Play Report - Kingdoms of Kalamar Session II

Last night was the 2nd session, and it went well, though I was startled how, in practice, just how linear Ver'Kusi/Ovini's crypt really was. Yeah, I know, it's just a crypt, but it was the subject of a fair amount of ribbing and "chugga chugga" remarks last night. Fighting a shadow and 6 zombie dogs shut them up right quick though.

Learning that Dak'Wi lived nearby and was Ver'Kusi's closest friend in life, the party decided that the best course of action would be to go and speak with him. The half-elf mage, having cast his spell for the day and enjoying a few drinks with his charmed gnome friend, stayed behind in the inn, but a red headed traveling swordswoman tagged along with the party to make up for the loss.

Approaching Dak'Wi's farm, the party noticed that it looked to be a bit lusher and better maintained than some of the neighboring farms. It seemed that this old man was a superior farmer as both clerics of the Mule opined . . . at great length . . . while referring to statistical analyses and charts that they both had stashed, presumably, in the sleeves of their robes. The rest of the party had learned, by this point, to stuff cotton in their ears at such junctures and soldier on quietly.

As they crested a small rise, they found Dak'Wi himself waiting for them while mounted on an older looking horse, waiting to meet them before they got too close. Undeterred and determined to embark on a preliminary recon, one of the clerics broke off and began to circle the house, muttering to himself while everybody else treated with the old man.

Where the negotiations with the gnomes had been rife with intimidation (a six foot tall paladin with hand on the hilt of his long sword towering over you with overt exclamations of disapproval and readiness to slaughter you out of hand), negotiations with Dak'Wi were, in comparison, remarkably polite. When informed of the situation, that hostages had been taken and that, it seemed, his old friend was at the root cause of it, Dak'Wi was sympathetic and said that, indeed, the two had been adventuring companions many years ago. Ovini/Ver'Kusi, he said, was quite good at getting his hands on treasures and of doing so quietly and stealthily, and that from time to time, he would do so even if it meant taking it out of the hands of its rightful owners. Indeed, he does know that Ovini came away from their time with the gnomes quite a bit richer, but he had learned well before then not to ask about such mysterious windfalls. That it was stolen is not overly surprising.

However, what had this to do with him? Dak'Wi, as was clearly apparant by his plain dress and simple home, had none of the treasury himself and he had buried his friend with all his worldly posessions not 6 months ago. If it were not for the assiduous politeness of the Paladin and others, the situation would have devolved into a bloody conflict next. It was clear that the only thing for it was to enter the crypt and reclaim the treasury to return to the gnomes, loathe though they might be to disturb the rest of any man. In the end, Dak'Wi agreed to lead them to the crypt as long as they promised not to disturb his friend's rest any more than was neccessary in order to protect the lives of the innocents.

While this conversation went on, the fellow who had wandered around the house and been largely ignored since he was assumed to be sick or insane found himself behind the house and spotted a few shapes moving at the edges of his vision, seemingly observing the house. Unsure of their purpose, he scrawled a message in the dirt on the ground warning the figures away from the place, that the old man was insane and dangerous. He then proceeded to rejoin the group.

About this time, an older, grizzled outdoorsman approached and seemed more interested in speaking with the old man's horse than any of the humans. In the end, he learned from the horse that these were adequately ok folks and so he decided to join them on their little adventure. (Another new player)

The old man led them to the edge of a small thicket of trees and said that the crypt was straight ahead, no more than a few minutes' walk. He would not be going with them as he had long ago retired from adventuring life. After all, as he pointed out, he had left no traps and there were no monsters there when h e first buried his friend 6 months ago, so it should be perfectly safe. Needless to say, their short walk was interrupted by a large, monstrous spider, which despite my best efforts, didn't even manage to bite a single one of the jerk PC's. The creature was dispatched handily by an angered paladin who seemed eager to be gone from this place. A quick scamper up the tree revealed the spider kept no treasure.

The crypt was easily found, and after several minutes of checking for stonework traps or hidden doors (the dwarf) or mechanical traps (the gnome thief er . . cleric, yeah that's the ticket!), the party bashed at the door to remove the lead and, with great glee, the two clerics of the Mule put their engineering skills to work and removed the doors from the hinges rather than letting the gnome attempt to unlock them. Inside, they discovered that the place was a little larger than they had anticipated. It was clear that this was obviously the burial of a person faithful to the Raiser, complete with the standard accoutrements as the first two rooms attested. The third room, though, gave them pause . . .

Realizing they had found the sarcophagus of Ver'Kusi and his 6 faithful hunting dogs, the party employed not just a little meta-gaming knowledge and prepared for a fight. The paladin, after glaring at the sarcophagus for a minute, declared that it was evil and dangerous. Nevertheless, he was the one to pry the lid off and look inside. There, indeed, was the gnomish treasury, along with a decaying corpse with the words "May the Gods forgive me." carved into the coffin, and two leatherbound books. Realizing there was nothing else for it, the paladin reached in and took the sword, and was immediately attacked by an evil undead Shadow.

The group squared off against the shadow while one of the clerics of the Mule tried to flee, but his escape was cut off by six zombie dogs that had risen from their coffins to attack. In a feat of uncharacteristic heroics, or merely suicidal tendancies, the cowardly cleric threw himself bodily at the dogs in a bid to buy time for his companions. And was promptly devoured for his trouble.

The battle was long and hard fought, but in the end, the group emerged victorious without too many injuries. They removed the treasury as well as the two books and brought them back to town to discover that the gnomes had already brought the hostages back in anticipation of the trade. Despite the fact that a significant portion of the treasure was missing, the gnomes determined to leave without further pressing the claim as the paladin reminded them that they had been taking hostages and he was prepared to start shortening gnomes by a head if need be. It was decided that the missing portion be considered weregild in compensation for the inconvenience suffered by the families of this town and that the gnomes would leave in peace, never to return the next morning.

Afterward, the learned members of the party examined the two books. The first was a plain, leatherbound folio with a brief account of adventures that Ovini and his friends had near the Obakasek Jungle, hot on the trail of a rumored treasure cache, complete with map, but they were turned back by humanoid tribes and a druid who did not take kindly to their pilfering ways. The other was a higher quality book with a rune or pictograph of some sort on the cover. Much puzzeling over it revealed that it was an historical symbol, but of what nobody could say, and the half-elf magic user was able to chime in and say that it appeared to be High Elven pictographic writing. What it said he had no clue.

Review: Castles Forlorn

This isn't so much of a review as it is a retrospective, but I've been unable to come up with a better term that isn't a direct steal from Grognardia, so here we are.

While I don't get any time any more to DM (working 12 hour days can do that to you), I do get to play in a semi-regular weekly game, and for the last two years of real time, our group has been deeply embroiled in TSR's Castles Forlorn module. It's not exactly a great secret that AD&D2nd edition's tenure as the current D&D game represented a profound dearth of good modules. TSR seemed incapable of bringing out modules of the same quality as T1, the G and D series, and pretty much any of the 1st edition modules that truly created the shared experience that was AD&D 1ed. Dungeon Magazine certainly had a few that were noteworthy, even great, but it was hardly a suitable patch for a gaping hole in the time.

So, consider my surprise when, from the player's seat, I found myself dropped directly into one of the huge boxed set adventures that can so easily go so very wrong, from Ravenloft of all places, a campaign setting whose published modules are notoriously bad at times, and finding that not only was it good, but great. I'm going to talk about this module from the perspective of a player, since that is how I have experienced it first, and in the interest of full disclosure I should say that our GM had stitched a number of other modules into the main, most notably the otherwise horrifically bad Feast of Goblyns, one of the first Ravenloft world modules. I've only lately been able to look at the insides of the module books themselves, and I'll talk about that a bit too.

In short, this is adventure appears to be a standard gothic horror type story that Ravenloft made its life's blood on and threw so many gamers into fits because of the heavy handedness of it, with a time travel aspect thrown into the works. Yes, time travel. And it works. At its core, the module is still the story of one of the Dark Lords, the system breaking big bad guys, that rule parts of the Ravenloft world, one Tristane apBlanc. His story is appropriately angsty without ever seeming to go over the top or into the realm of the hokey like so many of the others did. In the end, the main villain here amounted to little more than a colossal prick damned to an eternity locked up in his own ironic prison. All pretty par for the course up until reality itself breaks around the castle and three separate time periods begin to coexist in the same location.

Wandering through the castle, the players stumble upon certain points within the place which will trigger a switch in time between three points in history representing a spread of about 300 years. Clever players will realize pretty quickly what's going on (as a reference, it took the group I play in about 3 game sessions to realize what was actually happening, and a great deal longer to figure out a way to use it to our advantage). In the end, you get a couple of different things. First, you get about three times the dungeon for the price of one as the castle is significantly chnaged between time periods and requires exploring in each to learn enough about what is going on in order to deal with it. Second, and this is more interesting I think, it provides the opportunity for players to "get at" the story of what has happened in this place from a number of different angles and force them to work at piecing it together themselves. What you learn in one time period may shed a differnet light on what happens in a previous time, or a future one.

