Weapon Mechanics

A lot of emphasis in Pathfinder is placed upon magical weapons and their properties. Since acquiring such weapons is one of the primary goals of adventurers, this is good and proper. But put magic aside for a moment. Magic can do anything, and it doesn’t really matter (save, perhaps, thematically) what type of weapon serves as a vessel for which magical effect. When we take the magic away, what are the fundamental differences between weapons? Why would a level 1 adventurer choose a spear over a trident, or a scimitar over a falchion?

As it stands, mundane weapons all have a few simple attributes:

Price, which may or may not matter. Personally I’ve been much happier since I started enforcing starting gold more strictly. But for many years I allowed players to select any mundane equipment they wanted, and I do see the appeal of that method.
Damage, separated into Small and Medium, to reflect the various sizes of player races.
Critical range, and multiplier.
Range, for projectile weapons, or weapons which can be thrown.
Weight, which nobody I’ve ever met, not even the grognardiest of grognards really seem to care about. Encumbrance is important. The difference between 11lb and 12lb isn’t.
Damage type, which can be bludgeoning, piercing, or slashing damage. Sometimes a combination of two is used.
Hands Needed, which can be Two, One, or ‘light.’ (One handed weapons can be used with two hands optionally, while light weapons cannot.)
Complexity Category, which Pathfinder uses to help determine proficiency. The categories are Simple, Martial, and Exotic.
Some weapons have special properties, such as being ‘reach’ or ‘brace’ weapons. Other weapons are easier to use with certain combat maneuvers, such as tripping or disarming.

It’s not exactly a comprehensive representation of the differences between various weapons, but aside from overly precise weapon weight, it works well. After all, Pathfinder is a game, and everything needs to be simplified to help the game run smoothly. Excessive realism has a way of making a game tedious. None the less, I wonder if mundane weapons could be made more varied and interesting.

Below is a list I’ve compiled of weapon mechanics. Some are ready to be implemented, while others would need their mechanics refined. Individually, I think each could be included in a game without making in overly complex. Collectively, however, they would probably be too much. I’d like to hear more ideas in the comments if you have any. I’m particularly curious to know if other games have mechanics I didn’t think of.

Two-Handed Damage: In Pathfinder, a weapon wielded in your off hand gains half of your strength modifier to its damage, one in your main hand gains your full strength modifier, and one in both hands gains 150% of your strength modifier as damage. Calculating the strength bonus with decimal places is both unnecessarily complicated, and insufficient to influence the player’s decision. Make it simple: Offhand weapons get no strength bonus, main hand weapons get full strength bonus, and two handed weapons get double strength bonus.

Throwability: Pathfinder’s throwing weapon status is binary. Either a weapon is meant for throwing, or it is not. It could be fun if there were three options. A dagger or javelin can be thrown with no penalties. A rapier or a scythe would take a full -6 penalty on any thrown attack roll. Some weapons, like a spear, battleaxe, or longsword would take only a -3 penalty to throwing them. They’re not designed to be thrown, but they’re similar enough to weapons which are that it’s a feasible tactic. Weapons like whips and flails should be un-throwable.

Finesse and Cleave Weapons: Credit for this idea must be given to D&D 5th Edition, and to Jack. He shared the idea in the comments for my post on the Wide Swing Dilemma, and it is largely his creation. He’s got a nifty blog where I’ve got a whole tag all to myself.

In Pathfinder, Finesse is a feat which allows characters to use their dexterity instead of their strength to modify an attack roll when using light weapons. Cleave is a feat which allows a player to attack multiple enemies in a single turn. The idea here is to remove both feats, and instead make them an intrinsic property of certain weapons. A rapier or dagger, for example, would always have its attack rolls modified by dexterity rather than strength. Likewise, a two handed waraxe would always enable a character to take a swing at 2 or 3 enemies at a time, so long as all of them could be hit with a single arcing swing.

Speed: Each weapon would have a speed number associated with it. That number would be the amount of iterative attacks it was possible to make with that weapon on a given turn. A two handed war hammer, for example, might have a speed of 2 or 3 at most. While a dagger might have a speed of 10. Note that these iterative attacks are not entitlements, they are maximums. A character would need to work hard and level up before they were able to make multiple attacks during a single round, but a two handed war hammer would never be able to make more than 3 attacks, no matter how high level the character became.

Space To Use: A two handed axe is not the best weapon to have in a 3ft wide cavern. You can make some use of it, but it would be at an extreme penalty. I suggest three types of weapons. First, those which require only personal space. These would work anywhere that a character could fit comfortably, and would include weapons like a dagger, blowgun, or rapier. Weapons with a 10ft space to use would require an area at least 10ft wide to use comfortably, and in smaller spaces they would take a -4 penalty to attack rolls. This would include any weapon like a longsword or axe, which requires a wide swing. Finally there would be 15ft or larger weapons. These would mostly be weapons with reach, such as a whip, spiked chain, or trident. They would take a -4 penalty in spaces less than 15ft wide. In some spaces they might be impossible to use. A whip, for example, is completely useless if you don’t have room to swing it. And a 7ft long trident isn’t much use when you’re attacked from behind in a corridor 5ft square.

Both Speed and Space to Use are included in AD&D 1st edition. I am not very familiar with the relevant rules, however, so the above are concocted from my own suppositions on how such rules might work in a game.

Strength/Dexterity To Use: Composite bows already do something similar to this. Each composite bow has a strength rating, and a character must be at least that strong in order to be proficient in the weapon. This would apply the same concept to other weapons. Using a rapier or whip proficiently, for example, would require a dexterity of no less than 14. While a two handed warhammer would require a similar amount of strength. A character without a sufficient ability score could still used the weapon, but they would never be able to become proficient in it.

Training Time: This would replace Pathfinder’s weapon proficiency system. Each weapon would have a pair of training numbers indicating how long it takes to become proficient in the weapon. A dagger, for example, would be 2/4. If a character wishes to become proficient with a dagger, they simply need to take it with them into battle. The character is considered non proficient with the weapon, and all attack rolls are made with a -4 penalty. Anytime the character gains at least 2 experience* from a battle where they successfully dealt damage using the dagger, they put a tally mark next to the weapon. Once they have a number of tally marks equaling the first number (in this case, 2) their attack penalty is reduced to -2. Once they have a number of tally marks equal to the second number, they are considered proficient with the weapon and no longer take any penalties associated with using it.

