage Abilities for Fighters
Before launching on this subject, I'd like to thank the members of my online campaign - long in mothballs - for their vigilance in pushing me to expand my ideas about sagework to include fighters, rangers, paladins, thieves, assassins, bards and monks. I feel that contribution - compelling me to change my mind about something - has made a shattering difference in the way I view the development of all player characters in my world.
It may be that with so many new abilities that players have a chance to obtain that I may have gone a bit too far. With just the two classes done (acknowledging that the first are always the hardest), I know that my players already feel overwhelmed and drowned in detail. My clerics have already shown that it is a massive amount of memory work just to remember that they have skills that apply to given situations. The tendency is to forget and muddle through in the old, guessing way, where no parameters used to exist. I have to remind them that they have this knowledge, now. The reality is, it may take years for players to get truly comfortable with the system.
And yet I feel confirmed in my forward movement with this. When people remember, they love it; they love that they know what exactly it is that their characters know - even if they often forget their characters know it. This is just an adaptation problem. D&D has so long ignored these details, it has trained players to think that the only way to cope is the grab-ass way. This is not an attitude that can be changed overnight.
Very well, Fighters.
I see fighter knowledge being divided into five basic fields. Each field is composed of studies. The studies are, in turn, composed of abilities, as highlighted in the long list I wrote out in yesterday's post. These abilities are gained as a character accumulates knowledge. This knowledge is accumulated slightly differently from class to class, but the description below the Fields/Studies list on this page should help sort the process for the new reader.
The five fields that a fighter could choose from would be Training, Leadership, War, Prowess and Cavalry.
Of all these, I am least pleased with the last description, Cavalry. We simply have no English word that comprises all the different animals of war that a character might ride - all such words are animal specific, such as equestrian and mahout, and obviously there is no English for a Hippogriff rider or for any of the various mounted lizard creatures that have been dreamed up by artists.
The field would obviously start with simple things like mounting a warhorse and maneuvering it into battle, but from there it would progress to pivoting with the animal in combat, improved use of the lance, ability to ride flesh to flesh in cavalry (as Tolstoy describes in War and Peace), so close that the horses flanks brush together. We then add in all the other possible mounts we can think of, ways to manage them, ways to fight from them, progressing ultimately to oliphants (where presumably the animals could be trained to behave more rationally and effectively than they are portrayed in Lord of the Rings). I have often had players ask, "How can I get started on these animals?" Yet the rules for management and proper development for these, particularly for air combat, aren't there; so this is bound to be a lot of work, as specific rules are sorted out for their employment.
Prowess is bound to be the most popular with munchkins. However, unlike the simple-minded rule systems I've seen in the past, where the only benefit that can be imagined is more attacks for more damage, I have a fairly tactical combat rule system that I think I can elevate without remaking fighters into indestructible heroes.
I think the real key here is just in allowing fighters to do things they ought to be able to do, but which are not included in the rules. For example, using the shield as a weapon. Hanging onto the shield without it having to be strapped on. Using a second weapon as a shield, so that the second weapon improves armor class. I know these are all things that many combat systems have incorporated, but these things do not exist in AD&D. More to the point, I'd like a combat system where the development of these abilities is not guaranteed for all fighters! If the fighter wants to employ their knowledge points into Prowess, they have to surrender what they might gain from Cavalry or one of the other fields. I am, in effect, allowing the creation of five distinct fighter classes - with the recognition that, as the fighter gains levels, in time other fighter class abilities could be added to what the player has already learned.
I think my fighter players are going to LOVE this.
Another aspect of Prowess that I want to incorporate is unit formation. This is an aspect to fighting that is virtually ignored by every system except mass combat systems, which assume every unit fights this way.
I have long had a rule in my combat system that limits the number of combatants per 5-foot diameter hex to one individual. I adjusted that recently to enable two medium persons to fit into one hex (there is room, after all), but due to the need for practically swinging a weapon, persons cannot attack out of a hex they are sharing with another person. In turn, enemies attacking into a hex with two persons gain a +2 to hit due to the disorder I am assuming exists in that hex. This has worked out very well, as players enjoy being able to maneuver from hex to hex more easily during combat, as they can move through another player's hex, while at the same time it retains the rigor of keeping a line of combat buttressed against an enemy group.
Prowess will contain rules that enable two persons (one being trained and the other being subordinate) to both defend and fight out of one hex, thereby potentially doubling the number of defenders and attackers along the same length of front. While weapon choice will be an issue, it will mean that fighting a trained army unit will be very different than fighting untrained skirmishers, as a single individual will now be faced by four persons in two fronting hexes instead of two. Given that the party will, in turn, NOT have this benefit (particularly in lower levels, as this sort of training will not be easy to obtain), soldiers and palace guards are bound to become a lot scarier if faced. Moreover, since every pairing of two persons will only require one trained individual (with sufficient knowledge) to enable the two person per hex rule, there will be a stronger desire for fighters to work together, for fighters to take fighters as henchpersons and for characters to hire shieldmen and shieldwomen to defend their flank.
That is going to massively change a lot of the dynamic of many game battles.
This brings us to War. Here I'm going to use modern terms, though I'll likely change the descriptions to give a little more of a medieval flavour. There are three basic sections in war: strategy, the implementation of political goals through war; operations, the planning and management of provisions, forces and intelligence in order to bring force to bear where desired; and tactics, the engagement of the enemy. I could argue that logistics should be separate, but for a medieval setting, we can reasonably include logistics in operations (since the science of logistics was considerably lessened in pre-Baroque warfare).
I don't have much to say about this right now. My vision of what makes an 'ability' in these fields is pretty vague for the moment; to make any of it work, there will have to be rules incorporated for mass movements of troops - not merely on the level of carrying out a single battle with mass combat rules, but on the scale of World in Flames or even Axis & Allies.
That's because things like strategy and operations only matter in terms of very large numbers - where it happens that it doesn't matter if a single unit wins or loses against another single unit in some small part of the general theatre, the enemies have already destroyed the supply line for the area and everyone on the one side, win or lose, will be starving by Tuesday.
It may be that with so many new abilities that players have a chance to obtain that I may have gone a bit too far. With just the two classes done (acknowledging that the first are always the hardest), I know that my players already feel overwhelmed and drowned in detail. My clerics have already shown that it is a massive amount of memory work just to remember that they have skills that apply to given situations. The tendency is to forget and muddle through in the old, guessing way, where no parameters used to exist. I have to remind them that they have this knowledge, now. The reality is, it may take years for players to get truly comfortable with the system.
And yet I feel confirmed in my forward movement with this. When people remember, they love it; they love that they know what exactly it is that their characters know - even if they often forget their characters know it. This is just an adaptation problem. D&D has so long ignored these details, it has trained players to think that the only way to cope is the grab-ass way. This is not an attitude that can be changed overnight.
Very well, Fighters.
I see fighter knowledge being divided into five basic fields. Each field is composed of studies. The studies are, in turn, composed of abilities, as highlighted in the long list I wrote out in yesterday's post. These abilities are gained as a character accumulates knowledge. This knowledge is accumulated slightly differently from class to class, but the description below the Fields/Studies list on this page should help sort the process for the new reader.
The five fields that a fighter could choose from would be Training, Leadership, War, Prowess and Cavalry.
