Sample Initiative

After taking some additional time to ruminate on my three requirements for an initiative system, I decided to take a stab at making an initiative system specifically with those three requirements in mind. Something which maximized excitement, without requiring too much time or attention from the players.

Players roll initiative individually, based on the speed of the weapon they are using. Most weapons, and any character who is not using weapons, roll 1d6 for their initiative. Characters using slow weapons, such as the sword pictured, roll 1d4 for their initiative. While characters using fast weapons, such as rapiers, loaded loaded crossbows, or daggers, roll 1d8 for their initiative. Slow, Average, and Fast weapons align nicely with the great, medium, and small/minor weapons in Lamentations of the Flame Princess.

There are no modifiers to these rolls. However, characters roll their initiative die a number of times equal to their dexterity bonus or penalty (with a minimum of 1 die rolled). If the character has a bonus, they take the best result of the dice they rolled, and drop the rest. If the character has a dexterity penalty, they do the opposite. Using only the worst result.

So a fellow with a -2 dexterity modifier wielding a Zweihänder would roll 2d4, and whichever result was lower would be their initiative. Meanwhile, a fellow with +2 dexterity wielding a dagger would roll 2d8 and take whichever result was higher as their initiative. Characters with initiatives of 1, -1, and 0 would all roll only a single die.

What I Require of Initiative

Recently, Courtney asked if he could experiment on those of us in his Saturday game. I like experiments, so I said yes. So did everybody else. Courtney sent us the rules he was brewing (specific references to which will be light, as I didn’t have the presence of mind to ask Courtney how he feels about having them posted), and we began setting up our characters. The system isn’t run-of-the-mill D&D by a long shot, and I liked a lot of what I saw, particularly the way equipment will be managed. My funds were limited, so I started out with nothing but a big-ass sword, which I noted had a -3 initiative penalty. At the time, it seemed like a fine tradeoff.

I arrived late to the game, so it was already well underway by the time I showed up. Sometimes the French revolution gets exciting, and you forget that you need to wake up at 5:30am the next day in order to get to the D&D game on time. I mostly watched and listened, since I wasn’t fully up to speed on what our goals were. Everything seemed to be going well, and we were soon preparing an ambush for a set of giant cats.

There has already been some discussion of what followed. Suffice to say that the players were confused and frustrated by the initiative system. I, in particular, didn’t like it at all. Once Courtney explained it, I saw how it was–on paper–an elegant and interesting method. Clearly it did not work in practice. Though, with refinement, I think it could be more engaging than other methods. Playtesting will tell in future sessions.

Thinking about it, Initiative is odd. Every rule has permutations between various systems, and house variants besides, but the sheer number of vastly different methods of running initiative, and the effects those have on play, is kind of fascinating. It can be rolled individually for each combat participant, which takes more time, but maintains a clear order of operations. Alternatively it can be rolled for each ‘side’ of the combat (typically players / things players want to be dead), which keeps combat moving at a much faster pace, but might be a bit jumbled, with more confident players inadvertently edging out quieter players. Some people roll initiative only once, as Pathfinder does, which keeps things moving along, particularly when initiative has been complicated in other ways; whilst games like LotFP re-roll the initiative every round, so you’re never sure if your next turn will come before-or after-the thing that’s trying to kill you. Some games apply all manner of modifiers to initiative, while other keep modifiers simple, and still others use no modifiers at all.

And then there are some who run initiative in phases, as proscribed by the AD&D DMG. Spells must be declared at the start, then missile attacks take place, then melee attacks take place, then spells go off. This one consistently confuses me, and various GMs have frequently needed to tell me that I can’t perform an action, because if I’d wanted to do that I needed to declare it during an earlier phase. And then, of course, there are those who don’t use initiative at all. I’ve never tried this myself, but those who have seem perfectly happy with it.

It occurs to me that my ideal initiative system serves three functions, in descending order of importance:

  1. It does not require me to think too much. I want to focus on what my next action is, not when the rules allow me to take said action.
  2. It is fast. If the forward momentum of the game has to pause to figure out who is going next, then it is taking too long.
  3. It adds some amount of excitement to combat, beyond merely establishing turn order. If points 1 and 2 were all we cared about, why not move in descending order of dexterity?

The most basic system I first encountered when I started playing OSR style games is a good example of an initiative system which fills all of these criteria. Roll 1d6 for each side of combat, rerolling each turn. It requires zero thinking on my part, takes perhaps 10 seconds to resolve, and keeps everyone on their toes because you never know if the bad guys will get two turns in a row. That doesn’t mean the system is perfect. Points 1 and 2 are more or less pass/fail requirements. If a method fails either of them, then it’s junk and needs to be improved. Point 3 has a lot of room for creativity, though.