Each class starts out already being proficient with a number of weapons. For fighters, all training times are reduced by half (rounding up).

*This is in reference to the Simple XP System I use.

Weapon Vs. Armor Type: This is another 1st edition rule which I know very little about. I like the concept, and would be interested in seeing it in play, however I have no real original ideas on how to implement it (yet). Instead, I would direct you to a post over at Delta’s D&D Hotspot which proposes pretty much what I think I would come up with. (I seem to have a tendency to reduce everything to 3 groups).

Hold at Range: A few weapons, like a spear or a trident, naturally lend themselves to keeping someone at range. At the end of each turn while using such a weapon, the player may indicate that they would like to keep a foe they just attacked at bay. When the character does this, they gain a -2 Dexterity penalty to AC against all other enemies. If their designated enemy attempts to move closer, then the character gets an automatic attack of opportunity against their foe. If the attack succeeds, then the foe’s movement is halted and they cannot move any more on that turn.

Parry Bonus to AC: I’m not 100% convinced that this is a good idea. To some degree, the parry is already included in a character’s AC as part of their dexterity. However, some weapons lend themselves better to defense than others do. Neither a very short weapon, like a dagger, nor a very long weapon, like a scythe, would be well suited to aiding in defense. This, I think, has the potential to be the mid-sized weapon’s biggest advantage vs. smaller faster weapons, and larger harder-hitting weapons.

Weapon Damage and Repair: This is hardly a new idea, which never seems to survive long because tracking weapon damage is too much hassle. I’m not sure how that problem could be resolved, but I would very much enjoy seeing this element in a game if it were possible. It would be particularly interesting when combined with my new crafting system. (Which, I swear, I’m going to post eventually).

Alternate Attack Surfaces: The party encounters a band of skeletons. This is unfortunate, because they’ve all come equipped with spears and tridents. Since they only have piercing weapons it will be difficult to kill the skeletons, who have DR 5/Bludgeoning. Then the bard has a wacky idea: what if they turn their weapons around and hit the skeletons with the shaft instead of the points? Many weapons seem as though they would be simple to use in other ways, to achieve a different type of damage. It’s pretty difficult to use a weapon when you’re striking with the flat of the blade or the pommel, so I could understand if many weapons did not have alternate damage types. But what could be simpler than using a spear as a quarterstaff, or a scythe as a piecing weapon?

Page by Page: Gary Gygax's DMG Part 6

This is the sixth installment of my continuing series on the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide, written by Gary Gygax. This post begins with the section “Combat” on page 61, and continues through “Special Types of Attacks” on page 70

Encounters, Combat, and Initiative: Here is the first place where Gygax brings up the fact that AD&D uses a 1 minute round. This has been discussed in the comments section of previous Page by Page posts, but I think it deserves a proper mention here. To his credit, Gygax writes a lengthy explanation and defense of the one minute round. He makes a few very compelling points about the importance of abstraction, and how more granular combat is inappropriate in a game which does not focus on combat. As a sabre fencer myself, I can appreciate the fact that it would be impossible to really represent swordplay in the tabletop RPG format. None the less, I view the 6 second round as a major improvement. I simply think the game becomes more engaging when the players have more granular control on what happens in combat. I wouldn’t really argue that one method is inherently better than the other, it’s a stylistic preference.

Gygax also explains exactly what hit points are meant to represent in this section. If I’d had this quote on hand in the past, I would have been able to settle a lot of silly arguments:

“Damage scored to characters or certain monsters is actually not substantially physical–a mere nick or scratch until the last handful of hit points are considered–it is a matter of wearing away the endurance, the luck, the magical protections.”

Initiative: I like the fact that Initiative is only rolled if there is no element of surprise to consider. I do not like the idea that initiative is recalculated each round. There seems to be an excessive amount of computation involved in determining the order of combat. This excess becomes even more prevalent later in this reading.

Morale: I thought I had mentioned this before, but apparently I have not: morale is a good idea. I don’t understand why developers decided to cut the morale mechanic out of the game. These days, most enemies simply fight to the death, which is not only silly, but harmful. If the monsters never run away, then players will never realize that running away is an entirely valid strategy for survival.

Encounter Reactions: I’ve never liked rolling for reactions, but that may be because I’ve never liked entirely random environments. Which isn’t to say I don’t have a healthy respect for the role of random generation in RPGs. It is not only useful, but essential. However, I prefer a kind of directed randomness. When I roll for a random monster, I’m rolling on a list of monsters for which I have already created worldviews, and reasons for being in the area. My players have repeatedly told us they appreciate this, because it means that random encounters are not meaningless encounters. Every random encounter tells them more about the world around them, and could potentially lead to adventure.

Missile Discharge: I had never considered before that a missile (such as an arrow) might be destroyed by a spell (such as a fireball). The concept is fascinating, and I’m curious to give it a try. I’m also somewhat wary of it, however. The player firing an arrow into a group of enemies is already having less of an impact than the guy casting a fireball into that same group. It seems mean to make the two mutually exclusive.

Also in this section, I gained a new appreciation for the modern rules of firing into a melee. These rules are ridiculously convoluted.

Missile Fire Cover and Concealment Adjustments: In an amusing turnaround, I think the cover and concealment mechanics are actually more simple than they are in modern games. A flat boost to AC rather than an extra d% roll to determine miss chance.

Grenade-Like Missiles: I find it a little terrifying that Gygax thought such complex rules were necessary. I’ve always handled grenade-like missiles using a very simple system. They have a range increment of 10ft and use a ranged touch attack. Standard damage is dealt to anyone hit by them, and splash damage is dealt to anyone in an adjacent space. If you miss, roll 1d6 (for hexes) or 1d8 (for squares) to determine which direction the object landed in, and roll 1d4 to determine the total number of spaces away from the intended target it landed.