Of all these, I am least pleased with the last description, Cavalry. We simply have no English word that comprises all the different animals of war that a character might ride - all such words are animal specific, such as equestrian and mahout, and obviously there is no English for a Hippogriff rider or for any of the various mounted lizard creatures that have been dreamed up by artists.The field would obviously start with simple things like mounting a warhorse and maneuvering it into battle, but from there it would progress to pivoting with the animal in combat, improved use of the lance, ability to ride flesh to flesh in cavalry (as Tolstoy describes in War and Peace), so close that the horses flanks brush together. We then add in all the other possible mounts we can think of, ways to manage them, ways to fight from them, progressing ultimately to oliphants (where presumably the animals could be trained to behave more rationally and effectively than they are portrayed in Lord of the Rings). I have often had players ask, "How can I get started on these animals?" Yet the rules for management and proper development for these, particularly for air combat, aren't there; so this is bound to be a lot of work, as specific rules are sorted out for their employment.
Prowess is bound to be the most popular with munchkins. However, unlike the simple-minded rule systems I've seen in the past, where the only benefit that can be imagined is more attacks for more damage, I have a fairly tactical combat rule system that I think I can elevate without remaking fighters into indestructible heroes.
I think the real key here is just in allowing fighters to do things they ought to be able to do, but which are not included in the rules. For example, using the shield as a weapon. Hanging onto the shield without it having to be strapped on. Using a second weapon as a shield, so that the second weapon improves armor class. I know these are all things that many combat systems have incorporated, but these things do not exist in AD&D. More to the point, I'd like a combat system where the development of these abilities is not guaranteed for all fighters! If the fighter wants to employ their knowledge points into Prowess, they have to surrender what they might gain from Cavalry or one of the other fields. I am, in effect, allowing the creation of five distinct fighter classes - with the recognition that, as the fighter gains levels, in time other fighter class abilities could be added to what the player has already learned.
I think my fighter players are going to LOVE this.
Another aspect of Prowess that I want to incorporate is unit formation. This is an aspect to fighting that is virtually ignored by every system except mass combat systems, which assume every unit fights this way.
I have long had a rule in my combat system that limits the number of combatants per 5-foot diameter hex to one individual. I adjusted that recently to enable two medium persons to fit into one hex (there is room, after all), but due to the need for practically swinging a weapon, persons cannot attack out of a hex they are sharing with another person. In turn, enemies attacking into a hex with two persons gain a +2 to hit due to the disorder I am assuming exists in that hex. This has worked out very well, as players enjoy being able to maneuver from hex to hex more easily during combat, as they can move through another player's hex, while at the same time it retains the rigor of keeping a line of combat buttressed against an enemy group.
Prowess will contain rules that enable two persons (one being trained and the other being subordinate) to both defend and fight out of one hex, thereby potentially doubling the number of defenders and attackers along the same length of front. While weapon choice will be an issue, it will mean that fighting a trained army unit will be very different than fighting untrained skirmishers, as a single individual will now be faced by four persons in two fronting hexes instead of two. Given that the party will, in turn, NOT have this benefit (particularly in lower levels, as this sort of training will not be easy to obtain), soldiers and palace guards are bound to become a lot scarier if faced. Moreover, since every pairing of two persons will only require one trained individual (with sufficient knowledge) to enable the two person per hex rule, there will be a stronger desire for fighters to work together, for fighters to take fighters as henchpersons and for characters to hire shieldmen and shieldwomen to defend their flank.
That is going to massively change a lot of the dynamic of many game battles.
This brings us to War. Here I'm going to use modern terms, though I'll likely change the descriptions to give a little more of a medieval flavour. There are three basic sections in war: strategy, the implementation of political goals through war; operations, the planning and management of provisions, forces and intelligence in order to bring force to bear where desired; and tactics, the engagement of the enemy. I could argue that logistics should be separate, but for a medieval setting, we can reasonably include logistics in operations (since the science of logistics was considerably lessened in pre-Baroque warfare).
I don't have much to say about this right now. My vision of what makes an 'ability' in these fields is pretty vague for the moment; to make any of it work, there will have to be rules incorporated for mass movements of troops - not merely on the level of carrying out a single battle with mass combat rules, but on the scale of World in Flames or even Axis & Allies.
 |
| A D&D Combat Map, courtesy of Squad Leader? |
That's because things like strategy and operations only matter in terms of very large numbers - where it happens that it doesn't matter if a single unit wins or loses against another single unit in some small part of the general theatre, the enemies have already destroyed the supply line for the area and everyone on the one side, win or lose, will be starving by Tuesday.
This is something many casual D&D players will bridle at, but there are elements of the big picture that are necessary for players who are interested in playing the so-called End Game. For them, there are no hard and fast rules for where their particular fantasy ends - killing a dragon and sending a force of ten thousand to kill 100 dragons is all part and parcel of the same fantastical tapestry.
Of course, just because I make the rule doesn't mean anyone has to pursue it. Thankfully, since I'll only be working on amateur level abilities in the next few months (not authority or expert level), this isn't going to be anything like the headache it could be.
Leadership fills out a great many chinks and holes that have always existed in the game. Here I expect to spend time on making rules for hiring and keeping followers, determining who should do what, how to draw more people to the player's banner, how to know that NPCs can be relied upon and so on. For game play, I see this being a way to control and manage morale, as the rules on the link define. It would include raising and improving each hireling's morale, encouraging them to go the extra mile, gaining their loyalty and trust . . . pretty much everything a commander does.
It also means that there would be rules for NOT being a leader, so that many players who presume that after they've said, "I hire him" it means they've basically purchased a hammer with brains to match, that can be swung mindlessly in every direction without consequence. That is, the way D&D typically works. Failure to be a leader is going to be much more of a thing than someone who chooses this path in organizing their fighter character. Well managed, a leader could become quite the overlording prick in a party, pushing everyone else around with their private company of sixty steadfast, fervently-loyal troops.
But I'll be there to see that doesn't happen. No player-vs-player.
Finally, Training. I honestly expect no player character to take up this field, but at the same time it has to be there. There is a huge problem with the difference between an untrained person and a leveled character - I expect that the sage abilities I create will be there to solve this problem. I wrote the post discussing the issue back in 2015 so I won't go into the difference between untrained, combat trained and level-trained persons.
But I will talk about a different aspect to training that the sage abilities system itself creates. With clerics and druids, we can assume that their abilities are learned through practice, reading, communication with others during campaign downtime. With fighters, however, more of the skills are hands on.
Therefore, who is it that trains the fighter to ride the animal? Who trains the fighter to use a shield in combat? Who trains the fighter to recognize a good piece of ground and who trains the fighter how to speak to men? The Trainer does.
For player characters, I don't plan to make this system into something Gygaxian, where they must return to a Trainer to get upgraded (fuck p. 85). However, if a character wants to train an ordinary NPC whom they've met and come to like as a combat soldier - and then ultimately as a leveled ally - then it also follows that a character would like to train an NPC how to ride a warhorse or how to lead soldiers into battle, yes? Those are also bits of knowledge that a fighter would like to translate into reality through other people - so rules have to be designed that permit fighters to do that (limited by what knowledge they have in other fields and studies, obviously).