Yes, this kind of setup will definately throw Old Schoolers into an unhappy place. After all, what has "story" got to do with D&D? In the end, though, I think that what you get is an excellent Middle School style module with a strong balance between the gothic story that gives purpose to the place, but not too much heavy handed material that forces the players to conform to a pre-determined sequence of events (see Ravnloft II: Gryphon Hill for the most egregious example). In the end, it's a huge location based module that hands the DM a place, a story of what has happened in the past, what's going on at the moment, and then sets the players free to deal with it, or to just walk away if they so choose.

There are, though, a number of flaws within the whole product, though. First, and primarily, the presence of a story that many, if not most, would find overwrought and dull. Yes, the story is a little romantic (in the literary period sense of the term, not the genre sense) and melodramatic, but it's believable enough that it doesn't really get in the way. For the most part, it's merely an excuse for the place to exist rather than an integral part of game play.

Second, I have no idea what analytical geniuses playtested this module, but it could have used some more help in that regard. Ostensibly, Castles Forlorn is intended for characters of 4th - 6th level. Truly, PC's of that level range are more than likely going to be slaughtered in short order in this place if they are not tremendously careful to the point of impotence, one of the primary reasons that it took 2 years of real time for us to finish this module. One of the primary foes is the Goblyn, a very excellent creature that I recommend for use everywhere, but one that can easily take a lower level party apart in a matter of moments. The main villain here is even more powerful and posed a significant threat to a party of level 7 and 8 characters. This particular issue, though, can easily be fixed by shoehorning other modules into the periphery of this one. A few side adventures orbiting about the main one will give the PC's a bit more XP and resources that will better prepare them for diving into the heart of this monster.

Thrd, and most damning of all in my opinion, is a truly bad case of Elminster Syndrome. Relatively high level NPC's who are single handedly capable of resolving all the issues at hand lurk about the corners of this module, and they don't do so for no good reason. Players are going to sit back and ask why in hell the 12th level + druid and her cohort of other high level druids haven't just plowed the castle into the ground by now and destroyed the evil that infests it as they could so so very easily, and the text itself provides no real answers on this matter. To its credit, though, the module does not throw the PC's into the role of supporting cast to sit back and watch as more powerful and more important NPC's do everything, nor do the NPC's fall into the equally aggravating role of "quest givers." Perhaps the only solution here, really, is to decrease the levels of notable druids, or merely to push them into the background more.

Fear and Insanely Brave PC's

Last time, I talked briefly about fear and horror in RPG's (D&D specifically) since it was so close to Halloween. Since I rarely am not thinking about horror stories (both movies and books really), and since I watched the excelent Dracula and His Brides the other night, I've further refined my thinking on this in terms of RPG's.

One of the most difficult realities to face when trying to run a horror campaign, or a campaign with horrifying elements in it, is that players tend to treat their characters as if they were absurdly brave. Of course, compared to the average inhabitant of any world, PC's truly are brave. It takes real courage to face down the average monstrous threats from bugbears to orcs, from kobolds to great wyrms, and most of the inhabitants of the Monster Manual: the average peasant runs in terror while the PC's stand their ground. Which is entirely appropriate in most instances. After all, most of us really do have the itch to play a heroic character seeking glory and riches (or maybe just riches).

But there are times when such courage becomes a little ridiculous. Whether you're actively trying to frighten the players/characters or they simply should be frightened, most likely the players simply are not. It's frustrating even if you manage to build up an unsettling atmosphere that it becomes just like any other action centric session once the veils are torn away and the center of the mystery is unveiled.

The comment (singular) from the last post recommended treating it like a horror movie, at least in part: turn the players into a passive audience for short times. This I cannot agree with. Simply put, this is a role playing game, not a horror flick. Part of, perhaps the main part of, the fear rests in the choices the players make, or are forced to make. It's about looking at your list of choices and knowing that there isn't a "good" choice and a "bad" choice, merely choices and few, if any of them, wholly worthy of the risk or likely to repair the problem(s) at hand. You've killed a vampire and taken his powerful magic item from him, but the local powers that be (a pack of wolfwere bards who run the nearby city and university) are in front of you and want that item. You don't know what they'll do with that magic item, but you can only assume that it will be nothing good, but keeping it from them means a fight and there's nothing at all you can do to stand up to them, at least for the moment. What, precisely, do you do here?

Is that horror? Or is that not? I'm not entirely sure, honestly, but it's something that certainly horrifies me, the thought of trying to do something good (yes, for the most part I, as a player, tend to create and run characters motivated a little less by the money and more by the thought of improving the world in some small way) and instead having merely transitioned the danger/evil from one place to another, or even worse, increased the danger inadvertaintly. Of course, the danger here is in pushing it too far and refusing the players any level of success instead of simply moderating or corrupted success. After a certain point, it feels pointless and the fun gets drained out of it all.

This is also, incidentally, where I believe the concept of fear and horror checks rests. These little "tools" for the DM out of Ravenloft the setting are there to tell the players how their characters feel. While certainly useful at times, it tends to be something with all the subltety of a hammer. They can be useful to be sure and can, in some cases, give cues to players who like to get into the swing of things to have a lot of fun, but most often they feel contrived and more like something that overrides player choice in favor of a "desired result." Something that results from too much faith and emphasis on plat rather than story as well.

One of the best methods for putting a little fear into players that I've found is in the monsters. No, not in finding stronger and more terrifying monsters, but in using them properly. Nothing puts a crimp in players' styles quicker, at times, than a monster that refuses to "play fair" by simply standing there and dying politely. More than likely, the monsters have plans and goals and are going to act to further them even when, or especially when the players aren't ready for them. Moreover, monsters don't play fair and limit themselves to attacking "military targets. Wanna upset a player? Take an NPC that they've become attached to, who has sheltered them or provided aid in some way, and have a frustrated opponent who can't strike directly at the players kill them or turn them instead.

Another great tool is monsters that "violate" the PC's, or do something just "wrong" enough the get past the character/player filter. I love Goblyns (spelled with a "y") for this. Nothing says scary like a moderately tough humanoid that will eat your face off the first chance it gets (literally). And for added fun, see what you get when you add just a little bit of low level telepathy or instant communication as they did in Castles Forlorn.

There have to be better ways of communicating genuine horror if not actual fear than turning the players into an audience and perfuse purple prose.

Specialist Wizards

In the comments here, James M. talks about why he dislikes 2nd editions take on specialist wizards. Rather than clutter up the comments over there too much, I'll throw this up here.

I dislike 2e's specialist wizards for two reasons. First is the creation of a universal spell list that lumps both MU and Illusionist spells into a single collection. In 1e, there were spells -- illusionist spells -- that no MU could ever cast, regardless of their ostensible school. I think 2e misreads the meaning of the schools and attempts to over-rationalize them at the expense of flavor and mystery, which is what having separate spell lists for each class did.

Second, and more damning, many of the specialist wizard types exist for no other reason than to fill out a schema. No effort is made to make each specialist type unique. Instead, each type gets an identical bonus for its favored school and cannot cast spells from one or more "opposed" schools. It's in my opinion the triumph of categorization over substance, a kind of "spreadsheet" mentality where everything has to fit in a nice little box according to an outside rationale.

I don't think 2e specialist wizards (or specialty priests for that matter) are unholy abominations and I fully understand the reasoning behind their creation. However, I think they sacrifice too much uniqueness on the altar of simplicity/rationality and, given the choice, I'd rather stick with the original presentations.

While I can sympathize with James' point of view, I can't really agree with it. In my eye, the 1e (or OSRIC since it's effectively the same) Illusionist is no more mysterious than anything else. Nor is it particularly distinct. To me, it looks just like any other magic-user/wizard/arcanist/whatever-the-hell-we're-calling-them-now: a unique spell list is but a distinction without a difference. Honestly, what fundamental difference is there between an Illusionist and a Magic-User in the PHB other than a somewhat exclusive spell list?

Contrary to James' point of view, I think the designers understood the idea of spell schools and spheres perfectly well and that the real objection, here, is that all of 2nd edition's specialists are, at their core, pretty much the same thing. They get the same bonuses and penalties, they chose from a largely identical spell list except for banned and favored schools. In essence, they were as similar as two law school students, one who focused on criminal trial law and the other who focused on corporate finance law. In exchange for sacrificing a certain level of general knowledge (i.e., they do not have the breadth of comprehension that a genarlist does), they gain a depth of knowledge in their chosen field that gives them an edge both in the lab and in the field. In the end, though every one of them works with magic of a different sort, they all belong to the same archetype and class - the hermetic/academic spell caster - and, in my mind, do not at all need to be differentiated more than that. That way lay the dreaded realm of the third edition where every fine nuance on an archetype required it's own unique base class (in some cases there or four base classes) and any number of prestige classes.