Spell Casting During Melee: I love this idea. I’ve written in the past (twice, actually) about ways to nerf the wizard without losing any of its flavor, and the rules presented here seem like a great method for partially accomplishing that goal. An AD&D a spellcaster cannot crouch or lie prone while casting any spell that includes somatic components, and loses their dexterity bonus to their AC while casting such a spell. If they are attacked or jostled while casting a spell, that spell fails and is expended for the day. No concentration check, no nothing. There’s nothing wrong with wizards wielding powers vastly beyond the abilities of a fighter or rogue, so long as the fighter and rogue are still needed to keep the caster alive while they cast.

It’s also sounds like most AD&D spells have much longer casting times than Pathfinder spells do. Not only would implementing that as a house rule improve game balance, but it would lend spells a sense of gravitas.

Turning Undead: There are some really interesting concepts here. First, I love the idea that a cleric can only continue to turn undead until he fails once. You might say that if a cleric fails to turn undead, it’s because his faith faltered for a moment. And upon seeing the undead continue undaunted by his god’s power, the cleric’s faith in that power is broken until they have a chance to rest and pray. I also like that more powerful undead ‘shield’ less powerful undead from being turned. If a cleric encounters a vampire and five zombies, they must turn the vampire in order to attempt turning the zombies.

Counter-Affecting: I very much would like to see a good and an evil cleric fighting for control of a group of undead. That sounds awesome.

Closing to Striking Range: Perhaps I’m failing to understand something. I haven’t read the AD&D player’s handbook, so I lack a basis which many of these sections assume I have. However, it sounds like you cannot close to striking range, and strike, in the same turn. Why ever not? That just seems silly.

Weapon Speed Factor/Other Weapon Factor Determinants: The more I read about the AD&D combat round, the more it seems like a jumbled mess to me. Again, perhaps this is because I lack information found in the PHB. But figuring out who gets what actions in each round, and then determining which actions occur simultaneously with other actions, is enough to make my eyes glaze over. That doesn’t happen very often! I love reading about mechanics. But halfway through Gygax’s example about a fighter using a sword and a magic user casting a fireball, I realized I simply did not care.

At this point my view is that AD&D combat is filled with interesting ideas which could be useful in a modern game, but that modern combat is still an overall improvement. That may change once I have an opportunity to actually see these rules in action.

Pursuit and Evasion of Pursuit: This is a good, simple breakdown of pursuit rules. I wouldn’t call it great, but it actually answers a lot of questions I’ve had (and heard) about how to run a chase scene well. I’m convinced it can be done better, but I don’t have any real ideas on how that could be accomplished.

I do really like how the GM is not supposed to provide fleeing characters with enough information to create a map. So the cost of running away from a monster is being lost in a dungeon.

Number of Opponents Per Figure: I find it highly amusing that AD&D is noted for functioning without a battlemat, but still needs to utilize squares and hexes to determine how many monsters can attack a single character at a given time.

Lively Locals 3: Drummer's Field

Everybody has a story about what happened on Drummer’s Field. No two are quite the same, and all of them are suspect. No written historical account of the battle fought there is known to exist. What few sages have studied the field’s legacy know scarcely more than the drunks who swap their yarns in nearby taverns.

There are, however, a very few facts upon which everyone agrees. Not less than two centuries ago, a battle was fought on Drummer’s Field. In that battle, a ruling line was ended forever. And, whether through victory or through flight, a great evil survived. Lastly, no one contests that something of the battle was left behind—though precisely what remains a mystery.

Drummer’s Field takes its name from a lone figure who walks its length each night. No one has ever seen where he comes from, or where he goes, but each night he emerges from the forest on the southern side of the field. He marches solemnly, beating his drum in time with his step. It takes him roughly a half of an hour to cross to the Northern side of the field, where he disappears again into the trees.

Many sages have studied the Drummer in depth. He is not a ghost, for he has corporeal form. Neither has never been confirmed that he truly appears and disappears. If he does, it is always immediately upon being out of sight. If his path is blocked by a physical object, he will calmly move around it without changing pace. The few times a person has dared to block his path directly, a bright yellow light has emanated from beneath the Drummer’s cowl. This light engulfs the blocker’s form, and when it dissipates, they are gone None who have been engulfed by this light have ever been heard from again.

A few attempts to forcibly restrain or attack the drummer have been attempted. If these attacks can be ignored, the Drummer simply continues his march. More serious attempts to restrain or harm the Drummer cause the Drummer to die, silently. Either clutching at his throat as though choking, or clutching at any wounds which have been inflicted on him. When the body is examined, it is discovered that there is no one within the Drummer’s clothing. Only a few nights later, the Drummer returns to the field, as though nothing happened. This has only been attempted a few times, since each time the Drummer has died, one of those responsible for his ‘death’ has disappeared without explanation shortly thereafter.

It has also been noted that upon careful listening, one can hear the sounds of a great battle with each beating of the figure’s drum. These sounds are only faint echos, so it is difficult to learn anything about the battle from them. An elven sage named Efrem once spent 50 years dutifully cataloging each sound she could make out from the beating of the drums. Even with her impressive elven hearing, the volumes she produced are primarily filled mostly with the clash of swords, and a few shouted commands. She did insist, however, that the sound was a little different each night.

The locals have come to accept the Drummer as a relatively innocuous creature, and even a source of community pride. They warn their children to stay away from him, citing of his deadly gaze. But every child knows you can’t be a man (or woman) until you’ve spent a night marching beside the Drummer.

GM INFORMATION:

Four hundred years ago, the king of a small kingdom stood against the demonic hordes of a Balor. The king and his army were slaughtered, and the demon carried out a ruthless campaign of genocide against the King’s people, erasing anyone who might remember the upstart who had dared to oppose him. With his dying breath, the King swore to the demon that the battle would never end until his people had been avenged.

The drummer appeared shortly thereafter, marching the field as a creature outside of time. Any who met his gaze were welcomed by him. The light he emitted sent them hurtling back through time, into the thick of the battle. Some managed to survive the battle, others were not so lucky. And none of them were able to change the battle’s outcome, and thus end the Drummer’s march.