The goal of brewing a good initiative system is to maximize the excitement it adds to combat, without failing the other two tests.

The Maze of One-Way Doors

Not too long ago, I played in a game which contained a maze of one-way doors. From one side they appeared to be normal doors. However, once the players had walked through them and the door was closed, it simply did not exist on the other side. Whether this is the work of marvelous engineering, or simply magic, it’s not important. The important thing is that once the players walk through a door, they cannot walk back out the way they came. They must move forwards.

I liked the idea, and so decided to give it a go myself. I constructed a maze of moderate size. It was primarily made up of empty 10′ x 10′ rooms, but there were a number of puzzle and challenge rooms to add variety, along with a pretty interesting encounter table. I thought it would be a lot of fun to run through, and to my delight, the players did find it and enter the maze.

The players in this group are very good, though, and they were careful in their approach. The party’s fighter entered alone at first. He opened a new door to look through it, and in doing so caused the door he’d come through to close. He returned to where the door had been, and pounded on the wall to let his companions know they should open the door, which they did.

Having discovered the trick, the party decided to leave one party member in each room they passed. So one party member would stay outside, and the remaining two would enter the first room. Then one of them would remain in the first room, while the last party member went into all of the adjacent rooms, and opened all of the doors in there to look inside those rooms. Using this method, they were able to discover a route from the first room, back to the outside of the maze. Since they knew a way out, and thus no longer needed someone outside the maze, they were able to systematically map a large portion of the maze.

The players were clever, and I approve of clever play. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fun. For them or for me. Essentially all I was doing was reading them a long list of room descriptions within their searchable zone, while they took notes. The encounters were entertaining, but the encounters could have happened anywhere. They would have been improved by placing them outside of the maze, because the maze was boring.

Eventually the players gave up and headed off to a different area of the dungeon. And I’m left to wonder: can a maze of one-way doors be done better, or is it simply never going to be fun if your players are cautious and skilled?

Some thoughts on how it might be improved for more highly skilled players:

  • I had a warning of sorts printed above the door. “To enter is easy. To become lost is easier. To return is failure. To die is worse.” I thought it was cool and thematic, but it’s what put the players on edge in the first place. Without it, they probably all would have entered the first door together. I think, though, that they’d still have landed on the same strategy. Particularly if they ended up on one of the many failed paths which leads back outside of the maze.
  • There’s no reason to assume that a one-way door would allow sound to pass through it. By soundproofing the maze, I could prevent the characters from requesting a door be opened from the other side. Of course, I can’t stop the players sitting at the table together from talking, and telling them they can’t just seems dickish. Plus, the workaround seems obvious: “Open this door 60 seconds after it closes.”
  • I like one-way door mazes because they’re a challenging trap which could conceivably be engineered. But if I’m willing to amp up the magic, I could say that each door is a normal, two-way door so long as there are people on both sides of it. Only when everybody has passed through the door will it become a one-way door. And, so long as any door in the room is a two-way door, none of the other doors in the room exist. (So one can only attempt to move forward once everyone has entered the new room and become trapped in it.)

I’d be curious to hear other’s thoughts on one-way-door mazes.

A fun alternative to dying.

No idea come to being in a vacuum. So before I begin, I’d like to point out that Courtney Campbell did something similar to this, which totally influenced my idea. (Though I was mostly inspired by a post by “Medieval Battlefield Medicine” over at Spells and Steel)

There’s a lot of disagreement about what hit points represent, which isn’t a disagreement I care about. Hit points represent whatever a given GM says they represent, and for the purpose of this post, hit points represent something similar to ‘luck.’ When you take a hit in the game, what is actually happening is that the flat of the blade slaps your arm. The warhammer bounces off your shield and rattles you to the bone. The fireball leaves you with the equivalent of a bad sunburn, but nothing worse.

Until you get to zero hit points.