Of course, I don't object to the idea that the spell lists are too much the same. Too often, it seems that, for the most part, the spells one wizard carries are virtually identical to just about any other out there. Can't tell you how many times the later 2e modules had every single wizard NPC carry magic missile, even if the evocation school was forbidden them. Personally, I think it might be very interesting to try a campaign in which all wizards are specialists (no such thing as a generalist in this world) and they are able to learn and cast spells ONLY from their favored school: a necromancer, therefor, would cast ONLY necromantic spells. There would be a short list of universal spells, the likes of Read Magic, Detect Magic, and so on, but otherwise, all spells would be the exclusive domain of the specialists.

Now, I'm not at all opposed here to the concept of adding truly unique specialist types. As much as Vancian casting works for D&D, I think the possibility of magically endowed characters who do not utilize recipie like spells is an intriguing one. I've simply never seen an adequate example of it that would work along the lines of the D&D game (or any version of it). Maybe a simple short hand for an elementalist would be to utilize the vancian system, but to remove the "spell book" aspect and have them function more like clerics. Their spell list would be a conglomeration of both clerical and magic-user spells that would fall within that element (i.e., both burning hands and flame-strike would be a part of a fire elementalist's spell list). Instead of a holy symbol or spell book, they would be carrying a fetish or medicine bag type of object which would act as a focus for the magic.

I don't know, I'm ust spitballing here. The entirety of D&D seems built around the concept of Vancian magic (with good reason) and it's difficult to go outside of that boundary without venturing into other realms.

Assassins and Archetypes

One of the greatest strengths of D&D, I think, is the class system. No, it doesn't have ten thousand options for not only fighters and wizards, but "beguilers" (whatever the hell those are), knights, barbarians, warlocks, battle mages, etc. But that's not the point, nor the intent of the AD&D class system (and the D&D system from the little brown books and BECMI as well really). Instead, Gary Gygax's conception of a "class" was less of a packet of customizable character powers and abilities to help some poor dateless wonder realize his fantasies of playing a super cinematic character, but as broad archetypes, instead. Thus, a fighter isn't a job description, it's a category denoting "those who fight with armor and weapons in a martial manner" instead. A magic-user/wizard/mage is "one who uses arcane spells" and not a title. A thief - often the butt of grognardian displeasure because, of course, why does one need to belong to the thief class in order to steal? - is not so much one who steals as "one skilled in subterfeuge, stealth, and non-direct means."

Within these categories, the possibilities are numerous. Within the category of "fighter" for instance, lies the characters of an ex-soldier, Robin-Hood, a raging berserker, a swashbukling romantic hero, a town guard seargeant, or simply a degenerate thug. Likewise, the cleric category can encompass anything from Brother Cadfael to a frenetic ideological zealot. This is why I don't really like the multiplication of entities when it comes to classes. Simply put, they're just not needed, or they draw a distinction where none should be (i.e., why is it that all barbarians after UA are really berserkers? Isn't "barbarian" a cultural and social distinction instead?).

That's why, in the end, I don't see the need for an entire class devoted to the assassin. In the end, isn't an assassin merely one who kills for money? Why can't a member of any class perform that function? As it is, the class seems merely to co-opt part of the function of the thief class, but not as well. Ostensibly, a professional hired killer and a spy (two archetypes for the price of one?), but I simply do not see the need for this in the core rules say what you will about maturity, tone, of juvenality. The removal of the assassin from the core PHB in 2nd edition was, in my mind, a moderate improvement along these lines.

But what about the ranger, druid, bard, and paladin? Aren't they the same issue?

Yes, they are. And no, given the model of archetypes that I think Gary was following, I don't think that they're all together neccessary or needed within the core rules of the game. Each of their niches can be filled about as well by one or more of the other classes and good role playing as these extra classes can. Hell, the 2e PHB actually denotes the druid as a type of specialty mythos priest, but then goes out of its way to make it virtually impossible to replicate it via the guidlines given for special mythos priesthoods, so go figure.

In my mind, the only truly neccessary classes within the archetypal fantasy framework of AD&D are the Fighter, the Cleric, the Magic-User, and the Thief. All else is gravy.

Of course, one could take this argument far enough to say that there shouldn't be any classes at all and characters are entirely defined by what they do, but then it just wouldn't by D&D would it? We'd be off playing GURPS or something like that and there's no need to insult anybody by going there.

Emanent Death Not Imminent Death

One of the most frequent complaints leveled at the old school style games I see (and, let's be honest, one of the most inaccurately used points of "nostalgia" as well) is that characters die frequently and gruesomely and often pointlessly. That statue in the first room? Yeah, save vs death. Those who fail, die instantly as the things leaps across the room and throat punches your character. Those who succeed, make a new saving throw every minute until you fail. Then you die.

The belief that Old School dungeons were designed to be unfair PC death traps is, perhaps, a bit unfair. Imminent death, in the static between mistranslations, means that the old games have a "kill-em'all" attitude. That reputation is not entirely applicable, in my opinion as, more often than not, it seems to be based on the conflation of the Tomb of Horros with all modules and the perception of Gary as a "killer GM."

Of course, in reaction, the New School type of gamer pushed towards no save or die at all. It seems to have culminated in 4th edition's "save or minor inconvenience" mentality. Traps are now merely minor obstacles that can be plowed through effectively. The once terrifying powers of high level magic seem . . . less so in the name of egalitarianism of function.

Of course, I'm of a mind somewhere in the middle. Death should be emanant rather than imminent.

Yes, that's a butchering of the English language and I should be locked up for crimes against grammar, but that's not a surprise to anybody here I suspect. Let me explain.

By "imminent death" I mean that character death is all but certain if not immediate. Running through this dungeon, it's only a matter of time before you succumb to one of the plentifle traps forcing save or die effects, the vicious "grudge monsters," or simply the capriciousness of a dick ref. Death WILL happen, and it will be brutal and bloody and there's very little you can do except stave it off for one more room.

"Emanent death," on the other hand, is slightly different. Death is close, possibly even immediate, but it is far from a foregone conclusion. There's always a way for a clever, observant, and well played character to escape should he be intelligent enough to look, even if that way out is to walk away entirely.

That statue in the first room that lops off heads at the drop of a hat? All the clues that a player needs to realize that this is a challenge and to overcome it are present, if they bother to look. Blood stains on the blade, walls, and floor. Perhaps a headless corpse, or a corpseless head at its feet. A very close look from the door might reveal the joints at which the statue is meant to articulate. A detect traps spell obviously. Whatever the circumstance, there's always evidence there that allows the players to escape relatively unscathed, or even to excell.

This non-post brought to you by the fear of corporate layoffs.

Perhaps I'm imagining things here and this is the way all sensible referees run their games. If so, then grand.

Review: Death Frost Doom

There's not much for it, here, except to point you over to Grognardia's much better review and then add some of my own dithering commentary here to fill out this post.

First off, I was very pleasantly surprised by Death Frost Doom. On the whole, I've been displeased with the current slew of Old School modules on the publishing line. I'm not going to start talking specifics here because I'm not interested in starting a backdraft (with all 10 of my regular readers, yeah . . .) or engendering hard feelings through a hobby discussion portal. No doubt half a dozen folks will charge in and tell me just how wrong I am, but I will say that, in general, I feel that most of the modules I see coming out of the various publishers and the OSR fall prey to the same fault: they try too hard to imitate the Old School feel and atmosphere and fail at being good modules in their own right. This isn't to say that they're bad modules: they're not. They just, in my opinion, focus too much on imitation and not enough on innovation.

Jim Raggi's Death Frost Doom module, on the other hand, is very impressive in that respect. He certainly has respect for his inspirational material, and it shows strongly in his work, but at no significant point does the module come across as imitative of a particular thing except in spirit. In short, the module relies more on the atmosphere of the weird tale and less on the formula of the weird tale. And it certainly has an atmosphere that is unique among its fellows and makes it stand out.

I'm not going to go into details because James has already done a better job of that than I ever could: not superior only in writing skill, but in knowledge of the source material. It is notable, though, that there are a few places where the author's affection for the Evil Dead series shows through a little more clearly than in others.

One of my favorite things about this module, though I'm sure Jim will shout at me that I'm a clueless noob here, is that it is quintassentially Middle School. There is a story to the module, a strong and interesting backstory, but if the players don't learn it, it's not detrimental at all. It's also loose and vague enough that it can be comfortably bolted onto an existing campaign without too much struggle. One of the most rewarding things I can see in this module, from a player's point of view, would be learning what the hell went on at this place, what was buried there, and getting out alive to tell of it, being able to tell tales in the tavern later on that you outsmarted the pitfals and dangers of this place and came away filthy stinking rich for it. Or, if the players are incautious or just flat out stupid, this module has the capability as written to remake a significant portion of the campaign setting.