At first, the Drummer had no form of his own. Beneath the clothing which bore the king’s colors, there truly was nothing. That changed the first time the Drummer was killed, about 15 years after he began his nightly march. Since then, whoever kills the Drummer has been possessed by its spirit. At night they rise as though they are awake, though they have no awareness of themselves or their surroundings. They instinctively know where the Drummer’s garb can be found. They immediately put it on, and travel to the field where they begin their march.

As they cross the field, the Drummer’s magic begins to take hold of them. And if they make it to the far end of the field, then they become bound forever to the Drummer’s task. Since then, each night when The Drummer disappears, he has been transported back through time to the battlefield. There the Drummer must watch, time and again, as the demons triumph over the goodly forces of humanity.

If anyone sent back through time is ever able to successfully turn the battle’s tide, and defeat the demons, the Drummer’s curse would end. Though the spell would not likely send the heroes back to their own time, instead trapping them in the past where they must either learn to live, or hope to find their own way back home.

Updated Forest Battlefield Generator

A long while ago, shortly after I started taking this blog seriously, I wrote a post about making your forest environments more exciting during battles. It was the first of my Spicing Up the Battlemat series of posts, which is a series I’ve always found both fun and useful. Along with that post, I made a pdf file to help generate forest battlefields. I don’t know if anyone else has ever downloaded it, but I’ve certainly gotten a lot of use out of it myself. However, having now used it for several months, I’ve noticed more than a few problems. Not only are there several typos, but some options (most notably insects) came up far too often.

I recently took the time to revisit that chart, and I’ve updated a number of things. The layout is more clear, I’ve removed some useless information, added some cool new options, and altered some of the probabilities. I’ve also changed the rules about undergrowth, which I had taken directly from page 427 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook. As it turns out, however, people who design tabletop role playing games might not be nature experts. I happen to have one such expert in my group, and they recently pointed out that when there’s high tree density, sunlight doesn’t penetrate to the forest floor, and thus there is less undergrowth, not more.

For my own purposes, I use this chart in almost every game, and I fully believe it has enriched our group’s experience. So, if you’re interested, here’s the PDF. An image of the file is also available below.

Random Forest Battlefield Generator v2

Why was This Dungeon Built?

Often on this site, perhaps too often, I construct posts by comparing or contrasting my gaming philosophies to those of the OSR community. Most likely, this is because all of the gaming blogs I read have an OSR slant to them. Is it just me, or does the OSR have a huge blogging presence? Anyway, this post isn’t any different. It’s about dungeons, and how my views on them compare to the OSR community’s.

Most OSR blogs I’ve read are strongly of the opinion that dungeons do not need to have a logical layout. I agree.
Most OSR blogs I’ve read are of the opinion that dungeons do not need to have an origin story. I disagree.
Most OSR blogs I’ve read are of the opinion that the creatures which exist within the dungeon don’t need any particular reason to be there. I disagree again.

There. I figured we might as well expedite the process for this post, since it’s late and I’m somewhat tired. I’m going to focus on the second point here: that I believe dungeons should have an origin story. Even if the dungeon’s layout is completely randomly generated, it’s valuable to have a few solid facts about the dungeon in mind. Where the dungeon came from can provide insights into what the dungeon looks like, and what can be found there. A 40ft long corridor in an ancient prison might be simple stone, while the same corridor in a crypt might have burial shelves at regular intervals. Below are the various dungeon origins I’ve come up with.

A Wizard Did It

I think it was Gary Gygax in the “Underworld and Wilderness Adventures” booklet who attributed dungeons to “Insane Wizards.” And while I’d hardly call it a sufficient explanation for every dungeon, it’s a great starting point. A wizard might construct a dungeon as a personal fortress, or as a way to contain their magical experiments. A truly insane Wizard could be responsible for some of a world’s most twisting and hazardous dungeons.

A dungeon created by wizards is also, in my mind, a great excuse to be showy with the unusual architecture and traps. Rooms where gravity shifts, or invisible bridges between towering cliff faces are exactly the kind of thing an arrogant wizard might create just to show that they could.

Heracles Will Get to it Later

We all love Greek mythology here, right? When the Olympian gods imprisoned the Titans, Gaea (mother to the Titans and grandmother to the Olympians) bore two final children: Typhon and Echidna. These monstrous gods had numerous monstrous children together, including Cerberus, the Hydra, the Chimera, and the Nemean Lion. The Olympians eventually put a stop to the parents, but decided to let the children live, ‘as a test for future heroes.’

There is ample mythological precedent for the gods intentionally creating challenges for no purpose other than to test the limits of mortal heroism. While the Greek gods did this by leaving monsters around to be defeated by a bunch of guys who were mostly demi-gods anyway, the gods in a Pathfinder campaign setting might choose to test heroes by crafting dungeons to be explored.

Natural Phenomenon

A natural dungeon, or cave, is nothing new. It is none the less important to mention. Dungeons like these are created by the flow of water through the earth, by volcanic eruptions, and burrowing animals. But in a world of magic, could not that also play a part?

For the last few years I’ve been intrigued by the concept of ‘wild magic,’ magic which either exists naturally, or which exists as a kind of “nuclear fallout” from a once mighty magical civilization. In my Negune campaign setting, the isle of Argania is absolutely filled with this kind of thing. I see no reason why wild magic couldn’t also create a dungeon.

Perhaps tens of thousands of years ago, a civilization developed an urban development spell. One which built roads and houses and sewers and aqueducts. The spell effect was permanent, and has continued long after the civilization collapsed. After thousands of years without maintenance it builds corridors and rooms seemingly at random. Often it creates areas which are exceedingly dangerous for humans. And while it mostly ignores areas once it constructs them, occasionally an older area of the dungeon needs to be demolished…

Ancient City

Ancient cities tend to be distinct among dungeons, because they often follow a more logical structure. However, there’s no reason an ancient civilization couldn’t have had some very strange architectural choices. Particularly if it was something like ancient dwarves, whose cities are carved from stone anyway.