When a character reaches 0 hp, they are still fine. They can fight and act normally without any penalty. But their luck has completely run out. Successful attacks against the character no longer deal damage. Instead, the GM rolls on the following chart. 2d6

  1. Finger destroyed! Randomly determine which.
  2. Hand destroyed! Randomly determine which.
  3. Arm destroyed! Randomly determine which. (Massive Bleed! See 11)
  4. Foot destroyed! Randomly determine which.
  5. Leg destroyed! Randomly determine which. (Massive Bleed! See 11)
  6. Eye destroyed! Randomly determine which.
  7. Head destroyed! You are dead!
  8. Internal bleeding! Debilitated in 1d4 turns, dead 1d6 turns after that. Can be saved with magical healing.
  9. Kidney destroyed! Save v. poison increased by 1d4. (if this one happens twice, you’re dead!)
  10. Lung destroyed! Reduce CON by 1d6 + 2
  11. Massive Bleed! Debilitated in 1d4 t6urns, dead 1d6 after that. Can be saved if the blood can be stopped. (Successful wisdom check required by whoever makes the attempt. Only one attempt per turn per wound.)
  12. Permanent cosmetic damage. (Ear/nose gone, unable to grow hair. Not simple scars.)

Is this goofy and unrealistic? You bet. It makes absolutely no sense for a character to be hit over and over and over in combat, and take no ill effects from it; then, after crossing an arbitrary threshold, suddenly every hit has an ill effect. That’s ridiculous. But here are the reasons why it is awesome:

  • Increased player survivability over methods where the character is simply dead at 0. I’ve been told that players enjoy surviving.
  • Makes it likely that characters will end up with missing digits or limbs. Those are cool, and the players will have a good story to tell.
  • Realistic stuff is lame anyway.

It’s up to individual GMs to determine what game effects this kind of stuff ought to have, but regardless, I suspect players should be given the opportunity to retire their character and roll a new one if they suffer anything too debilitating. A rogue in a wheelchair, or a magic user without any fingers to cast with, would be rather unpleasant to play. That said, a magic user in a wheelchair, or a monk with no fingers, could still be super interesting.

Dungeon Tolls

Courtney runs a game on Saturday mornings called Numenhalla. It’s quite good. Good enough that I drag myself out of bed at 5:40 am on a Saturday to play in it.

Though, I confess, I’ve been late more often than I’ve been on time.

There are many reasons why I love playing in Numenhalla. The fact that Courtney is my bro is high on that list, as is my awestruck reverence for Mad Bill Danger. But more than anything else, I love Numenhalla because it is, by a titanic margin, the most polished & unique game I have ever played in.

Among its many unique traits (though it may only be unique to me, as Numenhalla is my first “Megadungeon”) is that nothing really exists outside of the dungeon. I’ve been told to think of the town outside as a menu screen. Play doesn’t happen there. We can manage our affairs in town, but once we enter the dungeon, we cannot return to town until we’re ready to end the game. It’s a fascinating way to play. Something I wouldn’t mind experimenting with myself someday.

On a completely unrelated note, I recently purchased a fantastic Indie game called Rogue Legacy. It’s a side scrolling action game with gameplay similar to the better among the Castlevania games. There are many facets to it which make it interesting and unique, and I recommend it if you enjoy those types of games. Perhaps my favorite aspect of the game is the way they handle gold.

When you enter the Rogue Legacy dungeon for the first time, you have 0 gold. You fight, and jump, and claw your way through as much of the dungeon as you can, killing monsters and stealing the gold coins they drop. Eventually, inevitably, you die, and the game ends. But then you get to make a new character. This new character is the son or daughter of your previous character, and they’ve inherited all of the gold you gathered in your previous run! They can spend it on gear and upgrades which will be passed down through all the (hundreds) of generations your family is sure to have.

Once this new character has spent all the gold they can, and are ready to enter the dungeon, they are greeted by Charon. He demands a toll of you before he will allow you to enter the dungeon: every unspent coin you have. Once you’ve been reduced back to 0 gold, he will allow you to enter the dungeon. A dungeon which has been completely randomized since your last visit.

I’d be curious to see how this mechanic would work if used in a tabletop game. The party may plunge the depths of the dungeon, gather their treasure, and return to the surface. But they may not hoard their gold! Any gold unspent before returning to the dungeon is taken as a toll. (Or, perhaps more in character, wasted away on booze). Of course, the prices of items in town would need to be adjusted accordingly, but that wouldn’t be hard.

Not Everything Needs to be Finished

I’ve started, and decided not to finish, a number of tabletop game systems in my time. Most of them are from long long ago, such as the Final Fantasy VII system, the Metal Gear Solid system, and the Starcraft system (the latter of which I was really only working on as a gift for my girlfriend at the time). Since I began writing Papers & Pencils, I’ve toyed with a few new system ideas, but for the most part I haven’t mentioned them here. I always feel embarrassed and a little guilty when I inevitably decide not to finish something. Doing that on display for the whole Internet to see is even worse. That’s how I felt when I stopped developing LOZAS, and it’s why I’ve never mentioned Rocksfall in the body of a post until now.