Well done, sir. I look forward to tormenting players with this one in the near future.

Evil is Petty

Following on from good men doing evil for the greater good, I'm moving towards one of my favorite, touchiest topics in terms of good and evil.

One of the commonest mainstay fantasy fiction (and sci-fi fiction for that matter)is the Evil Overlord. So common, in fact, that he has his own list that's moderately famous around the internet. Typically, the control vast armies of evil (draconians, orcs/goblins, insert evil monster of the week here) and are hell bent on conquering the world and molding it in their own image, but spend a great deal of time brooding in their tent or castle like Achiles until the heroes of the story (in our case, the PC's) are ready for the confrontation. It's a concept that's at once familiar and comforting to our inbred sensibilities, that a face can be put on evil, that there's an apparatus it has built up around it. The ability to name and identify the evil and, more specifically, to identify it as "that one over there" is empowering for most people, not only because it builds up the image of a confrontable font of darkness, but it's pseudo-exoneration of those who would oppose it, even if only in principle.

The industrial sized, world threatening, archetypal evil lord is such a common image and device that I'm sure everybody here could name at least half a dozen of them, even excluding Morgoth/Melkor, Sauron, and Hitler (as a literary device, really, and not neccessarily the real life figure).

At a game level, the concept is tremendously convenient since it allows us to build everything around a single, larger conflict. Dark Lord McScarypants is threatening Utopiaville and all kingdoms of sweetness and light in a bid to conquer the world and oppress the innocent and kick little puppies on the street. It's up to the heroes to stop him! Everything else just writes itself into that framework and there's really nothing wrong with it.

When we try to break out of the stereotypical molds of games, we tend to do away with the conspicuous Dark Lords and replace them with "the Big Bad Evil Guy" or BBEG as he's commonly referred to on the mind numbing gaming forums. This guy is a bit like a demoted evil overlord. He gives us the convenience of an identifiable source of evil, or at least of the identifiable troubles, but he's somehow less hokey than the overpowering overlord ruling from his thrown of skulls and clotted blood in the land of shadows somewhere over that direction, but could you maybe look into this strange influx of goblins we seem to be having before you run off and take care of that? More conveniently, with the redefinition of "campaign" as a 1 year start to finish story by the newer editions of D&D, it's something that gives a strong focus to the game. The players are there to investigate the machinations and doings of some evil being who is causing troubles locally or globally or whatever. Over a 1 year time period, sandbox play really isn't that great and, it seems, that D20 type D&D requires a stronger focal point than simply wandering around and looking for adventure. The big bad(s) are a narrative tool, just on a slightly less cosmic scale.

As comforting and convenient as that all is, it ignores some specific and overt realities: and how I do love reality for inspiration. The issue is that evil is petty. Evil is, for the most part, small, relatively contained, and self-interested. World spanning and archetypal evils like that are relatively rare. Far more common are small things, like wife beating, child abuse, murder of local political opponents, and so on. Open up the news today, and you'll find an example of just what I mean. For the record, I find that particular news item extraordinarily unpleasant and the punishment leveled against the girl far insufficient.

For every Morgoth, there are ten Sharky's. For every Hitler inaugurating genocidal campaigns against hated ethnicities, there are a thousand Cheyenne Cherry's throwing kittens into hot ovens just to hear the cries of pain and fear it makes before dying. And more often than not, these evils are motivated almost entirely by self-interest and not some Moorcockian esoteric concepts of law and chaos, good vs. evil. The evil priest lurking at the outskirts of civilization sacrificing innocents in the hopes that his dark master will grant him immortality in the form of undeath as a lich or vampire or specter. A man who rapes and murders a woman who, in town council, blocked one of his pet projects.* A woman who bathes in the blood of her handmaidens in order to preserve her youth and beauty. These kinds of people are memorable simply because they are realistic and believable and because their crimes are far more personal than any plotting and scheming dark lord.

Why am I talking about this? Simply because, hand in hand with "all politics are local" goes "most evil is petty, small, and local." While there might be vast, brooding evil intelligences out in the game world, plotting the overthrow of order, the downfall of light, or whatever, far more effective game villains are of the smaller sort. These kinds of opponents tend to stick in players' minds when they are encountered and, as I said within the Bernardo Gui post, force the players themselves to confront something that is challenging or difficult for them.





*I'm very clear here that such topics are not always suitable for all games, nor am I encouraging those who don't want to deal with such unsavory topics to every include them in their games, nor should such topics EVER be treated lightly.

Review: Hackmaster Basic

Well, I got mine about two weeks ago and have spent my spare minutes reading through it to get myself an opinion. For whatever my opinion is worth, here it is.

I'll admit right up front that I've not had the chance to play the game, and I might be entirely wrong about it, but then again, what's the internet for except for strongly held, mostly baseless opinion sharing anyway?

First impressions: The first thought I had when I pulled the book out of the mailing envelope (immediately after being annoyed with the postal worker who folded the book double in order to fit it in the mailbox despite the words "DO NOT BEND" in bold red lettering on the front, and immediately before the panicked moment of flapping my hands uselessly as I was attacked by half a dozen red ants swarming out of the thing) was "this is just too thick to be "basic."" Weighing in somewhere around 200 pages, this is well beyond what can reasonably be called an introductory book to a game. If anything, it gives the impression that the basic moniker is there simply to hearken back to D&D Basic, shamelessly so.

James was right, this isn't a particularly Old School product, at least not in the sense that Old School has come to be defined by the OSR (or whatever we're calling it nowadays).

Presentation and Physical Stuff: In terms of physical quality, this book earns high marks. The binding is sturdy,as are the cover and the pages themselves. High quality materials throughout and no obvious or glaring printing errors that can be a major drawback to any product.

Speaking of the cover, yes, it's an Erol Otus print, and a damn fine one. Evocative and just slightly comedic. That creature on the front (a variant of the hydra if anybody cares) is just weird enough to catch your attention and make you wonder, and just vicious enough (he's eating the fighter's leg for crying out loud!) to give you a hint about the tone of things within.

The art throughout is quite nice, though not entirely inspiring. It's certainly worlds better than the current "art" plastered all over more "modern" RPG's, that's for sure, but it just doesn't grab me. Don't get me wrong, I like the woodcuttings just as much as the next guy, but it's just not all there yet, and too much of it looks to be recycled from Hackmaster 4th for my tastes.

Other than issues of personal taste, there are no complaints in this department. The book, as a book in itself, is of excellent quality, and even after being folded in half for 18 hours in the mailbox, the entire thing recovered in less than 2 hours and now you'd never be able to tell. This book was obviously built for extended and hard use.

Content: If you didn't care for Hackmaster 4 as a game itself, then you probably won't like Hackmaster Basic (and presumably HMA since it's purported by the authors to be the same thing, except more-so). If you looked at Hackmaster as a source for clipping out interesting rules variations, then you probably won't like Hackmaster Basic very much as the new stuff here won't be of too much use to your AD&D type game: the differences are just too broad for easy portability.

Whereas the original Hackmaster could reasonably be called AD&D with a whole lot of house rules and attitude thrown in, HackMaster basic is a new animal. It's certainly heavily informed by the D&D Basic model: the four classes are, of course, fighter, thief, mage, and cleric and they've got the basic races down to human, elf, dwarf, and halfling, and largely they mean the same things. Mages still cast magic spells, clerics still channel the powers of their deities and often turn or command undead, fighters are really good at hitting things, etc. The rules, however, are not basic as we understood them back then.

Each race in Basic has its own little chart that helps you understand the gist of the rules governing it ranging from attribute modifiers (and there are several, not just the +1/-1 from the days of AD&D) to what talents can be purchased at discounted rates and the number of building points needed to purchase your way into each particular class. One of the greatest advantages to being a demi-human is that you can purchase your way into certain classes for a substantial discount (say, 20 points as opposed to an average 30) and if one follows on with typecasting, demi-humans will certainly excell at certain types of things. Dwarves, for example, make excellent fighters if but for a slightly lower movement rate and a reach penalty, both of which can play significant roles later on. Elves make good wizards, halfings thieves, and humans fall into their jack-of-all-trades role again. Of course, level limits are a thing of the past as, in Dave Kenzer's own words, "research shows that most gamers tend to be frickin' pussies . . ." and the increased cost to enter the class in the first place seems at first glance to help balance that out in the short and middle game. Long term, though, I guess that things would tend to even out on some level.

Attributes are rolled for by the standard 3d6 along with their percentile fractional values (typically used in the original as further gradations between attribute points and as stepping stones between advancing attributes between levels) and seemingly the same here. In terms of a basic game where attribute advancement is left out, I don't see the need for the fractional ability scores. It muddies the waters for those who don't know what's coming up. Though I can see the desire to leave as much from the eventual "final form" of HMA the same as possible rather than following TSR's model of slicing the game into two different lines.