So, there's the schedule, for those readers who have come this far. There's a lot to do.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Druidical Amateur Sage Abilities
I haven't been able to put up a list like this since January 4th. Apparently, these things take a lot of time. But, at last, I've finished these druidic abilities. This would have to include just about everything most druids would be interested in - so even if you don't like the system, even if you have no use for these skills as 'rules,' surely a few players can see in here ways to further develop their druid's relationship to the real world.
Aid Rest: increases hit points restored from rest.
Arboriculture: identification of genera and species of shrubs on sight.
Assay: identify type of mineral or gemstone and measure the physical and value content of metal in rock.
Avian Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of a bird's attack and movement in birds of semi-intelligence or less.
Beekeeping: ability to keep colonies of bees in order to produce honey and encourage pollination.
Binding Wounds: improves skill at ending hit point damage caused by wounds.
Birdwatching: the practice of seeking for and observing birds, gaining skill in their identification.
Control Golem: seize control of rampant or threatening golems for as many rounds as possible.
Cultivate Ferns & Mosses: gather plant material sufficient for making essential oils, soap, tonics or dye.
Cultivate Mushroom: grow fungi of any variety.
Detect Land: gives reasonable expectation of finding land from the observation of birds at sea.
Detect Slime: improves forewarning through scent recognition of puddings, oozes and jellies when they approach.
Diagnose & Treat Farmyard Disease: identifies a disease affecting a domestic animal's health; provides basic treatment.
Distill Liquids: purify or concentrate a variety of non-magical liquids.
Domestic Brewing: allows the fabrication of ales and beer for consumption.
Dowse for Water: a type of divination employed in a locating ground water.
Farming: provides knowledge into the process of ploughing and tending land in preparation for grain harvesting.
Floriculture: knowledge of the names of genera and species of flowers, with the ability to grow those locally appropriate.
Horseshoeing: care of the equine's hoof, including the trimming and balancing and the placing of shoes.
Identify Amphibians & Reptiles: knowledge of naturally scaly creatures and the dangers they present.
Identify Bugs & Spiders: knowledge of naturally insectoid creatures and the dangers they present.
Identify Earths: gives a name for naturally occurring substances and liquids.
Identify Mammal: knowledge of creatures within the chosen mammalian order and the dangers they present.
Identify Sea Life: knowledge of creatures within the chosen sea life order and the dangers they present.
Identify Slime: allows distinction between different forms (jelly, ooze, slime, etc.) and species, enabling knowledge of the danger presented.
Insect Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of a bug or spider's attack and movement in insects of semi-intelligence or less.
Know Bioregion: identify common animals and creatures dwelling within the surrounded locus.
Know Fungi: identify name of genera and species of fungi on sight; recognize edible from poisonous mushrooms.
Land Suitability: recognizes land value and offers techniques to provide higher yields.
Locate Self: precisely determine location within locus once features of the landscape can be observed.
Locus Infrastructure: gives knowledge of the infrastructure and layout of the surrounded locus.
Mammal Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of a mammal's attack and movement in mammals of semi-intelligence or less.
Mandragora: allows the animation of the mandrake root.
Mistletoe I: allows the cultivation of mistletoe, with attention to cutting sprigs and proper harvest.
Mushroom Hunt: know when and where to search for edible or poisonous mushrooms in a wild environment.
Navigation: setting a course over land or sea, derived from the position of the sun or stars.
Predict Emergence: foretells the impending appearance of a creature swimming up through the water, about to break the surface.
Prepare Ingestive Poisons: enables the manufacture of poisons that must be imbibed to be effective.
Prospecting: identify a likely outcrop for the production of base metals, with knowledge of how best to exploit a tell-tale sign or 'show' in the rock.
Protective Bracken: allows the character to seek protection from fern growths.
Pruning: allows for the intensive improvement of shrubs by cutting away superfluous or undesired growth.
Reading Tides: knowledge of tides, currents and eddies along sea and lake shores, largely by observation and the feel of the water.
Recognize Heavens: ability to identify individual stars, constellations, planets and other phenomenon.
Sailing: the management of a vehicle on the surface of the water, driven by wind, with rigging, rudder and keel.
Scaly Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of an amphibian or reptile's attack and movement in creatures of semi-intelligence or less.
Seek Bedstead: an ability to find a bank of sylvan moss, that it might be slept upon to gain from its magical qualities.
Smelt Natural Metals: smelt and purify metals that can be derived from ordinary ores or coarse nuggets.
Swimming: provides the character with the basic ability to swim.
Sylvics: identification of genera and species of trees on sight.
Timesense: estimate the time of day, give or take a period of thirty minutes.
Vegetable Gardening: enables valued ability in growing distinctive vegetable and tuber crops.
Woodcutting: skill at selecting and cutting timber to sustain a forest while drawing it's resources.
I know my players have been anxiously awaiting for this list to be put up.
As ever, please let me know of any links that don't work. I am still in the process of adding backlinks to many of these pages to make the wiki easier to navigate.
Arboriculture: identification of genera and species of shrubs on sight.
Assay: identify type of mineral or gemstone and measure the physical and value content of metal in rock.
Avian Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of a bird's attack and movement in birds of semi-intelligence or less.
Beekeeping: ability to keep colonies of bees in order to produce honey and encourage pollination.
Binding Wounds: improves skill at ending hit point damage caused by wounds.
Birdwatching: the practice of seeking for and observing birds, gaining skill in their identification.
Control Golem: seize control of rampant or threatening golems for as many rounds as possible.
Cultivate Ferns & Mosses: gather plant material sufficient for making essential oils, soap, tonics or dye.
Cultivate Mushroom: grow fungi of any variety.
Detect Land: gives reasonable expectation of finding land from the observation of birds at sea.
Detect Slime: improves forewarning through scent recognition of puddings, oozes and jellies when they approach.
Diagnose & Treat Farmyard Disease: identifies a disease affecting a domestic animal's health; provides basic treatment.
Distill Liquids: purify or concentrate a variety of non-magical liquids.
Domestic Brewing: allows the fabrication of ales and beer for consumption.
Dowse for Water: a type of divination employed in a locating ground water.
Farming: provides knowledge into the process of ploughing and tending land in preparation for grain harvesting.
Floriculture: knowledge of the names of genera and species of flowers, with the ability to grow those locally appropriate.
Horseshoeing: care of the equine's hoof, including the trimming and balancing and the placing of shoes.
Identify Amphibians & Reptiles: knowledge of naturally scaly creatures and the dangers they present.
Identify Bugs & Spiders: knowledge of naturally insectoid creatures and the dangers they present.
Identify Earths: gives a name for naturally occurring substances and liquids.
Identify Mammal: knowledge of creatures within the chosen mammalian order and the dangers they present.
Identify Sea Life: knowledge of creatures within the chosen sea life order and the dangers they present.
Identify Slime: allows distinction between different forms (jelly, ooze, slime, etc.) and species, enabling knowledge of the danger presented.
Insect Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of a bug or spider's attack and movement in insects of semi-intelligence or less.
Know Bioregion: identify common animals and creatures dwelling within the surrounded locus.
Know Fungi: identify name of genera and species of fungi on sight; recognize edible from poisonous mushrooms.
Land Suitability: recognizes land value and offers techniques to provide higher yields.
Locate Self: precisely determine location within locus once features of the landscape can be observed.
Locus Infrastructure: gives knowledge of the infrastructure and layout of the surrounded locus.