To a degree, these feelings are justified. The world is filled with failed writers and game designers who start a lot of projects and never finish any of them. When a person starts a creative project, ideas are flying around in their head at lightning speed. They can hardly put them down on paper fast enough! But large projects, by very nature, can’t be finished quickly, and inevitably, the project starts to run into snags. It’s discouraging, but the cold truth is that no significant work has ever been completed without its creator running into snags which needed to be overcome. Follow-through is one of the most important skills for any budding creator to master. It’s a skill I’m still working on in myself, and that knowledge contributes to my guilt and embarrassment whenever I decide to end a project.

But during my hiatus, I came to a little realization. My LOZAS game, despite being a failed project, did produce some interesting results. The experience mechanic I developed sparked a lot of interesting conversation. And even though it won’t get a chance to be used in LOZAS, it could very easily end up in other games later. Other mechanics I worked on were not as generally popular, but I like them and will likely re-use them in future projects. The way magic worked in that game remains highly interesting to me, and I would very much like to see it developed further.

LOZAS failed, but LOZAS gave me tools and ideas which I’m taking with me as I move forward to other projects. What other tools might I find if I explored other ideas I’ve had? Ideas I’ve specifically avoided developing because I knew I wouldn’t finish them? Yes, it’s important to follow through on the projects I’m taking seriously, but perhaps I shouldn’t expect every project I start to be serious. Perhaps I can start designing a Final Fantasy VI tabletop RPG as an exercise, with no intention of finishing it. Maybe I can get a few good posts out of it, learn a few interesting things, and then move on without embarrassment or guilt, because it’s not a failure of my ability to follow through, it’s merely the natural end of a project which was never intended to be worked to completion.

You Don't Need to Roll a Character to Start Playing

This evening I attended a social gathering. My sister has just turned 14, and I had dinner with her and the rest of our family. It proceeded as family gatherings often do, which is to say that it wasn’t an experience I’d share on a gaming blog. Late in the evening, though, my sister commented that she’d like to join me in playing D&D someday.

“Want to play now?” I asked.

By happenstance, I had a set of 7 dice with me, and I always try to keep pens and paper handy regardless of where I am. I had everything I needed to run a game, and it was a perfect opportunity to try out an experiment I’ve been wanting to attempt for awhile. The experiment is simple: using whatever tools are on hand at the time, introduce a group of new players to gaming by making up a game on the spot.

The three siblings sitting nearest to me were all interested, so I wrote out the six basic stats on three pieces of paper. I told them all to roll 3d6 for their stats, in order, to roll 2d8 for their HP, and to write down one thing their character was good at. From there I figured everything could be handled by d20 checks against their stats, until I encountered a situation where they needed something deeper.

The process proved to be a little awkward. Not because any of my players had difficulty understanding my instructions, but because we only had a single six sider to share, and three people each needed to roll it 18 times. It wasn’t a quick process, and unfortunately the players weren’t even able to explore the first room of the dungeon before the rest of the dinner party agreed that it was time to leave.

I was disappointed. I could see their eyes lighting up as they just barely started to engage with the game world. My experiment was succeeding, I was creating fun out of nothing but experience-tempered improvisation. I didn’t have much to ruminate on, but I was at least encouraged that it was worth trying this again.

It wasn’t until the drive home that I realized I had wasted a lot of the game’s time. I asked the players to roll stats, and it took a good 8 minutes to get everybody’s rolling taken care of. And in the small amount we played, we never actually used those stats. It’s not hard to imagine that we could have gone 15 minutes or an hour, or even several hours without actually needing every single character to use every single one of their ability scores.

Instead, what I could have done is simply given each of them a piece of paper, and told them to write down one thing they were good at. Once that was done, I could have just started the damn game.

If in the first room there was a large rock, and one of the players wanted to lift it, then I could have told them to roll 3d6, record that as their strength, then roll a d20 against that strength score. The stats still exist, they just exist in a state of quantum flux until they are actualized by rolling a check.

Something I’ll try next time for sure.

Are Dead Levels a Bad Thing?

The exact meaning of a ‘dead level’ depends on who’s talking. I’ve heard a number of different definitions:

  • A level where the only improvement the character benefits from is increased HP. Typically used for oldschool games, since I don’t think a level like this ever exists in D&D 3.5 or Pathfinder.
  • A level where nothing improves about the character save for basic numbers stuff, such as HP, Saves, and Base Attack Bonuses.
  • A level where the character does not receive any new special abilities, though they may increase their HP, Saves, BAB, Ability Scores, or number of feats.