Higher attribute scores are, as in AD&D, important to a character as they govern all sorts of things as how many hit points characters get, how hard they hit in combat, how quickly they can act, etc. Those who don't like a strong reliance on ability scores will not be overtly pleased here I think.

Up until this point, there's little difference between AD&D and HMB in concept. They both follow along the same models. But it's when we get to the nitty gritty of the rules that the paths diverge. In concept, the rules are very simple. In execution, though, I see a whole lot of individual nightmares.

Skills operate on a system very similar to the Aces & Eights model, though they start at 0% for untrained and ascend towards 100% for masters. There are some skills, known appropriately as universal skills, are things that pretty much everybody has some facility with. Things like Hide, Sneak, Climb, etc. fall into this category. Other skills, like animal handling, riding, and academic type skills fall into the category where, without training, you have no real hope of using the skill. You gain and advance skills by spending build points. Not a bad arrangement, though there are still more skills here than I think are helpful and, of course, I'm still a strong believer in the proficiency model of AD&D 2e. Overall, I think this skill system is an improvement over HM4 provided that the skills don't expand into idiocy as the original game's did and provided we don't slather on layers of complication that add little to the satisfactory feeling of the game.

Clerics deserve to be singled out since, it seems, Kenzer & Co. have finally done what so many have wanted before and created a separate class for each deity. A Cleric of the True is not the same as a Cleric of the Harvester, is not the same as a Cleric of the Riftmaster. Great! Except that they still look very similar except for a few paltry, desultory differences. Maybe I'm judging that harshly, though. It's nice to see at least some service paid to the concept.

Combat. Combat is . . . well . . . it follows hot on the heels of the successful model of Aces & Eights. Somebody made the very astute observation that, realistically speaking, combat doesn't happen in nice, orderly rounds, but in real time. So Hackmaster Basic operates on the "count up" system instead. The GM begins combat by calling out each second as it passes (i.e., "1: the orcs start their charge while you stand surprised, 2: they continue to charge . . ."). Once your initiative arrives (the point at which you realize combat has begun and aren't standing there gaping like a landed fish) you are free to act, though each particular action takes a certain amount of time. A long sword, for example, takes 12 seconds to "reset" after its first attack, so unless something happens in between, you can expect to be able to attack once every 12 seconds with your sword.

Movement operates on a separate, parallel track to hacking, so you can, each second, move a distance equal to your walking, jogging, running, or sprinting speed every second independent of what your sword arm is doing at the time. Of course, moving out of melee with a foe, assuming he stands there like an idiot, can lead to a counter "reset" for your weapon, but again, nothing in execution is simple as it is on paper. I suppose that's going to be the calling card of this game, in the end.

Trading blows is accomplished by an, in my opinion, excellent model: opposed rolls adding modifiers, high roll wins. I think that, in basic premise, that's a GREAT way of doing things and I've often pondered what the effect of turning AC into a modifier to a d20 roll would result in at the table. However, in the end, the simple makes way for a host of complications, many in the interest of realism. For example, not carrying a shield gives you a flat -4 to your defense rolls as, of course, these are very important items in medieval combat. Why, you might ask, do you suffer a penalty for not carrying a shield rather than simply get a bonus for using one? Well, that's because there's another complication later on for what happens when your oponent misses you while you're using a shield: you still can suffer damage from this as the book points out because your arm is, after all, right on the other side. There are, as well, different types of dice to roll for defense based on if you are caught unaware, or are helpless, or are being attacked from behind. Initiative dice are the same, a different one for each circumstance, though there is, as in most rules, a standard. Maybe its my pessimism, but I see the standard being excepted too often to be of much use, really. In the end, here, I'm left wondering whether I really want a realistic system as opposed to a comfortably abstracted system that blends into the background and is all but completely invisible at table.

For all that, though, combat itself is explained rather well, including via a nice little comic strip example. It makes me think that, given a little patience and practice, I could GM it successfully and make it fun, which is, in the end, the point of it all. If you're a fan of the comics, it'll make you chuckle and you'll probably appreciate it. If not, you'll probably be a little disheartened that such a bit of crucial info is dumped into a comic book format that you have to slog through.

Despite my overall negative tone above, I do think that the combat system is very interesting and worth a look through even if you don't plan on playing this particular system. It looks like it'll prove to be a gritty, violent, and brutal affair rather than the high fantasy swashbuckling that D&D can often fall prey to. Shields break with alarming regularity, wounds do not heal overnight, and those large pointy objects that were a minor annoyance to AD&D figher characters can be exceptionally dangerous with the risk of penetration and critical hits. Even when armor is absorbing damage, we're still talking big, satisfying numbers here even at first level. A three foot blade in the gullet is about as debilitating in Hackmaster Basic as it would be in real life, and that's a good thing.

Honor remains as yet another fiddly bit. Spellcasting has morphed into a strange, almost Arduinian combination of the Vancian slot system and a spell point system (I heartily encourage you to check out the book if only for that).

The monster selection is quite nice, though sparse considering what fit into the original Baisc books. Something on the order of 75 monsters including several undead like vampires, ghouls/ghasts, and wights. Dragons are conspicuous in their absence, though rumor has it that they are going to make an appearance in one of the KODT issues coming up. Undead no longer drain experience, but ability scores semi-permanently (there's a moderate chance that you can recover, but it's by no means a sure thing as it was in 3.x). Poison is a rather nasty affair, though not always of the save or die variety. All in all, an excellent selection of monsters to start the game with including a few classic Hackmaster creatures like the Sturm Wolf.

There are at least two sections of the book that I see as superfluous and as taking up more space than they are entitled to. First, there's a "Quick Start" characters section that you can download on the Kenzer & Co. website for free now to look over as a PDF. In my view, this is a basic game and it sure as hell shouldn't need a quick start setup. If anything, they should have included four or so pre-generated characters for that purpose rather than taking up half a dozen pages with marginally useful information.

The second was the dice rolling section. Yes, it's well written and very fun to read, and a lot of it needed to be said as so much "dice ettiquate" has been forgotten and ignored over the years, but really, it's too big for what it is and it should have been dropped in favor of streamlining the rest of the book, or for at least adding more monsters.

Overall: Despite my general negative tone above, I do think that Hackmaster Basic is an excellent looking game based on a read through and no practical experience with it. It garners 4 out of 5 stars from my questionable perspective, loosing points only because it's not really basic at all and the amount of fiddelyness is too much for my taste. It's apparant that Kenzer & Co's definition of Old School is significantly different than Matt Finche's.

Buy it if you enjoy reading a well written game that has a good sense of humor about itself and the entire hobby, but is much toned down since the last PHB.

Buy it if you love Hackmaster in general and would buy just about anything Kenzer published on principle.

Don't buy it if you're looking for an old school experience as it's defined currently by the Old School Revolution.

Don't buy it if you're looking for a basic, simple, and quickly grasped game.

A Note on Hackmaster and Kalamar: It should be noted that Hackmaster Basic is the first new product in the line that will specifically support the Kingdoms of Kalamar setting. As noted above, the Cleric class has been specifically subdivided into a unique class for each of Kalamar's many deities, though only a few make an appearance in Basic.

This connection is definately noticable, but hardly so overt that one couldn't adapt the game to another setting with relative ease.

Spellcasting in Thylia: Modifications to the Vancian System

This is the biggest house rule I will ever implement, or at least the one that causes the most significant change in how the game functions. Just to come right out and say this up front, this modification to the casting system did not originate with me. The game I currently play in (for the last 5 or so years actually) put this into effect and, after 5 years, I can't really imagine playing without it. Whether that's because the rule really is that excellent of a change, or because internally, I was never satisfied with the whole Vancian thing to begin with is something open to debate. Either way, it makes for an interesting modification in my opinion.

First, wizards do not gain new spells upon leveling per the rules. The only way for a wizard to gain new spells is to discover them in "the dungeon" or to trade for or steal them from others. This makes arcane magic, at least, that much more difficult to get hold of so that the players aren't pulling magic our of their orificies at every instant.

Magic is rare and mages are jealous of each other's abilities. This is to counteract some of the change below.

Casting still functions largely as detailed in the PHB. Wizards have a certain number of spell slots per day per level based on their current character level and any specialization they pursue (i.e., a transmuter gets an extra spell slot per level that must be devoted to an alteration spell). However, wizards can, with a percent chance of failure based on their intelligence and the level of the spell, attempt to "wing it" when casting spells. That means that they can forgoe memorizing a spell (or all spells for very intelligent and powerful wizards) in order to enhance their potential versatility. Unfortunately, this comes with a good chance of failing to successfully cast their spells.

Mages can still memorize their spells, and in fact, doing so greatly reduces the percent chance of failure.