Mammal Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of a mammal's attack and movement in mammals of semi-intelligence or less.
Mandragora: allows the animation of the mandrake root.
Mistletoe I: allows the cultivation of mistletoe, with attention to cutting sprigs and proper harvest.
Mushroom Hunt: know when and where to search for edible or poisonous mushrooms in a wild environment.
Navigation: setting a course over land or sea, derived from the position of the sun or stars.
Predict Emergence: foretells the impending appearance of a creature swimming up through the water, about to break the surface.
Prepare Ingestive Poisons: enables the manufacture of poisons that must be imbibed to be effective.
Prospecting: identify a likely outcrop for the production of base metals, with knowledge of how best to exploit a tell-tale sign or 'show' in the rock.
Protective Bracken: allows the character to seek protection from fern growths.
Pruning: allows for the intensive improvement of shrubs by cutting away superfluous or undesired growth.
Reading Tides: knowledge of tides, currents and eddies along sea and lake shores, largely by observation and the feel of the water.
Recognize Heavens: ability to identify individual stars, constellations, planets and other phenomenon.
Sailing: the management of a vehicle on the surface of the water, driven by wind, with rigging, rudder and keel.
Scaly Behaviour I: allows limited prediction of an amphibian or reptile's attack and movement in creatures of semi-intelligence or less.
Seek Bedstead: an ability to find a bank of sylvan moss, that it might be slept upon to gain from its magical qualities.
Smelt Natural Metals: smelt and purify metals that can be derived from ordinary ores or coarse nuggets.
Swimming: provides the character with the basic ability to swim.
Sylvics: identification of genera and species of trees on sight.
Timesense: estimate the time of day, give or take a period of thirty minutes.
Vegetable Gardening: enables valued ability in growing distinctive vegetable and tuber crops.
Woodcutting: skill at selecting and cutting timber to sustain a forest while drawing it's resources.
Fighter next. I'll be talking about that in the next week.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
Disease 'Tings
I've finished some extensive rules on Diseases, for anyone who might be interested. It is a subject fraught with objection, as my earlier post suggested, but at the same time it is something I've left on the shelf for, oh, I'd say the entire time I have been running the game as a DM: 36 years. Well, we get to everything eventually.
I see from the figures on my Wiki that there are a fair number of people adventuring there (40-80 unique visitors a day) whether or not I post a link on the blog. Moreover, many of those people are finding pages that I only created the day before, so they must be following the Newest Wiki Changes link on the blog or the Recent Changes link on the Wiki itself. That is most heartening. I like seeing that something I goofed around with last night is getting 50-75 page views on its own.
I'd love to hear from anyone who has experienced watching me struggle with some of these posts - for example, I did about 20 rehashes on the Disease page since yesterday, changing, adjusting, adding a table, updating a link or two . . . and all of that because I started with the Druid Sage Ability of Physiology yesterday morning. Hey what? Are you out there catching my mistakes and chuckling? Are you returning to a new page a day later to see if I finished it? There must be a significant number who are seeing the thing in construction before I move onto the next project.
That would be horseshoeing. Only it will have to wait until this evening or perhaps tomorrow. I have a job interview.
I see from the figures on my Wiki that there are a fair number of people adventuring there (40-80 unique visitors a day) whether or not I post a link on the blog. Moreover, many of those people are finding pages that I only created the day before, so they must be following the Newest Wiki Changes link on the blog or the Recent Changes link on the Wiki itself. That is most heartening. I like seeing that something I goofed around with last night is getting 50-75 page views on its own.
I'd love to hear from anyone who has experienced watching me struggle with some of these posts - for example, I did about 20 rehashes on the Disease page since yesterday, changing, adjusting, adding a table, updating a link or two . . . and all of that because I started with the Druid Sage Ability of Physiology yesterday morning. Hey what? Are you out there catching my mistakes and chuckling? Are you returning to a new page a day later to see if I finished it? There must be a significant number who are seeing the thing in construction before I move onto the next project.
That would be horseshoeing. Only it will have to wait until this evening or perhaps tomorrow. I have a job interview.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Buggies
At the moment, I have no rules for players catching a disease from out of the blue; i.e., the player trips and falls face first into a mud puddle after leaving a tavern, wipes himself off, leaves a bit of residue from the dwarf that peed there an hour ago, feels bad the next morning, finds the disease in full swing by afternoon. No rules. My players don't mind.
If I were going to create rules, I'd probably start with some ballpark estimates for medieval death rates. Here are some English numbers from John Hatcher's Mortality in the Fifteenth Century: Some New Evidence:
Those are quite unhealthy. Apparently, it was hard to be a Cleric; harder, we suppose, to be the common population, but then characters aren't common. For the record, tenants-in-chief refers to whomever happens to hold the land for a fief - typically a captal or a baron. The monks at the priory of Christ Church were Benedictine monks, the classic cloistered monks who set the standard for a cloistered existence.
So the columns above describe two groups of relatively active but home-bound persons, at the top of the food chain . . . and still we're talking between 165 and 224 deaths per thousand per year for a fellow my age. That's better than 1 in 6 that I'll be dead by next summer.
For comparison, the death rate for Canada in 2013 was 7. The death rate for Afghanistan that same year was 8. The highest death rate for anywhere in the world was Sierra Leone, with 17. If any country in the world right now had a death rate as high as the above table, the world press would be freaking out in ways that would make Rwanda look like a passive affair.
Still, we must assume the death rates for the artisan and peasant classes were higher. Not that everyone died of disease. Executions for crime, accidents, deaths from war and pillage, all these things were higher. There was a much greater chance of being killed in the street because of a riot in those days. So we have to restrain ourselves from arguing that a 20-year-old fighter has a 6-10% chance of catching a disease this year.
However, if we consider mortality rates from disease as a guideline, we see that Canada's morality rate from all diseases in 2009 was 2.2 per 1,000 (220 per 100,000). That's 2/7th of our total death rate . . . in a world where most of the horror-show common diseases from the Middle Ages have been successfully conquered. We're still losing 31% of our people to disease.
So, arguably, we could double that ratio to 4.4 over 7, then multiply that against death rates for the youngest tenant-in-chiefs for the latest period in the table above. That gives us a ballpark figure of 64 persons per 1000 population dying of disease each year (6.4%). That's about 1 chance in 569 per day.
Whereas I could simply make a table in excel that would roll up that chance at the push of a button, I haven't felt the necessary desire. Players are not enamoured with dying from disease. They're cool with catching a disease from giant rats and other things, that's all part of the combat world. But catching a disease from a mud puddle? "No fair, man!"
It is a very hard thing to argue against, however, from a player's perspective. We can't argue that disease didn't exist; we can't argue that spending weeks in dank dungeons, slogging through storms to and from town, camping outdoors and spending most days covered with welts, cuts and occasional deep gashes isn't a breeding ground for little buggies. But . . . if the paladin in the party is just going to heal these regularly as they come up, is there really a point in keeping track?
Well, the paladin could get overwhelmed. A cleric with a cure disease spell, too. And the problem gets bigger as the parties do. I just had a thief in my party hit 10th level and pick up 19 henchmen. That's a LOT more chances for one of them to catch a disease and die while the paladin is off gallivanting in a nearby dungeon. Shame to lose a 4th level follower that way.