And don’t forget all the cool ways in which an ancient city can be damaged over the centuries. It can be partially underwater, or partially hidden under a blanket of volcanic rock. A particular favorite of mine is the city which has fallen into the earth, creating a very strange amalgam of natural and man-made hallways and chambers.

Crazy Creepy Cult

Cults do all manner of wacky things, and not all of them are secret. Much like in real life (See: Jim Jones, David Koresh, etc) cults will often want to completely separate themselves from the world and form their own self sustaining communities. In a game like Pathfinder, there’s no reason why these isolationists wouldn’t decide to build a dungeon to live in. Some cults might actually view the endless expantion of their dungeon to be a medetative act of prayer.

Cosmic Fender Bender

Every one of the numerous planes of existence is no doubt filled with citadels, towers, and dungeons of their own. And if two planes intersect just slightly, a dungeon might be thrown from one world, and into ours. This is a great way to add a hint of planar travel to your campaign, without going all the way and sending your players outside of the material realm.

Extradimentional Trap

Lets say the players are raiding a wizard’s tower. Upon opening a drawer, a flash of light engulfs them. Next thing they know they’re in the middle of a labyrinth filled with monsters and traps.

Dungeon in a Drawer: Keeping thieves away from your silverware.

Old Standbys

There are some classics which I can’t really add to, but I feel like I ought to mention them none the less.

A literal dungeon, built beneath a castle. Monarch after monarch added on to it. Even if the castle is still inhabited, nobody really knows how far down it goes, or what was done down there.
A prison. While this is basically what a dungeon beneath a castle was used for, it is distinct because there’s no castle on top of it, and second because we rarely think of dungeons in a literal sense any more. ‘Dungoen’ can mean anything with lots of monsters and treasure in it.
A crypt where the dead are buried. This could be anything from an Egyptian Pyramid, to the Catacombs beneath Rome.

Page by Page: Gary Gygax's DMG Part 5

This is the fifth installment of my continuing series on the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide, written by Gary Gygax. This post begins with the section “Travel in the Known Planes of Existence” on page 57, and continues through “Listening At Doors” on page 60.

Travel In The Known Planes of Existence As I’ve mentioned in the recent past, I’ve always been fascinated by planar adventures. There’s something about the idea of traveling not only to other worlds, but to places where even basic physical realities are different. It gets my adventurous spirit going. But no matter how fundamentally different they are, I always picture the various planes of existence as still fitting within the game’s setting. And while Gygax makes allowances for that as well, much of this section is about using planar travel as an excuse to visit completely different game systems. As in sending D&D characters to his “Boot Hill” wild west game. I was aware that he, as a GM, did that sort of thing. But I find it a little odd to see it right here in the DMG. I honestly can’t imagine doing things that way. If my players and I wanted to play a different game, I think we’d just put our D&D characters aside and play a different game.

I once read a post from Trollsmyth which might explain that, though I can’t find it for the life of me. It was about a cultural shift in the tabletop gaming community. According to him, in the old days players tended to stick with a single game for the long term, while now-a-days players often switch between campaigns and game systems at a rapid pace. That might explain why Gary thought it was important for GMs to know they could send their players to other game systems, whereas I (as a whippersnapper) view the concept as silly.

Outdoor Movement I am both surprised and disappointed that nothing here is really news to me. I guess it might be because I’ve already devoted a lot of time to reading, thinking, and even writing about this subject. I’m still not satisfied with how it works in my games, though, so I was hoping this would be one of those passages filled with Gygaxian genius. Oh well.

Infravision & Ultravision It’s pretty cool to have a detailed explanation of how Infravision works, though it seems like basic 60′ Infravision wouldn’t be all that useful. I mean, it’s a nice trick to have up your sleeve, but it wouldn’t let you function normally in the dark the way I would normally imagine. You’d be tripping over things on the floor constantly. 90′ Infravision is much closer to what one would normally think of, and I like that it is used to explain creatures with glowing red eyes. (The eyes are emitting infared radiation, and seeing via the radiation’s reflection).

Ultravision’s explanation is a little less detailed and clear. I wonder if the Player’s Handbook gives more detail on when this would be useful.

Invisibility This section, I think, stands well in contrast to many modern discussions about game-changing spells. Spells such as Fly and Invisibility which produce a lot of argument because they allow players to completely bypass obstacles. My position on these problems has always been that a GM should understand the spell’s limitations, and design better obstacles. Some others prefer to see these spells reduced in power, or removed from the game.

Gygax’s solution is to write six paragraphs and a table into the DMG which outline all the ways in which invisibility can fail in its intended purpose. Maybe the monster can smell you, or hear you, or maybe two players will run into one another while attempting to maneuver invisibly. It’s really quite clever.

Mirrors …What?

“It is important for DMs to remember that in order to be reflective, a mirror must have a light source.” -Gygax, DMG, Page 60. Apropos of nothing.

Why does this section exist? That’s all it says. Right between “Invisibility” and “Detection of Evil And/Or Good,” Gygax decided to include a little section about how mirrors work. I suppose I can see how this would be useful to remember, but it seems really random.

Detection of Evil And/Or Good I love how many of the sections in this book are obviously written from Gygax personal experience with players who try to take advantage of the rules. This is an example of that, where he points out that “Detect Evil” can’t be use to find traps or poisons. I don’t think there’s any point in my GMing career when I would have allowed a player to do that, but obviously some players have tried.

Listening at Doors I’m kind of surprised to learn that Gary Gygax included a listen check in his game. The way the entire OSR community hates perception checks, it’s kinda surprising to see the equivalent of one in this, the holy grail of the OSR. Now I realize nobody views Gary Gygax as infallible; he just got a lot of things right. I just never expected to see something like a listen check in this book.

And to be fair, he only includes it for when active listening attempts are made, which makes good sense I think. Thought his percentages are preposterously low. If there’s a dozen orcs in the next room, and an elf presses his ear to a wooden door, then I’d say there’s a 100% chance that elf is going to hear something. Gygax gives the elf a measly 15% chance.