For example:

A wizard with INT 15 has a base 65% chance to fail casting a 1st level spell while winging it. A 2nd level spell fails 70% of the time, 3rd 75% and so on. This means that our example wizard will fail 75% of the time while trying to cast a 3rd level spell without prior memorization.

If, however, the wizard in question chooses to memorize his spell in the morning, he reduces his chance for failure by 100%, thus in our example, the 3rd level spell is cast with a -25% chance of failure.

This, in actual play, does increase the utility of a wizard, but at the same time can make him somewhat unreliable. I can't tell you how many times I've heard "it's only a 10% chance of failure" right before a critical spell fizzles because the player wanted to leave the slot open "just in case."

It also has a very nice side benefit: players of wizards end up casting more of their spell selection (i.e., instead of just memorizing the same few over and over again) and there's fewer instances of "ok, we need this or that spell, but the wizard has to rest 8 hours before we can proceed, so everybody break out the bedrolls!"

A few other things to add into the pot:

For a specialist caster (transmuter, necromancer, etc), the caster receives a -10%/+10% failure chance based on whether the spell is in or out of their specialty school.

When leveling up, for every 5 successful times a spell is cast, the charcter gains a -5% chance to fail that particular spell.

At first level, and upon ataining further levels, the character gains 200% discretionary percentage points with which he can reduce any spell's failure chance, or he can hold them in reserve in anticipation of gaining new spells over the next level.

If, upon attempting to learn a new spell, the player fails the roll to learn, he can still scribe it to his book and cast it, but it suffers a +50% chance of failure. This can, and often does, raise the failure chance to above 100% making even memorized casting dodgy.

And one final bit:

A mage must still spend time every day reviewing and studying his spells. If his book is stolen or he has no access to it, he suffers an increased 5% failure chance per day without the book.

It looks a little confusing at first blush (and if I knew how to make this blog thing make tables, it'd be a might clearer) and it certainly does add a lot of book keeping to playing a wizard character or a bard (who follow the same rules, but keyed off of the average INT ahd CHA), but I find that the whole thing is definately worth it.

I like the falvor of it for Thylia, and since spells are rare, spell books cost 1000gp each, and the ink to scribe a spell costs 10gp per page written (not to mention 1 day per page/level of the spell), it's really a fair trade in my book.

Of course, I wouldn't try to port this over to Forgotten Realms or Greyhawk since I don't think it'd fit terribly well there, but in a grim and gritty setting where things are falling apart all over, it sort of fits.

Falling In Love With Swords and Wizardry

I splurged recently and picked up copies of Knockspell #1 and #2, Swords and Wizardry, and the S&W monster book. Of course, I had my downloaded copy of the rules beforehand and had gone through them more than once, but in seeing it all out on paper, I feel inspired by it. I'm beginning to see Thylia more and more in the light of Swords and Wizardry and am rapidly coming to a point where I'll use it instead of AD&D 2e if and when Thylia becomes an actual game.

Now all I have to do is find a group of gamers.

And some free time.

Supplements and Sorcery

James over at Grognardia talks about there being, perhaps, too many supplements coming out now from the Old School and the possible negative effects of this. Specifically, that the market - such as it is - will be "flooded with a glut of product" that will only be read, never used in play.

Of course, he's right. Coming from the 2nd edition background that I do, I can't ever forget some of the worst symptoms of a dying TSR. Hell, no matter how hard I try, I can never forget about elfish prosthetic limbs, nor rangers that turn into trees and grow third arms out of their chests, or any of a hundred really bad ideas enshrined as "options" in the Complete Handbook series of supplements. Of course, this bred the most despicable attitude I can think of in D&D: that of player entitlement - the thought that if the player wants something, he should be allowed to have it and that the DM is nothing more than a rules reciter and wish fulfiller. Maybe that's a little extreme, but not overly in my experience.

There's a great deal of good that can be said for a game that can be played entirely out of one book. That's what made Gamma World 1e and 2e so fabulous. Not to mention the Rules Cyclopedia (maybe that one's cheating since it's half a dozen books under one binding, but still). That's what makes Swords and Wizardry and Labyrinth Lord so great. One book, some dice, some friends, and a lot of imagination. No official supplements, add ins, or do-majiggers.

But then again, there's a problem with it too. If your game only has one book and no continuing publications (a magazine, some modules, a supplement here and there), then like it or not, true or not, a good portion of the fan base is going to look at it and call it a dead system and walk away. Except for Fight On! magazine (if you even know about it), Labyrinth Lord is pretty much a single product with nothing new on the horizon. Why would I pick it up now wen there's just oodles of stuff coming out of every quarter supporting Swords and Wizardry? Hell, as James himself said, there's practically a metric buttload of stuff I can use to fiddle with and slap a great game together, or ignore entirely if I want, but the community around that game is live and vibrant as evidenced by the published material. Labyrinth Lord looks, at first blush, to be a little dead on the vine.

Don't get me wrong, I really like LL and have a copy next to my chair for nightly perusal along with a whole passel of other gaming books. It's just that I'd like to see a Labyrinth Lord companion or something like that hit the shelves. I know, I know, shut up and or put up.

The horrific glut of supplements over the course of 2nd edition did one thing really really well. It imagined the shit out of AD&D. Hundreds of ideas just thrown at the wall to see what would stick. Every time somebody had a brain fart that read along the lines of "wouldn't it be cool if . . .", it ended up in a book that sold for $20 each to thousands. Yeah, maybe the dross to gems ratio was a little out of rational whack, but one must admit that amidst all the bunk, there were some pretty damn cool ideas out there! And the great thing is, no two people will ever agree on just what was cool and what was crap!

Take it to the current day. We've got little digest supplements and adventures and everybody's little brain farts being thrown into print via the internet or Lulu or whatever format for OSRIC and Swords and Wizardry and whatever other system clone is out there and there's a real hunger to see more, to put money into the hands of the creators. That's nothing but a good thing in my book, even if you find that 50%, or even 90%, of it is junk. You don't have to use the junk. You don't even have to use the gems. It just warms the subcockle region of my heart to actually be excited over some of these things again.

The Old School is viable again, and it's because people are throwing their ideas on paper and throwing it against the wall to see what sticks. It gives me real hope that one day, I'll be walking through a book store or, better yet, a toy store and see one of these books on the shelf for sale and a kid begging his mother for the $15 to buy it.

Screw purity. Screw the fear that piles and piles of junk might obscure the great tidbits. Put it out there and imagine the hell out of D&D again.

Middle School Principles

In the same vein as the Old School Primer available for free over on Lulu, here are, as I see them, some of the principles behind Middle School gaming (i.e., those of us stuck somewhere between grognard and newbie status). This isn't definitive or anything like that as I make no pretenses to know what the hell I'm talking about: this is, after all, only opinion.

1)Rulings, Not Rules: There is no difference here between Old and Middle schools. It is vital that what a player/character can do is not pre-defined for them. Extensive and expansive rule sets only give the illusion of more variety of action; instead, they tend to limit action by constraining it into a set of pre-programmed options.

2)Challenge the Player AND the Character: Intelligent and skilled play are crucial to the game and character survival. Players must do much more than merely roll dice to survive. However, certain challenges are designed for the character and not the player. A character with an 18 intelligence played by a player with a 13 intelligence has to be taken into account in some way. The same goes for instances where a character would have knowledge that a player does not (for instance, a cultural oddity that the player is unaware of) that has an effect on game play. One should never expect, though, to simply dice their way through anything. This leads me into point #3 . . .

3)Playing as Character: This is not an advocation of method acting, or support of role playing as amateur theater hour. This is the acknowledgement that each player assumes the part of the character that they create and run. Players should make some effort to "play the part" rather than treating the character as nothing more than a construct of numbers and a game piece. They should be speaking as their character rather than saying "my character says . . ." and they should have the character act appropriately. A character who is a physical coward should be played as such.

4)Story, Not Plot: We all of us like a good, tight plot in a book or movie. It's essential there. But an RPG adventure or, even worse, an entire campaign should not belabour under any kind of plot. The substance of an adventure or campaign should never depend upon the PC's going directly from point A to B to C with no deviation. However, creating an adventure or campaign around a story, or potential story is fine. For example, the story of how the characters confronted the evil wizard lord of the tower might make a great adventure, but the minute that "scripted events" start appearing, something has gone wrong.

These are just preliminary items. There are more that are lurking about that just haven't been explicated yet.

Why I Tolerate the Proficiency System

A lot of people rag on the proficiency system for a whole lot of reasons. The Old School takes swings at it because, seemingly, it's that first step on the Path of Doom that leads directly to TETSNBN( The Edition That Shall Not Be Named) and all that idiocy. "We don't need no stinkin' skill system!" they argue, and quite rightly in most respects.