For the present, however, I only plan to tweak the old DMG's disease formula - which I find isn't bad, if lacking a little on the details. I'll be working on this for the wiki between humping my ass around trying to find a cooking job.
UPDATE:
I wrote this post more or less on the spur of the moment, inspired by the table I stumbled across above. In it, I've realized now that an hour has passed that I spent no time whatsoever considering the contraction of disease that does not kill, but continues in a more or less chronic matter. Nor had I given any thought to mild cases of illness that, although they wouldn't kill the infected, would seriously affect the infected's ability to participate in most adventures.
As such, clearly, this entire post needs a rethink.
If I were going to create rules, I'd probably start with some ballpark estimates for medieval death rates. Here are some English numbers from John Hatcher's Mortality in the Fifteenth Century: Some New Evidence:
Those are quite unhealthy. Apparently, it was hard to be a Cleric; harder, we suppose, to be the common population, but then characters aren't common. For the record, tenants-in-chief refers to whomever happens to hold the land for a fief - typically a captal or a baron. The monks at the priory of Christ Church were Benedictine monks, the classic cloistered monks who set the standard for a cloistered existence.
So the columns above describe two groups of relatively active but home-bound persons, at the top of the food chain . . . and still we're talking between 165 and 224 deaths per thousand per year for a fellow my age. That's better than 1 in 6 that I'll be dead by next summer.
For comparison, the death rate for Canada in 2013 was 7. The death rate for Afghanistan that same year was 8. The highest death rate for anywhere in the world was Sierra Leone, with 17. If any country in the world right now had a death rate as high as the above table, the world press would be freaking out in ways that would make Rwanda look like a passive affair.
Still, we must assume the death rates for the artisan and peasant classes were higher. Not that everyone died of disease. Executions for crime, accidents, deaths from war and pillage, all these things were higher. There was a much greater chance of being killed in the street because of a riot in those days. So we have to restrain ourselves from arguing that a 20-year-old fighter has a 6-10% chance of catching a disease this year.
However, if we consider mortality rates from disease as a guideline, we see that Canada's morality rate from all diseases in 2009 was 2.2 per 1,000 (220 per 100,000). That's 2/7th of our total death rate . . . in a world where most of the horror-show common diseases from the Middle Ages have been successfully conquered. We're still losing 31% of our people to disease.
So, arguably, we could double that ratio to 4.4 over 7, then multiply that against death rates for the youngest tenant-in-chiefs for the latest period in the table above. That gives us a ballpark figure of 64 persons per 1000 population dying of disease each year (6.4%). That's about 1 chance in 569 per day.
Whereas I could simply make a table in excel that would roll up that chance at the push of a button, I haven't felt the necessary desire. Players are not enamoured with dying from disease. They're cool with catching a disease from giant rats and other things, that's all part of the combat world. But catching a disease from a mud puddle? "No fair, man!"
It is a very hard thing to argue against, however, from a player's perspective. We can't argue that disease didn't exist; we can't argue that spending weeks in dank dungeons, slogging through storms to and from town, camping outdoors and spending most days covered with welts, cuts and occasional deep gashes isn't a breeding ground for little buggies. But . . . if the paladin in the party is just going to heal these regularly as they come up, is there really a point in keeping track?
Well, the paladin could get overwhelmed. A cleric with a cure disease spell, too. And the problem gets bigger as the parties do. I just had a thief in my party hit 10th level and pick up 19 henchmen. That's a LOT more chances for one of them to catch a disease and die while the paladin is off gallivanting in a nearby dungeon. Shame to lose a 4th level follower that way.
For the present, however, I only plan to tweak the old DMG's disease formula - which I find isn't bad, if lacking a little on the details. I'll be working on this for the wiki between humping my ass around trying to find a cooking job.
UPDATE:
I wrote this post more or less on the spur of the moment, inspired by the table I stumbled across above. In it, I've realized now that an hour has passed that I spent no time whatsoever considering the contraction of disease that does not kill, but continues in a more or less chronic matter. Nor had I given any thought to mild cases of illness that, although they wouldn't kill the infected, would seriously affect the infected's ability to participate in most adventures.
As such, clearly, this entire post needs a rethink.
Roll Chance to Think
Where it comes to parties fighting large numbers of monsters, we have a tendency to view these battles in terms of cold statistics only. That is, if ten orcs attack a party, we tend to calculate the effect of those orcs as so many chances to hit, such-and-such a chance to hit AC, a certain result of average damage accomplished per round. I say 'we' because I have done this myself.
However, where it comes to large numbers of creatures fighting a small party group, it isn't actually the creatures in combat that the party should worry about. The real danger is in the creatures not fighting.
Recently I had a group of nine player characters averaging 6-7th level, finding themselves in a fight with 250 orcs. They summoned themselves a host of goblins and grimlocks to help, but even so they were quickly overwhelmed. The orcs were supported by leaders of 3rd, 4th and 5th level, so it was a slog.
The room where they were fighting was a very large, mostly empty storage area for the orc lair (they had come in the back door), but it was narrow enough for the party to control a 'line' in part supported by stacks of boxes and barrels. For about twenty rounds, the party slammed against the enemy and failed to make very much headway; in all, they pressed about twenty feet forward. They could tell, however, through a weasel familiar who was scouting ahead (and avoiding detection) that there were at least a hundred more orcs in a large shop area connected to the storeroom. And these orcs were building a barricade.
After twenty rounds, the orcs still fighting the party broke. That is, the barricade was finished and they retired behind it. The party killed a few stragglers and then considered if they really wanted to continue the fight. In all they'd killed about 40 orcs.
The party didn't. They were actually looking for a dragon, which they later found. They went back the way they came, took another side route and the orcs boarded up the back door.
The real problem, see, was not the number of orcs or their hand-to-hand combat stats. It was the possibility of thirty orcs firing heavy crossbows every round, as these crossbows were loaded and handed forward in a continuous process. It was also recognized that in crossing over the barrier, the party would have had to risk as much fiery oil as the orcs may have been prepared to throw into their mostly empty storehouse. Plus the tribe had a few mages and clerics, who were very difficult to even find among the host.
Another point the party did not consider - how long would it take a hundred orcs not involved in combat to quickly lay down a bunch of easy-to-employ traps, giant rat traps for instance, the placement of spreads of small caltrops or some kind of snare. Suppose two groups of ten orcs take off, find some long benches from the mess hall and then use it to take a run at the lead fighter and his mate? The party finally climbs over the barricade and all at once the orcs split apart and bang, mess hall bench right in the tenders! How much damage does that do?
It isn't just that the number of defenders increases their chance to hit; it increase their chance to think - a far more dangerous opportunity for an attacker to risk giving.
However, where it comes to large numbers of creatures fighting a small party group, it isn't actually the creatures in combat that the party should worry about. The real danger is in the creatures not fighting.
Recently I had a group of nine player characters averaging 6-7th level, finding themselves in a fight with 250 orcs. They summoned themselves a host of goblins and grimlocks to help, but even so they were quickly overwhelmed. The orcs were supported by leaders of 3rd, 4th and 5th level, so it was a slog.
The room where they were fighting was a very large, mostly empty storage area for the orc lair (they had come in the back door), but it was narrow enough for the party to control a 'line' in part supported by stacks of boxes and barrels. For about twenty rounds, the party slammed against the enemy and failed to make very much headway; in all, they pressed about twenty feet forward. They could tell, however, through a weasel familiar who was scouting ahead (and avoiding detection) that there were at least a hundred more orcs in a large shop area connected to the storeroom. And these orcs were building a barricade.