Hearing Noise This is absolutely brilliant, so I’m going to include it in its entirety:

“When a die roll indicates a noise has been heard, tell the player whose character was listening that he or she heard a clink, footstep, murmuring voices, slithering, laughter, or whatever is appropriate. (Of course, some of these noises will be magical, e.g., audible glamer spells, not anything which will be encountered at all!) Be imprecise and give only vague hints; never say, “You hear ogres,” but “You hear rumbling, voice-like sounds.” Failure to hear any noise can be due to the fact that nothing which will make noise is beyond the portal, or it might be due to a bad (for the listener) die roll. Always roll the die, even if you know nothing can be heard. Always appear disintersted regardless of the situation.” -Gygax, DMG, Pg 60

Remember a week ago when I posted a long whiny list of things I want in a tabletop RPG? The above passage is exactly what I meant when I wrote:

“I want a game which explains not just the rules of the system, but the spirit which those rules support. One which explains why rules exist, and how certain mechanics improve play. I want a game which helps Game Masters make the leap from learning rules, to running a campaign.”

Why is this kind of thing so hard for modern RPGs to do?

Favorite Quotes from this Section

“”Now I’ll sneak up on the monster invisibly!” How often has this cry rung forth from eager players in your campaign? How often have you cursed because of it? Never fear, there are many answers to the problem of invisibility…” -Gygax, DMG, Pg 59

Serius Biznis

There are two things you should know about me: I’m serious about making writing my career, and I’m a huge dork. Getting business cards was really the only logical thing I could do. After all, nothing says “take me seriously” quite like business cards for a blog.

I’ve always planned on getting cards for this place eventually. A couple years ago when I met Jen McRight, she gave me a business card, and I just thought it was cool. It’s one thing to talk about writing stuff on the internet, it’s another thing to be able to hand someone a tiny, physical banner ad for your website. I’ve been putting it off for a few months, because I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. But I’ve had a few conversations recently where a business card would have been handy. Plus I’ve got Paizocon in a couple weeks, and it would be nice to have them on-hand while I’m there.

With so many websites claiming to print business cards so cheaply, I had some difficulty finding one I felt I could trust. In the hopes of saving others the trouble: I used Vista Print. The base price for their cards is better than most places I found, and my cards arrived less than a week after I placed the order. I’m very happy with the product, but I did find their service severely lacking. I needed to click through something like 15 pages of addons before they would let me check out on their website. Page after page of “would you like this image on a coffee mug? No? Well how about on the hood of your car then? On a T-shirt!? PUT IT ON SOMETHING, PLEASE!” It was like web based version of that guy at Best Buy who keeps pestering you until you want to punch him.

To add insult to injury, the last thing they offered me was a discount on additional cards. So let that be a lesson: if you want more than the minimum 250 cards, order 250 and wait until they offer you a cheaper price on 500!

If you’re interested, here’s the design of the card. I’ve already got some thoughts on what I’ll change in my next batch. But I’m rather proud of how it looks already.

Lively Locals 2: River of Blades

Once, there was a tribe who lived by the river. They were not skilled in technology or magic, but the river provided everything they needed. Its water was clean, and its depths filled with fish. The tribe flourished under the leadership of Matron Ulanae. Ulanae was wise, and was the first among her tribe to begin to discover the powers of magic. She used her gifts to improve the lives of her people, and she was beloved. But the elders were jealous of Ulanae. Before she had begun to display her magical talents, they had ruled the tribe as the speakers for the River Spirit.

The elders told Ulane that the River Spirit wished to commune with her. To do so she must travel seven days up river to the place where the river falls from the high cliff. She was to climb the high cliff, and bathe above the waterfall to form a sacred bond with the river. Ulanae and her people still had great reverence for the River Spirit, so she obeyed the elder’s commands and began her journey. In secret, the elders followed her. They remained hidden until Ulanae reached the top of the waterfall, and began bathing in the waters there. They then emerged from hiding, and overpowered the matron. They threw her over the cliff, and her body was destroyed on the many sharp rocks below.

The elders returned to the village. They intended to tell the people that Ulanae had offended the River Spirit with her brashness, and that the River Spirit had consumed her as punishment. But when they arrived they found the people in great distress. The River Spirit was angry, they said, and would not let them enter the River. The Elders tried to calm the people by praying loudly to the River Spirit. When they had finished, they waded into the water–and their bodies were torn asunder by the river’s bite.

Without strong leadership, and lacking the resources the river had provided them, the tribe eventually moved off to settle elsewhere.

—

By all appearances, there is nothing out of the ordinary about the River of Blades. The somewhat muddy water flows at a fast pace, but not so fast that it would be difficult to stand in. It is between 50 and 90ft wide, and over 500 miles in length from the waterfall where it begins, to the estuary where it meets the sea. There are no towns near the river, nor are there any bridges built across it. The only oddity about the river is that it contains no plant or animal life whatsoever. No algae grows on the rocks, no fish swim in the water, local animals do not drink from it, and even trained horses will only enter it with extreme reluctance.

When anything makes contact with the water, it is attacked as though by dozens of swords all at once. Leaves and branches which fall into the water from nearby trees are quickly chopped into dust, and the effect is no less dramatic on adventurers. If the water is touched only very lightly, such as with the flat of one’s palm, or the toe of one’s boot, no damage is dealt. Instead, the character will feel as though they are being sliced, and if they look at whatever part of them touched the water they will see numerous tiny lacerations cross-crossing in all directions. If a hand or foot is submerged in the water, the character takes 1d4 slashing damage per round. If the character stands waist deep in the water they take 3d6 slashing damage per round. If the character swims, or is submerged in the water, they take 5d8 slashing damage per round. Anyone foolish enough to drink this water will suffer massive internal injuries, and instantly be reduced to -1 hit points.

No effect visible to the naked eye accompanies this attack. A character who is using Detect Magic or a similar spell will be able to see faint outlines of blades in the water, but only when an attack is taking place. There is also a very faint sound of slashing swords (again, only when an attack is taking place) but this is normally drowned out by the river’s flow. Anything which is placed in the water is subject to this attack. Most wooden craft are quickly shredded. Stone seems to hold together alright, though visible scratches constantly appear in its surface, and it would likely erode to nothing after a few hours of contact with the water. Curiously, if a bladed weapon is submerged in the water it is not damaged. Rather, when it is removed from the water, the wielder will discover that it has been expertly sharpened.