On the other hand, the system catches flak from the D20 and Hackmaster crew for being "half-assed" and not at all sufficient for their needs. Their needs are better served by D20's . . . I'll be nice and call it "complicated" system or Kenzer's positively Byzantine, but still enjoyable system of percentile rolls. I'll be honest, though, and say that both systems feel to me like having the rules of Cricket explained and the net result is the same: the sudden and overwhelming urge to whallop somebody with a bat. They're honestly more trouble than they're worth, and on top of that they betray a myopic and modern viewpoint: specifically that people are, by nature, cosmopolitan and multi-skilled by default.

I was, not too long ago when I still had pretensions at being "Old School," a fan of completely skill-less systems and verged on the point of excising proficiencies entirely from my game. I even started the task of building lists of what could be considered general character knowledge based on class to forestall the inevitable argument about how such and such a character would be expected to know all about The Nameless and Unknown Horror. They usually read something like this: "You're a fighter, and know which end of the spear/sword to hold without hurting yourself . . . you know enough not to eat the red berries unless the trail boss tells you to and not to pitch your tent in the dry stream bed at night." In the end, though, they turned into multi-page documents that nobody would even want to read except, possibly, as a bad joke.

It's at that point that I realized what I really liked about proficiencies. They're a way of inserting a skill system into the game without actually inserting a skill system. The non-proficiency system is not about what a character can do. After all, any boob can ride a horse from point A to point B without falling into the ditch every 10 feet just as all but the densest morons are able to light a fire and cook their supper at the end of a long day's march. And yet we have the Riding, Cooking, and Fire Building proficiencies that make it seem like they confer these very abilities. But in actuallity, they do not. Riding specifically starting with being able to fight from horseback (or unicorn back, or giant lizard back, or whatever) without falling or injuring either yourself or the mount and ranging all the way to performing stunts and tricks that would make the best show stallions in the world jealous. The proficiency description is very explicit in that it does not cover basic riding under average circumstances and, at the rist of sounding like a jackass, anybody who forces PC's to succeed at riding checks in order to mount their horse in the morning and not break their necks at noon are DOING IT WRONG! At the same time, fire building is the ability to build fires in very adverse conditions (rain storms, blizzards, wet fuel, etc.) and cooking is the ability to create gourmet and lavish meals rather than simple home or trail cooking.

In the end, I view the proficiency system as exactly that: a system for determining what your character is proficient in beyond what the average schlub is capable of. Literally, a list of things in which your character is good enough to earn a living through. Thus, somebody with the carpentry proficiency is not just a guy who can fix their front door (any moron can do that) but a true master carpenter who could sell that skill in exchange for money or other recompense. Yes yes, I know that "fire building" isn't a valid career option, even in the pseudo medieval world of most D&D settings, but that's why I said "tolerate" rather than "love." For all its wrinkles, I think the non-weapon proficiency system is the best solution for the issue at hand that's something other than "common sense." In my experience, there isn't a single player out there that has enough common sense to know better than to plunge their hands into the mysterious pool of "water" in order to grab at the copper coins they see on the bottom.

Of course, I've never been entirely sure what to do with things like Omen Reading and Astronomy. On the one hand, I feel like I should be putting in opportunities for said proficiencies to come up in play if the player ever remembers that they have it, but at the same time I feel that the best answer might be to smack the player upside the head and ask him just what it was he was smoking if he thought that they would be useful. I am not in the business of creating situations where the PC's can shine like some sort of convoluted and demented Eigen Plot, but at the same time, I have to be sure not to shut down the players entirely because their choices should mean something in the end, even if it's an NPC mocking them for having useless skills. After all, I am routinely mocked for having the world's only degree that officially qualifies me to say "Would you like fries with that?" and I've learned to live with it. So should the omen readers and astronomers.

This musing and rant has been brought to you by the disturbed workings of a delusional mind. If you're still reading this, then I'm truly sorry for you.

Birthright: A Cornerstone of Changing Sensibilities

I can't say that I don't like the Birthright setting. It's definitely interesting, both in its implied plot (and believe me, there really is a strong hand at work here) and in the ways that it breaks the rules of AD&D 2e to create a unique little experience. The world itself - if you can get past the nigh unpronounceable pseudo-Celtic names that the developers seem so fond of - is quite a nifty little place where dragons are dying out and the mortal races walk the world today infused with the diluted stuff of gods in their veins. It looks like it could be a good deal of fun.

But I will probably never touch it, and not just because I won't find many people in New Jersey who are interested in pulling a campaign together. It's because Birthright, in all its innovative new rules and its shiny boxed intent, represents a betrayal of the core of D&D as I see it, and the enshrinement of all the negative tendencies of storytelling DM's everywhere. It is, more than DragonLance I think, a real symbol of what D&D was to become over the subsequent years.

Ok, that's a bit of a strong statement. It's not like Birthright was the deathknell of tabletop role playing games as we had all grown to love, but it's clear that the assumptions behind the setting were vastly different than those that went into Greyhawk or Forgotten Realms. It was clear that The Grey Mouser had no place in Cerilia as that world was, quite literally, all about the stories of kings and great lords. Handing what was a reward for long and good play 30 years ago to a first level character changed the dynamics of everything. Characters very often have what amount to nothing less than super powers in the form of divine heritage. Such powers range from access to genetic memories at the discretion of the DM (not entirely a bad idea I suppose) to a persistent protection from evil effect all the way up to (and I wish I were joking) shooting laser beams out of their eyeballs. This does not, of course, include the 1st level characters that enter play as literal kings of the realm. Of course, some effort is thrown in to balance things out. It is possible to play a character who is not super, but in order to balance them against those who are, all non-powered individuals are granted a flat +10%XP bonus. Even Joe-Average has special benefits.

It's not so much the fact that the characters are intended to be super powered that bothers me. After all, in Dark Sun - a setting of which I am particularly fond - the characters have ability scores ranging all the way up to 24 and everybody has psionic powers free of charge. It's the mentality that seems to fuel it. In Dark Sun, PC's need those little extra boosts in order to make it through an average day of shopping at the market. In Birthright, it's simply that heroes have powers: end of story. In fact, it's explicitly stated that characters who make due with a mere 10% bonus in XP should be made subordinate to a PC who does have powers and is the ruler of a province/kingdom, or if none of the PC's have such powers, than they become subservient to and NPC of such type as a controling patron. The concept of a patron doesn't bother me overly. They've been a wrench in the DM's toolbox forever, after all. The issue here, though, is that the patron is not so much a gentle nudge from the DM or a usefull tool in guiding the PC's down "the right road," it's an actual superior who gives orders and dictates actions; something that, in my mind, defeats the purpose of adventurers in the first place.

All of that is, in the end, forgivable. After all, who among us hasn't wanted to play a character with special abilities under their sleeves? To play a king or high priest? We're gamers, it's kind of what we do at least some of the time.

However, the big issue is that all of this orbits what we are assured is the core of the setting. Not the exploration of the unknown by rougues with hearts of gold, or the confrontation of evil by relative unknowns, but the game of kings and thrones to borrow a phrase from Mr. GRR Martin. It's a game of political maneuvering, treaties and alliances, and espionage and outright war. It's supposedly AD&D on the macro scale rather than the micro, but in the end, I find that, either by intent or anything else, it becomes dominated by heavy handed plot of the rise and fall of nations more than the individual characters. Even the few modules published for the setting - uniquely bad in their own right - are focused on how to fit them into whatever plot the DM has concocted for the players to follow and that track is, for the most part, laid out clearly from day 0.

This really isn't, in my mind, D&D. It is exactly what it says in the introduction to the source books inside the box: a failed novel by an overeager man graduating with his degree in English Lit.

The Cleric and the Faith Par II: Simple Dualism

The next step after "stop worrying and learn to love the class" is largely (OK, entirely) inspired by a house rule either created or carried over by one of my current GM's. I claim no initial creative impetus behind this, merely recognizing a good idea when I see it.

Faced with the same problem I am, he decided to basically invert the method of not worrying and letting every cleric be essentially the same. Instead, he asserted that there were only three religions in the world - Light/Good, Dark/Evil, and Nature - and that all potential deities of the various alignments were a part of one of the three pantheons and that each religions worshiped a whole pantheon (possibly focusing on one deity at times) rather than just an individual figure. The various priests of each religion were restricted in their permissible spells according to their religion: i.e., a priest of the Light could only cast the "positive" version of reversible spells (thus, no Inflict spells or casting Dark) while priests of Darkness could only cast the reversed spells (no casting cure light wounds for them).

What? What do you mean it's not exactly brilliant and innovative?