After twenty rounds, the orcs still fighting the party broke. That is, the barricade was finished and they retired behind it. The party killed a few stragglers and then considered if they really wanted to continue the fight. In all they'd killed about 40 orcs.
The party didn't. They were actually looking for a dragon, which they later found. They went back the way they came, took another side route and the orcs boarded up the back door.
The real problem, see, was not the number of orcs or their hand-to-hand combat stats. It was the possibility of thirty orcs firing heavy crossbows every round, as these crossbows were loaded and handed forward in a continuous process. It was also recognized that in crossing over the barrier, the party would have had to risk as much fiery oil as the orcs may have been prepared to throw into their mostly empty storehouse. Plus the tribe had a few mages and clerics, who were very difficult to even find among the host.
Another point the party did not consider - how long would it take a hundred orcs not involved in combat to quickly lay down a bunch of easy-to-employ traps, giant rat traps for instance, the placement of spreads of small caltrops or some kind of snare. Suppose two groups of ten orcs take off, find some long benches from the mess hall and then use it to take a run at the lead fighter and his mate? The party finally climbs over the barricade and all at once the orcs split apart and bang, mess hall bench right in the tenders! How much damage does that do?
It isn't just that the number of defenders increases their chance to hit; it increase their chance to think - a far more dangerous opportunity for an attacker to risk giving.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
Well Digging
Part of the reason why working on sage abilities tends to exhaust me is that it pulls me into the most ridiculous sort of gritty rule making - and yet, somehow, I can't help thinking something like this might be potentially useful.
I haven't touched the druid sage abilities in months. But I'm finally back on that horse again. My players will be pleased.
Dowse for Water
While dowsing for water has a long reputation of being practiced though acts of superstition (in which a random chance allows enough occasional success to promote its mythology), the geological practice includes an understanding and insight into the surface of the Earth and its structure. There are various geologists who continue to employ the use of a 'dowsing rod,' insisting upon its usefulness - but unless the rod itself is actually a magically created wand, it serves no purpose where it comes to geologically identifying the location of water.
The ability is principally used for locating ground water so as to identify the best place to sink a well. The depth and usefulness of a well is important in terms of its cost in digging out, the time necessary to raise the water (deep wells take longer and can therefore service less people), the amount of silt in the water, its purity, the number of times it needs to be re-dug and its endurance in various seasons. It is notable that two wells as little as forty feet apart can have considerably different characteristics. Of course, the climatic or topographic region in which a well is dug will also change the success of finding groundwater and digging a valuable well.
Presume, for game purposes, that a character without sufficient knowledge in dowsing has a 3 in 20 chance of successfully locating a valuable well. These will typically have a a depth of 50-100 feet (d6+4 x 10), in land that is well-watered, but 1 in 4 useful wells will chance to have a depth of 10-40 feet.
Roll 3d4 +10 (x 10) to determine the depth that a poor well must be dug before reaching water in the same environment, with the understanding that any depth more than 150 feet must be considered worthless and too deep to dig further. Naturally, it will not be known if the well is worthless until that distance is actually dug.
The chance of successfully digging a well drops if the environment is not well-watered. Adjust the chance of finding water based upon the precipitation of the region, using an average monthly precipitation of 120 millimeters (4.8 inches) as a guide for well-watered areas. Thus, if the region has an average precipitation of 60 mm per month, the chances of an ordinary person locating a valuable well would be 3 in 40 (20 x 120/60).
I haven't touched the druid sage abilities in months. But I'm finally back on that horse again. My players will be pleased.
Dowse for Water
While dowsing for water has a long reputation of being practiced though acts of superstition (in which a random chance allows enough occasional success to promote its mythology), the geological practice includes an understanding and insight into the surface of the Earth and its structure. There are various geologists who continue to employ the use of a 'dowsing rod,' insisting upon its usefulness - but unless the rod itself is actually a magically created wand, it serves no purpose where it comes to geologically identifying the location of water.
The ability is principally used for locating ground water so as to identify the best place to sink a well. The depth and usefulness of a well is important in terms of its cost in digging out, the time necessary to raise the water (deep wells take longer and can therefore service less people), the amount of silt in the water, its purity, the number of times it needs to be re-dug and its endurance in various seasons. It is notable that two wells as little as forty feet apart can have considerably different characteristics. Of course, the climatic or topographic region in which a well is dug will also change the success of finding groundwater and digging a valuable well.
Presume, for game purposes, that a character without sufficient knowledge in dowsing has a 3 in 20 chance of successfully locating a valuable well. These will typically have a a depth of 50-100 feet (d6+4 x 10), in land that is well-watered, but 1 in 4 useful wells will chance to have a depth of 10-40 feet.
Roll 3d4 +10 (x 10) to determine the depth that a poor well must be dug before reaching water in the same environment, with the understanding that any depth more than 150 feet must be considered worthless and too deep to dig further. Naturally, it will not be known if the well is worthless until that distance is actually dug.
The chance of successfully digging a well drops if the environment is not well-watered. Adjust the chance of finding water based upon the precipitation of the region, using an average monthly precipitation of 120 millimeters (4.8 inches) as a guide for well-watered areas. Thus, if the region has an average precipitation of 60 mm per month, the chances of an ordinary person locating a valuable well would be 3 in 40 (20 x 120/60).
Treat desert oases at 75% of well-watered for the purpose of this calculation.
If a character has an ability to dowse for water, however, then subtract 2 feet per knowledge point for all depth calculations. Thus, if a character had 11 points of knowledge in geology, the total depth of the well would be 22 feet less than the number obtained for any other person. Presume that minimum depth for a well would be 1 to 12 inches (roll the last foot with a d12) below ground level.
Note that even in deep desert, for a person with great skill in geology, there is at least some chance for locating near to the surface groundwater (excepting where actual rainfall is so low as to preclude the possibility) - it may only be necessary to dig a little. Presume that a landscape approximately a mile across can be dowsed for water (viewed and evaluated) over the course of one day.
If a character has an ability to dowse for water, however, then subtract 2 feet per knowledge point for all depth calculations. Thus, if a character had 11 points of knowledge in geology, the total depth of the well would be 22 feet less than the number obtained for any other person. Presume that minimum depth for a well would be 1 to 12 inches (roll the last foot with a d12) below ground level.
Note that even in deep desert, for a person with great skill in geology, there is at least some chance for locating near to the surface groundwater (excepting where actual rainfall is so low as to preclude the possibility) - it may only be necessary to dig a little. Presume that a landscape approximately a mile across can be dowsed for water (viewed and evaluated) over the course of one day.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Getting Better
Let's talk about this matter of getting better. I've written about it in all sorts of ways, since it has been a running theme on this blog from the beginning. From what I can see, it is a running theme that crosses the whole internet community, since the principle point of discussion on every board, page or forum revolves around advice about how to do things, see things, improve things or fix things.
Beside this, there exists a philosophical position that claims such improvements are, at best, cosmetic. At worst, they are considered bean counting and time wasting, since so much of the preparation that we see many DMs strive for can be written off as 'unnecessary.' An ordinary DM, it is so argued, can run a perfectly viable campaign with an absolute minimum of preparation, since the real enjoyment derived from the game is in it's people and not its design.