Water removed from the river will retain this slashing property so long as it is within 1 mile of the river. Note that this means it will destroy many of the containers water might normally be placed in. If this water is used as a weapon, by throwing it or splashing it at an opponent, the damage dealt is at the GM’s discretion. Roughly 1 cup of water would deal 1d6 damage, but more water might deal greater amounts of damage as indicated by the list above.

The Problem with Diversity

“The Problem with Diversity” is not the kind of post title I ever would have expected to see on Papers & Pencils. The site just doesn’t have enough confederate flag icons to justify that sort of thing. I mean, fuck, I’m the kind of hippie who uses words like ‘privilege,’ and ‘cisgendered.’ Yet there it is, and here we go: there is too much racial diversity in modern fantasy gaming, and it’s hurting us.

Allow me to be perfectly clear: I do not mean ethnic diversity. Frankly, I think we could use a few more black elves. It’s pretty fucked up that the only ones we have live underground and worship an evil spider goddess. I get that drow are not intended to have any connection to real-life black people, but that doesn’t make it much better. And while we’re at it, some Asian dwarfs might be cool. So, with regards to ethnic diversity, we need more. It’s racial diversity which we need less of. Racial as in the human race and the dwarven race and the elven race, etcetera.

Most large towns or cities in most fantasy games are expected to have a variety of humanoid species present. Often they’ll have a primary race which exists in the majority, but a “human” city could easily have a population which is 15% dwarves, 10% elves, 8% gnomes, and 5% miscellaneous. I’m not sure what compels us to do this. Maybe we’re all instinctively creating allegories for the real world and trying to craft diverse cultures where everybody gets along. Or maybe we’re just being children who mix 10 flavors of soft drink together and think it’ll taste amazing. (Hint: it doesn’t).

The races of a fantasy world are different. Far more different than any real-world humans might be. Regarding the aforementioned human city, why would enough dwarves to constitute 15% of its population choose to live there? To a dwarf, human cities are ugly and uncomfortable. A dwarf is used to being underground, where even outside of their home there’s still a roof over their heads. Dwarves enjoy the natural beauty of stone formations and mineral deposits, not the natural beauty of flowers and trees. The elves make just as little sense. Elven cities incorporate much more nature into their design than human cities do. And why would a creature who will live thousands of years want to live in a place where most of their neighbors will die of old age in just a few short decades?

The problem with diversity is spawned from another problem more well documented in the tabletop community: the problem of humans in funny hats. It’s hard to see the world from a different perspective–that’s absolutely true. I have a hard enough time putting myself in the shoes of a woman, and I’ve lived with and around women all of my life. The idea of being able to put myself into the shoes of someone who grew up in a completely different culture from me is almost too much to conceive of. And a dwarf? A completely different species with a completely different evolutionary history, living in a completely different kind of world? There’s undoubtedly more to them than short, strong, taciturn humans with Scottish accents.

Gary Gygax realized this. Which is why 1st edition Dungeons and Dragons is explicitly described as a “Human-Centric” game. Now, personally, I don’t like the extremes Gary went to. I don’t like the idea of race being used as class, I don’t think races should have an inherent alignment (at least not an absolute one), and I don’t think we should view other races as being less important to the game than humans are. However, as I’ve mentioned before, we do need to make a concerted effort to make each fantasy race distinct. Part of that is that they should all live separately.

I sometimes feel as though modern fantasy is trying to emulate the cantina scene from Star Wars, without understanding that scene’s full effects. On the one hand, the cantina scene shows us just how diverse the Star Wars universe is. We’re overwhelmed by the amount of fantastic creatures we encounter all at once, and we gain a better appreciation for how large and varied this universe is. Everybody understands that part, and it certainly seems like something we’d want in a fantasy game. The second element of the scene, however, is that nobody cares. Aside from Luke, the wide-eyed farm boy, none of the characters give the slightest indication that the scene before them is as impressive to them as it is to the audience. And even Luke just walks up to the bar and orders a drink. So yes, that scene shows us just how diverse the universe is. But it also shows us that diversity is old news. The various species of the galaxy have lived with each other for so long that they’re all on pretty familiar terms. Is that really what we want in a fantasy world? By placing humans, elves, dwarves, and the rest into a single environment and making them as bored with one another as the species in the Star Wars cantina, we take away a lot of what makes them interesting to us in the first place.

Now, I’m not saying there should be no mixing of the species at all, but it should be much less frequent. Two or three orders of magnitude less frequent. For example, a human settlement could have a 1% chance per 1000 people to have [population/1000]d4 member of a different species living there. As an example, a city with 10,000 people would have a 10% chance of having 10d4 dwarves living there. And those dwarves would probably be outcasts among their people, or have some other extreme reason for living amongst humans. Greater diversity could always be achieved in other ways as well: a human city might have a delegation of 100 elven diplomats in residence. Halfling merchants may frequent the town to sell their fine textiles. Or perhaps there’s a gnomish settlement half a day’s travel away, and only one of the two towns has a high level cleric. But regardless, the different races should live apart, not together, except in special circumstances.

Far be it from me to tell anyone how to run their game. There’s nothing worse than somebody who thinks it’s possible to have fun “the wrong way.” But I sincerely believe that most games would be more fun with better distinction between fantasy races. I’ve certainly been guilty of shoehorning pointless amounts of racial diversity into my game’s settlements. But I’ve known for awhile now that it reduced the impact of my game worlds. It’s only now that I’ve put it into words that I can say with conviction that I am officially done with it.

Negune: The Nation of Stekett

This is the third in a series of posts about the continent of Negune. Negune is the setting for my Ascendant Crusade campaign, as well as The Girl and the Granite Throne series of short stories. Previous posts in this series have provided an overview of the continent as a whole, and a detailed account of the nation of Regalia.