Here, I’ll be using that last definition, since it is the one which is most relevant with regards to the changes made between Dungeons & Dragons 3.5, and Pathfinder.

Back when I started playing tabletop games, around the advent of D&D 3.5, I often felt as though my character’s progress was painfully slow. I was excited to become more powerful, and nothing was worse than leveling up and realizing that very little had actually changed for my character. Dead levels were a serious frustration, because at that time planning out my character’s mechanical development was important to me.

When I originally read the Pathfinder rules, I praised them for the way dead levels were eliminated from the game. It meant players could spend less time waiting, and more time improving their character’s build. And I was right. Pathfinder does allow players to spend more time working on their build.

This is a good thing, because a big part of the appeal for RAW 3.5/PF is building your character. If the players are playing to build characters, and they almost never get to do that, then the game isn’t providing a satisfying experience. Dead levels are a huge issue, and should be eliminated.

However…

I no longer enjoy building my character. I’m not interested in playing a tabletop game where this is my goal, and I’m not interested in running a tabletop game where this is the goal of my players. Such gameplay is perhaps better suited for a video game or board game, where rules are more clear-cut and easy to enforce. In a tabletop game where the rules ought to be flexible and players are owed a logical explanation for any limitations placed on them, I don’t feel that it works.

So in the type of game I like to play and run, what is the point of leveling at all?

Improvement can be valuable without being the focus of attention. It can even be an important goal for the players without being the focus of attention. My goal is to provide my players with a game where they feel as though they can work towards any skill or goal diegetically. The advancement granted them by their class should be simple and easy to record & remember. More individualized character improvement can be sought out through gameplay, regardless of whether the character has leveled or not.

Dead Levels are only a problem if leveling up is the only means of improvement your characters have available to them.

Weather

In the past I’ve written that weather is an important element in tabletop gameplay, but I’ve reevaluated that position. Rather than calling it an “important game element,” I think it would be better termed as an “intermediate GM skill.” Yes, including weather in a game enhances the game’s atmosphere, and can potentially provide the players with an interesting handicap or boon. It’s a good addition to a game, but GMs already have a lot of things to keep track of. If something needs to be dropped, weather is the obvious choice. When I first started playing tabletop RPGs, I honestly didn’t notice that every adventure took place on a clear summer’s day. Weather was never mentioned, and nobody ever complained.

Given that weather is non-essential, I want it to require as little work as any mechanic can ever require. Random is good, but in this case, charts are bad. Charts require table space, or GM screen space. When they need to be rolled on, the GM will probably need to spend a few moments finding them. That’s too large a time investment. For weather, I want to roll a die, and immediately be able to interpret the die’s result.

I propose using a 1d12 roll. When play begins, a roll of 1 indicates bad weather, 2-3 indicate inconvenient weather, 4-9 indicate normal weather, 10-11 are nice weather, and 12 is great weather. Each new day out of doors, the GM rolls another 1d12. The same ranges mentioned above are used to determine how the weather changes, with the options being: much worse, slightly worse, unchanged, slightly better, or much better.

The GM determines the weather’s precise nature based on the current climate and season in the player’s location. Both of these elements should be predetermined using the game world’s map, and the campaign calendar. Within this context, the idea of “good” and “bad” weather is relative to how it helps the characters. While crossing plains or forests, rain would be at least inconvenient. In a desert, however, rain would be the best weather you could possibly ask for!

I like how this method utilizes a bell curve, without the annoyance of adding numbers together. Perhaps this weakness comes from my own poor education in math, but adding even small numbers together requires me to pause for a moment and consider. Not long, mind you, but longer than reading a single number off of a die. The system is also fairly easy to memorize: 1,2,3 are bad, anything with double digits (10, 11, 12) is good, and everything else is normal. And even though my decision to use a d12 was based on the probabilities which can be modeled with it, I take some small pleasure in coming up with a new use for the lil’ underutilized guy.

The number 12 has an amazing, underutilized synergy with dice games. But that’s a post for another day!

Simple Attacks & Grapples

I’ve been working on different ways a combat system could function, and I’ve constructed something I’m pretty happy with. It borrows heavily from both OD&D, and material I’ve read on Untimately.