I have argued against this also.
Whatever the philosophical perspective, we must admit that both ideologies have their supporters, their detractors and their merits. Unquestionably the campaign is very deeply entrenched in the many ways that humans interact with humans. This is why my book How to Run dedicated ten chapters, two thirds of the content, specifically to the subject of recognizing player motivations, personalities, teasing out emotional responses, evolving a highly personal presentation, controlling oneself and changing oneself as a person in order to run a game fundamentally about people rather than design.
Then I talked about design, but that's another post.
These are all things the blog has covered in considerable depth. Where I continue to fail with the prep-is-unnecessary ideologues is quite obvious; I am asking for something. However much people will love a thing, for some there will always be a point where, having been asked, the answer will be, "What's in it for me?"
Incentive. "Why, O Why, should I spend a single moment of my life trying to be a better DM? I'm already good enough."
Incentives are tricky. We expect rewards for changing our behaviour - no reward, no desire for change. More to the point, we expect bad things to happen if our behaviour is inadequate. No bad things, no need for change.
"I get together every week and play with my players. None of them complain. We all have a good time. As far as we're concerned, being 'better' is just guilt others try to heap on me. We don't need guilt. We already run a great game."
The value of this viewpoint is in its autonomy. Games such as this depend upon a minimum of expectation, enabling all the participants to feel comfortable and at ease during the course of the game. This is where we see arguments for games where the players can't die, where participants legitimately prefer a game where the decision-making process has been circumvented. Expectations for better games are seen as coming from the outside, not from within the group; because they are coming from outside, arguments for betterment or mastery are an invasion, a reprimand, a haughty superior viewpoint that has no merit because me and my players are happy and contented.
Where this autonomy fails as a philosophy, however, is in how it is likewise imposed upon people seeking mastery. The typical autonomous player participating in a light-and-easy campaign will not hesitate to turnaround that advice or call for improvement in the game as an infringement on their rights to be autonomous . . . meaning that they then become the outside, reprimanding, haughty superior viewpoint that derides those wishing to be better. "Why are you even trying?" shouts the autonomous participant.
This is somewhat akin to an experience that many people share where it comes to taking up any artistic endeavour - for example, an instrument. Everyone has known or personally experienced the fallout that comes from deciding that they, or someone in their lives, will learn to play the guitar. In every case, even within ourselves, the first response is doubt. We all know that playing the guitar, for most people, is a difficult thing. We also know that even if we do manage the instrument, achieving an expertise sufficient to encourage others to listen will be even more unlikely. Finally, we know with almost certainty that the would-be guitar player will never, ever, obtain the sort of tangible reward reserved for people working at minimum-wage jobs.
Let's look at that scale again:
1. We will strive to learn to play, spending hours of our life causing pain in our fingers, endlessly repeating very boring scales, feeling inadequate to the task for a very, very long time before beginning to obtain a small payback that comes from accomplishment. Presuming we do . . .
2. We will experience a terrific level of doubt and lack of enthusiasm once we reach a point where we hope to share our sense of accomplishment with others, because by now the practice of playing guitar has become important to us. Presuming we can make others listen . . .
3. Because we are not recording-perfect in our efforts, we will experience a long, long period where others may graciously allow us to play while endlessly comparing our limited skill with the maximized skill of people who have already achieved fame and therefore confirmed value. If we're not dismayed by this comparison . . .
4. We may reach a point of clarity in how the guitar works, encouraging us to experiment in small ways with the instrument's potential. However, because this experimentation will be commensurate with our as yet unrealized full skill potential, sharing what we discover will inevitably turn others off to our guitar playing. In short, they will express a preference for what we used to play. But presuming we push through that . . .
5. By then we will have sought out other people approximating the same amount of skill that we possess, in order to find 'valid listeners.' These people will pressure us to "do something" with our skill, specifically in the way of promoting ourselves as guitarists, just as they are doing. Simultaneously, while among these people, virtually all discussions about music and guitar-playing will be fundamentally competitive in tone. Competitive, that is, with each other, as we all try to achieve fame and confirmed value. And chances are . . .
6. Nothing significant will come from that.
Ah, the urge to get better at stuff.
The punishment, strangely, does not come from failing to succeed at guitar playing, but from trying to succeed. In turn, the reward for failing is greater acceptance from peers who have no interest in mastering the guitar. It is all turned around.
The autonomous, happy-go-lucky player, who claims the game does not require mastery, has made a fair showing on the internet. They and their philosophy can be found everywhere. Why is that? Why do people who have no wish to play the guitar have such a stake in the desire for others to try?
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Vocation
ChicagoWiz has arisen. But we're not to call it a comeback.
In forming a short note of encouragement for Michael, I've realized a description of myself that needs elaboration.
I have never viewed D&D as a 'hobby.'
Vocation: a call, a summons; an occupation to which a person is specially drawn, suited, trained or qualified.
According to wikipedia, the word's meaning shifted from religious calling to emphasizing an individual's talents and abilities for the purpose of making money with the reformer Frank Parsons. Parsons invented the premise of matching your talents with your chosen vocation, to encourage individuals to find their niche in life and ultimately to contribute to the public good. People working in jobs that they hated, theorized Parsons, contributed to the greatest evil in the world.
Alas, of all the things I could have been 'called' to, I had to choose this. A game. A game so far out on the fringe that even when it is mentioned by the media, representations of it are so woefully twisted and vague that it serves better as a vehicle for humour than for serious consideration. A game run by one company that doesn't give a shit about it, as it really only exists as an image-friendly bastard child for a card game - a card game that is won by purchasing more cards.
This. I had to pick this. It puts me in mind of Irish monks toiling away their whole lives to produce perhaps a dozen copies of a single book, sitting and quietly wasting away in tiny, unheated stone rooms heaped upon miserable, treeless shores, blasted by North Atlantic storms. Monks who counted themselves lucky that they were allowed to do this. Without coin, without companionship, with only the faith of a better existence after death to sustain them.
I, on the other hand, am not foolish enough to believe in an after-life. I have no faith, no surety of reward, no succor from the consequence of eventual starvation. I have only the now, the drive, the application of this thing I have trained myself intensively to do well, this thing that I love, this thing that I have tried to make a vocation in the Parsons sense. It is absolutely and without question a vocation in its traditional context.
Which is why, I am sure, I have harped so much on the context of money within the posts on this blog. If I were a consultant, I would seek contracts in the hopes of paying my bills. If I were a renovator, I would advertise and hope clients would find me. If I were a peddler, I would be knocking on doors. If I were a prostitute, I'd be on the street. Instead, I am here, this blogosphere, this small collection of participants in the same game, writing. Pitching books. Asking for donations. Seeking odd jobs to cover my expenses while waiting for the chosen vocation to kick in.
The thing about vocations and callings, they're not based on a choice. It isn't a question of doing the thing that will make the best money. This is what Parsons recognized a century ago. We can, and will, do that job that pays the bills because we do not like to starve. Because losing our home and our things terrifies us. But we will never succeed at that job because we hate it. We will never reconcile the money with our unhappiness. We won't because we can't. It isn't a choice. It is nature.