Stekett traces its roots back to a paladin named Grephar Siveren. More than eight hundred years ago, during Grephar’s adventures with his six legendary companions, the group pursued a clan of violent stone giants into the mountains of present-day Stekett. There, the giants regrouped, and called upon other clans to help them in their fight. The adventurers nearly met their end in that battle, but they managed to scatter; Horatiana’s limp form slung over Grephar’s shoulder. What had been an attempt to stop a single giant raid turned into a two year guerrilla war against all the stone giants of that region. During that time, Grephar frequently remarked to his companions that if the giants were clever enough to utilize their natural surroundings properly, the adventuring party wouldn’t stand a chance.

Years later, when the party went their separate ways, Grephar decided to return to Stekett. At heart, he was a solider and a tactician. If he was to found a kingdom, he decided, it would be one that could defend itself from any attack. Even long after he was dead and gone.

Stekett is the second largest autonomous nation on the continent, after Regalia. It is also the most geographically separated from the other nations. Anyone who wishes to travel to or from Stekett must choose either a long and dangerous journey through the wildlands, a long and dangerous journey through the unpredictable island of Argania, or a voyage by sea. Most opt for the latter, and Stekett maintains a thriving trade relationship with the two Regalian provinces of Shield Haven and Centralia by utilizing the small sea that connects the three.

Military life is a major part of Steketian culture. While the law does not require enlistment, nearly every citizen spends at least a few years in military service, and it is regarded as a high honor to defend one’s homeland. Only about 5% of Steketians never serve in the nation’s armed forces, and many of those are simply unable to do so based on physical frailty, or chronic illness. Those who do not spend time in military service are not actively discriminated against, but find themselves cut off from Steketian culture, since they lack an experience which is considered to be fundamental. This causes them to miss out on opportunities available to the majority of their countryfolk.

Due to the relative peace on the continent, the Steketian military focuses its attention on preventing the monstrous races from organizing. There is usually at least one flotilla of ships active on the sea, and two legions of ground soldiers active in the wildlands–though they obey the ancient dictate to never establish permanent bases in that area. Stekett is also the only nation which sends regular expeditions into Argania. These missions are dangerous, and consist entirely of volunteers. It is hoped that in time, a safe method of passing through Argania can be devised.

Given the importance of the military in Stekett, it is perhaps not surprising that military leaders are powerful figures in politics as well. Since the death of Grephar, the nation has been ruled by a triad, the members of which share power equally: the Commander General, the High Admiral, and the Prime Minister. The three represent the Steketian army, navy, and civilian government, respectively. Most decisions require only a majority vote between the three. However, any decision to go to war with another nation requires a unanimous vote, and any single member of the triad may choose to call an end to war.

As Grephar noted, the geography of Stekett is uniquely defensible. Treacherous mountain ranges limit any invading army to a very few avenues of attack. Aside from attempting to cross the dangerous Arganian island, invaders must choose between two paths into Stekett. First, they can travel across the wildlands and attempt to breech the northern boarder, but to do so they must cross the Iron Lake which is defended by numerous barriers, traps, land based weaponry, and an elite flotilla of freshwater ships. The only other option would be attempting to land on the southern Steketian coastline. However, most of the southern coast is formed by high cliffs and rocky waters. There are only four safe places to land ships, and each one is home to either a port city, or a shipyard. Each is defended by the peerless Steketian navy.

Furthermore, nearly a third of Stekett’s total landmass is within a natural encirclement of mountain ranges. The only passage through the ring of mountains is a gorge, roughly 300 feet wide, called Stone Giant Pass. One of Grophar’s first edicts upon founding Stekett was that a great barrier should be built to seal that opening: The Obsidian Gate. It took three generations of Stekett’s most gifted stonemasons, wizards, and iron smiths to fully construct and reinforce the gate. The outward swinging double doors are 20ft thick, and their movement is supported by massive railings built into the ground along their swinging arc. With a full compliment of men and beasts operating them, the doors can be opened or closed in 20 minutes time. While not being used to defend against an oncoming enemy, however, the gates are left open.

Economically, Stekett produces the finest meats, fruits, and armaments anywhere on Negune. A military force in the Wildlands will commonly return bearing its weight in meats from the beasts there, and Steketian methods for preserving and preparing that meat are as advanced as their military forces. Most of the land within Stekett’s boarders is used to cultivate various types of fruit. A few farms even use minor magics to cultivate fruits which would not normally grow in the area–though these farms are generally quite small, and the fruits they produce are considered delicacies.

In the West most region of Stekett, nestled against the mountains, is the city of Anvilholm, known across the continent as the “City of Swords.” This multi-tiered metropolis was built by humans, but incorporates many designs most commonly found in dwarven citadels. The entire township is designed to function as a colossal smithy for masters of arms crafting. The ring of hammers is constant within the city walls, lasting all day and through the night. So single minded is the populace that even food and other basic items must be brought several times a day from nearby settlements, which are sustained entirely by providing support to Anvilholm. The settlement first began as a mining colony, but when a vein of Mithril was discovered, craftspeople flocked to the town in droves. Over the centuries the mine has continued to be a source of materials for Anvilholm. Not only of Mithril, but many other metals as well. It has been speculated that the Anvilholm mine is the richest on the entire continent. A claim which makes the dwarves of Shornholm none too happy.

Stekett’s legal system sometimes appears draconian to outsiders–or at least overly security conscious. The most noted example of this is Stekett’s treatment of arcane spellcasters. While the casting of arcane magics is not prohibited, it is strictly regulated. All such spellcasters are required to register with the ministry of artillery, and are subject to four random inspections each year. These inspections are generally conducted in a friendly and respectful manner, but some wizards understandably object to having their entire spell repertoire, as well as all of their research, tracked by the government. Some spells–including most of the enchantment and divination schools–are strictly regulated, and require a dictate from a military officer of general’s rank or higher. Additionally, while Stekett has never instituted a draft among its general population and allows members of the military to retire at their leisure, arcane spellcasters are always considered to be in reserve. Spellcasters visiting Stekett will need to submit their spellbooks for inspection, and based on their contents, may be required to leave their spellbook in a government office during their stay within the nation’s boarders.