Each class has a “Combat Target Number.” Anytime a character wishes to take offensive physical action against something, they roll a twenty sided die. If their roll on the d20 is equal to or higher their CTN, then the action succeeds. As each class levels up, their CTN becomes gradually smaller. Modifiers to the CTN are rare, which allows it to be very simple. A single number written on the player’s character sheet, which they must roll against.

Most characters will also have an Avoidance Score. This is typically a very small number, between -3 and 4. For most characters, their avoidance will be the same as their dexterity modifier; though if the character uses a shield, that will also add +1 to their AS. Again, modifiers to AS are rare, which keeps it simple. Any time a creature with avoidance is attacked, the AS is added to the attacker’s CTN.

Armor does not benefit a character’s avoidance score. Instead, it functions as a type of damage resistance. Each type of armor will have a die associated with it. As a simple example, lets say that leather armor uses 1d4, chain armor uses 1d6, and plate armor uses 1d8. Any time an attacker rolls a successful attack, they must then roll their damage dice against the defender’s armor dice. The value of the armor die is then subtracted from the value of the attack die, mitigating or even eliminating the damage dealt to the target.

My primary goal here is simplicity, which I think I’ve achieved. The player need not roll 1d20 + BAB + Strength + Weapon Bonus + Relevant Feat. They don’t even need to roll 1d20 + [Bundled Attack Bonus]. As silly as it might sound, taking two numbers and figuring out which is bigger is easier than taking two numbers and adding them together. I also like how the system keeps both the attacker and the target mechanically engaged. While determining the success of the strike, the player and GM need to communicate the CTN and the AC. While determining damage dealt, the player and GM are rolling dice opposed to one another.

You may have noticed that the CTN is to be used anytime “offensive physical action,” is taken. That’s because it would also be used similar to Pathfinder’s Combat Maneuver roll. The attacking player rolls against their CTN plus their target’s AS if they’re attempting to kick sand in their eyes, or disarm them, or grapple them, or whatever. Grappling in particular is traditionally complex and unwieldy. From 1st edition AD&D’s “Non-Lethal and Weaponless Combat Procedures“, to the system in D&D 3.X which was so complicated I literally kept a flowchart at the table at one point. Pathfinder’s combat maneuver system is a huge step in the right direction, but I think it can be simpler still.

When attempting a grapple, the attacker rolls against their CTN + their Target’s AS as normal. If they succeed, then they’ve got their hands, legs, tentacles, or whatever on their opponent. The attacker then makes a strength check (Roll 1d20. Equal to or under STR is a success, over STR is a failure). The defender may either roll a strength check, or a dex check, whichever they prefer. Whoever succeeds by more gets to pin/push/hold their opponent. If the two players tie, they are stalemated. If both players fail, success goes to the defender.

A basic example of play might proceed thus:

Fighter “I’d like to attack the orc. My CTN is 11.”
GM “The orc has an AS of 2, so you’ll need to roll a 13 or better.”
Fighter [roll] “A 15! That’s a success, so I’m rolling my damage die, 1d8.”
GM “The orc only has chain armor, so he’s rolling a 1d6 for defense.”
[Fighter and GM both roll their dice.]
GM “The orc rolled a 4.”
Fighter “That’s not bad, but I rolled a 6, so he still takes 2 damage!”
Rogue “Me next! I’ll get him with my throwing knife. My CTN is 14, so I need to roll a 16 or better here.” [Roll] “17, Success! Rolling my 1d6 damage die…”
[Fighter and GM both roll their dice.]
GM “I’m afraid the orc’s 3 beats your 2.”
Rogue “Fucking fuck. I wanted his gold. >:(“
Wizard “That really just leaves me. But my spells are gone, and my staff only deals 1d4 damage, so there’s a good chance I couldn’t hurt him even if I hit. I’m going to try to tackle him so the other players can hit him more easily next round.”
GM “Alright, you can try that. But you’ve got a CTN of 16, so you’ve gotta roll an 18 or higher to succeed.”
Wizard [roll] “I actually did it! I got an 18! Just barely!”
GM “Alright, but you’ve still gotta make your strength check. The orc is much stronger than he is agile, so he’ll be using his strength to oppose you as well.”
Wizard [roll] “Woo! I got a 10, that’s just under my Strength of 12!”
GM “Ah, but the Orc got an 8, which is way under his strength of 16. When you leap to tackle him he knocks you aside with his arm. You’re now sprawled on the ground behind him.”

There are a few complications to this system which I’ve omitted here. Both strength and dexterity do have a role to play, as do various positioning and circumstance bonuses and penalties. But this is the basic structure of the system, and I would be interested to hear thoughts on it.