I've done a lot of jobs. Recently the economy is in a sink-hole and prospects are fading, to the point where I am wondering if this isn't the inevitable road to the bottom right now. People are fleeing from my building. They're fleeing the city. There is no work to be found.
Right now, this one vocation, this is it. This is my only income. And it is laughably not enough.
If you cannot help me today - and most of you can't - then I ask you to please think about me tomorrow.
In forming a short note of encouragement for Michael, I've realized a description of myself that needs elaboration.
I have never viewed D&D as a 'hobby.'
Vocation: a call, a summons; an occupation to which a person is specially drawn, suited, trained or qualified.
According to wikipedia, the word's meaning shifted from religious calling to emphasizing an individual's talents and abilities for the purpose of making money with the reformer Frank Parsons. Parsons invented the premise of matching your talents with your chosen vocation, to encourage individuals to find their niche in life and ultimately to contribute to the public good. People working in jobs that they hated, theorized Parsons, contributed to the greatest evil in the world.
Alas, of all the things I could have been 'called' to, I had to choose this. A game. A game so far out on the fringe that even when it is mentioned by the media, representations of it are so woefully twisted and vague that it serves better as a vehicle for humour than for serious consideration. A game run by one company that doesn't give a shit about it, as it really only exists as an image-friendly bastard child for a card game - a card game that is won by purchasing more cards.
This. I had to pick this. It puts me in mind of Irish monks toiling away their whole lives to produce perhaps a dozen copies of a single book, sitting and quietly wasting away in tiny, unheated stone rooms heaped upon miserable, treeless shores, blasted by North Atlantic storms. Monks who counted themselves lucky that they were allowed to do this. Without coin, without companionship, with only the faith of a better existence after death to sustain them.
I, on the other hand, am not foolish enough to believe in an after-life. I have no faith, no surety of reward, no succor from the consequence of eventual starvation. I have only the now, the drive, the application of this thing I have trained myself intensively to do well, this thing that I love, this thing that I have tried to make a vocation in the Parsons sense. It is absolutely and without question a vocation in its traditional context.
Which is why, I am sure, I have harped so much on the context of money within the posts on this blog. If I were a consultant, I would seek contracts in the hopes of paying my bills. If I were a renovator, I would advertise and hope clients would find me. If I were a peddler, I would be knocking on doors. If I were a prostitute, I'd be on the street. Instead, I am here, this blogosphere, this small collection of participants in the same game, writing. Pitching books. Asking for donations. Seeking odd jobs to cover my expenses while waiting for the chosen vocation to kick in.
The thing about vocations and callings, they're not based on a choice. It isn't a question of doing the thing that will make the best money. This is what Parsons recognized a century ago. We can, and will, do that job that pays the bills because we do not like to starve. Because losing our home and our things terrifies us. But we will never succeed at that job because we hate it. We will never reconcile the money with our unhappiness. We won't because we can't. It isn't a choice. It is nature.
I've done a lot of jobs. Recently the economy is in a sink-hole and prospects are fading, to the point where I am wondering if this isn't the inevitable road to the bottom right now. People are fleeing from my building. They're fleeing the city. There is no work to be found.
Right now, this one vocation, this is it. This is my only income. And it is laughably not enough.
If you cannot help me today - and most of you can't - then I ask you to please think about me tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Somewhat Less than the Exotic Promised
Just finished watching The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and frankly the film was a wash. I saw the first, felt it was a somewhat middling film saved by the incorporated elements of Rajasthan, India, the management of same by a group of elderly and the interesting opportunities they were able to find in a culture that does not seek to discard the aged.
The second film offers nothing new. Characters past 60 years of age, and in some case past 75 years of age, are pressed into speaking lines more suitable for a teen we-don't-know-what-to-do-because-we're-stupid-and-young drama than for adults who, in some cases remember the Second World War.
Pitifully, the two most interesting characters were kept apart for nearly the entire film; perhaps Bill Nighy and Judy Dench have taken an extreme dislike to each other and preferred not to be on film together. As such, we wait and watch two likeable people wait and wait and wait through three quarters of the film while speaking lines that - frankly - I find it hard to believe someone in their late 70's could say with a straight face. At one point, the self-declared 79-year-old Judy Dench declares she needs more 'time' to decide if she wants to pursue the relationship.
We could have had a film where two experienced people, with a lifetime behind them, engaged in a series of meaningful, elaborate dialogues where matters of importance were discussed against the backdrop of their inevitable demise, as they sort out the pursuit of happiness where all other pursuits steadily pale. As someone who is 51, I am already strongly feeling the inevitability of things that I know I will never truly do again, which even in small part will have to be abandoned as my body ages towards its crumbling limitations. In aging, we all make little sacrifices along the way, pursuing sports with less enthusiasm and more care, pursuing business with an eye on the exit door, pursuing affairs with the understanding that we're probably not going to live to see our fiftieth anniversary. It's a very real part of life, one that everyone experiences as they near sixty, seventy, eighty and ninety years of age, in progressive degrees.
For all the hype that a film gets for casting brilliant stars in their later years, it is a shame that the characters they are forced to play are undoubtedly less interesting than the struggles of the actors themselves, pushing to rush down a street in India over a series of months in order to bring together a film that - let's be honest - any one of which may not have been lucky enough to finish. The least it could do, I should hope, would be to direct itself towards the relevant matter at hand - but alas, this was not to be.
It's a cute little snore of a film. Like hundreds of other cute little snores of films that do not star the royalty of British drama.
The second film offers nothing new. Characters past 60 years of age, and in some case past 75 years of age, are pressed into speaking lines more suitable for a teen we-don't-know-what-to-do-because-we're-stupid-and-young drama than for adults who, in some cases remember the Second World War.
Pitifully, the two most interesting characters were kept apart for nearly the entire film; perhaps Bill Nighy and Judy Dench have taken an extreme dislike to each other and preferred not to be on film together. As such, we wait and watch two likeable people wait and wait and wait through three quarters of the film while speaking lines that - frankly - I find it hard to believe someone in their late 70's could say with a straight face. At one point, the self-declared 79-year-old Judy Dench declares she needs more 'time' to decide if she wants to pursue the relationship.
We could have had a film where two experienced people, with a lifetime behind them, engaged in a series of meaningful, elaborate dialogues where matters of importance were discussed against the backdrop of their inevitable demise, as they sort out the pursuit of happiness where all other pursuits steadily pale. As someone who is 51, I am already strongly feeling the inevitability of things that I know I will never truly do again, which even in small part will have to be abandoned as my body ages towards its crumbling limitations. In aging, we all make little sacrifices along the way, pursuing sports with less enthusiasm and more care, pursuing business with an eye on the exit door, pursuing affairs with the understanding that we're probably not going to live to see our fiftieth anniversary. It's a very real part of life, one that everyone experiences as they near sixty, seventy, eighty and ninety years of age, in progressive degrees.
For all the hype that a film gets for casting brilliant stars in their later years, it is a shame that the characters they are forced to play are undoubtedly less interesting than the struggles of the actors themselves, pushing to rush down a street in India over a series of months in order to bring together a film that - let's be honest - any one of which may not have been lucky enough to finish. The least it could do, I should hope, would be to direct itself towards the relevant matter at hand - but alas, this was not to be.
It's a cute little snore of a film. Like hundreds of other cute little snores of films that do not star the royalty of British drama.
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