Ok, it's really not terribly innovative. It's really not, in the end tally, any different than just getting over a perceived fault and learning to love the game. Indeed, I'll be the first to admit that it also has a major fault: it's an example of fitting the game world to the rules rather than the rules to the game world. This is, in my opinion, what has gotten WOTC and Hasbro into such dull and terrible territory. They've created, in 3.x, some Frankenstein's monster of a rule set that veritably demands that the campaign be adjusted to fit the rules because adjusting the rules is either too much hassle or would cause a mass player revolt at perceived "unfairness" and that simply is bad game design. I'm very hesitant to set foot on that path lest it corrupt me.

However, I will say that in practice, it's really quite excellent. Again, it has the benefit of being simple and easily grasped, which is a great thing not only for new players, but for old players too and it's currently the mode I am considering most strongly for Thylia, but taken another step forward.

Instead of lumping the various gods and godesses (and other, genderless divine and semi-divine entities) into three "faiths," I want to strip out all of said deities and leave the frameworks as the net result. Thus, a cleric of the light does not worship a vague pantheon of good aligned deities, a good aligned cleric will worship the ideals of the religion of Light (i.e., goodness, love/agape, etc.) while an evil cleric will follow the tenets of the religion of Darkness (self-interest, evil, etc.). Nature, of course, can be thrown in to turn dualism into . . . "trinarism"? Of course, I've never been able to settle on whether druids actually worship Nature, or worship The Balance as exemplified by Nature. I've always been certain (mostly) that no self-respecting druid would worhship a deity at all and any reference to druidic deities must be chalked up to stupidity, momentary or otherwise.

Whether or not these various faiths are antagonistic towards one another is something that I simply haven't decided. While the idea of followers of Darkness being semi-productive members of society, and the two churches existing side by side, is aluring, it brings up questions that I don't really feel willing to answer, at least not at this point. Such as why otherwise good and civilized peoples tolerate the presence of a religion dedicated to evil acts right under their noses. Or how the two exist side by side without inciting vicious holy wars and blood baths in the streets: maybe they don't, that might be an interesting setup for an adventure. It can certainly add layers of complication and interest, but, in my mind, it seems to detract from an otherwise heroic atmosphere, something that I strive for.

Of course, a major problem with this whole thing is avoiding the Crystal Dragon Jesus meme. Or maybe I don't entirely want to avoid it? This is certainly a way for "normal fantasy" to pop up: an anchor point of semi-normalcy for players to grab hold of while the wierd shit goes on all around them and helps to focus the game less on the fantasy and more on the PC's. This is one of those waffling topics round these parts. Hell, I've actually seriously considered just importing Martin's "Faith of the Seven" whole hog into the game with absolutely no apologies whatsoever.

Well, anyway, next time, talk begins about pantheons of various gods, custom built. I anticipate that discussion to take at least two or three posts of this size or longer to cover, so if you're bored or antagonized by such talk, I apologize now. If you like to listen to me talk about such things, then I have to wonder just how crazy you really are.

The Cleric and the Faith Part I

This is not a post about the historical, mythological, or fictional origins and inspirations of the Cleric/Priest class in D&D (specifically at this point, AD&D 2e which is the mode of most mechanics that will appear here). Other, worthier folk either have done this or will do it in the future. I'm not going to ruminate about the appropriateness of the cleric class - a decidedly Christian class (along with the Paladin) in a game that is open to extended pantheons as James over at Grognardia already has pointed out here - or whether or not it should be included in the game here. Whatever chicken hatched from or laid whatever egg is now long past any point of return, in my opinion, as at some point, the practitioner of faith and miracles has now long been an integral part of the game and, in some ways, the fantasy genre at large. Whether it is more native to Pulp Fiction, Modern Fantasy, or Fantasy Gaming than any other is not something I want to debate at this moment.

For right now, I want to talk about how to make the cleric fit the world, and perhaps make the world fit the cleric. Too often I think, the cleric in AD&D, BECMI, and OD&D games gets pigeon-holed into the same corner as the guy that can heal the fighters and maybe ward off the undead from time to time, except in how the player portrays the character. And all to often, the player gets bullied by the rest of the group, or by simple practicality, into falling into that role at least some of the time. Most irksome, to me at least, is that a cleric of Odin looks pretty much like a cleric of Nerull looks a great deal like a cleric of Quetzalcoatl. Why would a cleric of a god of civilization and peace or of romantic love have the same portfolio of powers as a follower of the Dread Cthulhu?

Of course, the first, and simplest answer is to sit back and say "don't worry about it, it's just a freakin' game." And honestly, I can accept that. It's not really a problem that all clerics, despite their object of worship (or too often, lack thereof) wield identical powers. After all, for the most part a fighter is a fighter no matter what race he belongs to, the same for a thief for that matter. It simplifies things greatly, especially in a game system where simplicity is a major goal like Basic/Labyrinth Lord, or Swords and Wizardry.

The problem, for me, emerges when it's just not acceptable to ignore this bit of wrinkle. Many times (not always) I want clerics of various deities or faiths to be not just different in lip service, but truly unique. I want the players to wonder and guess at what powers the cleric of Random Death Cult Z are and how to prepare before facing him. Or, I want an in world explanation of why all clerics are all the same mechanically.

Is this multiplying entities? Yeah, it is, but I think that, done carefully, it can lead to more fulfilling games from my perspective as the GM, and more interesting (read "dangerous) games for the players. Does this tread dangerously close to the Third Edition mantra of "no choice without a mechanical benefit"? Yes, but I'm ok with that for the time being. Like I said way back in the beginning, I think that there's something to be said for everything in moderation. That, and I feel that I can draw a line in the sand before I arrive at feats, domain powers, and "optimization."

Up tomorrow sometime: Manicheism.

Leery of the Whole Mega-Dungeon . . . Thing

It's a staple of the old school revival, supposedly, the 'tent-pole mega-dungeon' around which the entire campaign is based. As a player, it's a great deal of fun to remember "the hobgoblins on the 3rd level" and how you tricked them into the lair of the dragon on the 4th, thus eliminating two problems in one fell swoop. And I suppose that it's a lot of fun on the part of the GM to showcase everything he has in one easily accessible location, complete with convenient adventuring town no more than a day's journey away. From all this perspective, I like the idea of a mega-dungeon.

However, the mega-dungeon has always cramped my style so to speak. It's always impinged upon my sensibilities of how things "should" go. There's nothing wrong with a large "dungeon" per se, but I'm always plagued by the questions of what function the dungeon originally had before it was inhabited by goblins, kobolds, orcs, and etc. What did it do? Why was it built? In a way, I'm always a bit like Gollum, always worrying at the roots of things, looking for the beginnings of things. In the end, I look at the dungeons, crypts, and caverns in my own campaigns as all having functions, and the more I think about it, the more I realize that from a strictly functional standpoint, smaller is better.

From the point of view of "normal fantasy" why, if you were going to build a prison would you build a monstrously huge structure twelve levels deep with the possibility of unexpected entrances all over when, in fact, a small shell keep with a few dozen iron barred cells in the center would do immeasurably better? What in the world would posses somebody, or several somebodies, to dig out a massive twelve level complex the size of a metropolis and just as densely populated? It would be a massive waste of resources when something a tenth that size would do. Even the Tower of London, one of the most infamous prisons of the Middle Ages and sometimes residence of the royal family, is remarkably small. Even Château d'If wasn't particularly massive (something on the order of three or four main levels and a tower or two).

Why are we so eager to fall into the mantra of more is better when, from my perspective, more is too often simply that: more.

Don't get me wrong, I believe there's nothing wrong with large dungeons, as long as there's a believable rational behind them. History has its fair share of them including the sewers and catacombs of Paris, the Underground system of London, and any number of such places that, if I were either brave or stupid . . . or both . . . I might love to explore. I have the germinating seed of an ancient dwarven city, decimated by a plauge centuries ago, through which the last few undead wander performing whatever task they did in life endlessly, crowding out other, more important things in my head: like the password to the database at work.

But in the end, I'm a great believer that there's more bang for the buck in smaller, more meaningful locations. Places that are more than just "the dungeon" and I as the GM don't have to make excuses for the players to go to but they naturally, if reluctantly at times, head for. That castle on the hill that they've been skirting around now for almost a year (of actual play!) that they know they will eventually have to enter and they're sure that whatever they find in there they're not going to like. One of the greatest "dungeons" of all time, I think, was straight out of Beowulf, the Dragon's Barrow in which the treasure of a long lost people rested and the eponymous wyrm brooded over the loss of a single cup from its discovered hoard. Beowulf didn't run off to slay the dragon because here was another chance at adventure and glory. I've always been able to hear quietly in the background the great king mumbling "awe crap, here's yet another thing I have to go kill because some idiot thief couldn't keep his fingers in his pockets when I'd rather be enjoying a good cup of strong wine, idiot peasants never had it so good. . ."

"Adventurer" should never be a legitimate career choice. At best, to the world around them, these persons are little better than wandering vagabonds. They're obviously dangerous, carry large numbers of weapons, meddle readily with the forces of darkness and break the laws of nature on a whim. Nothing sticks in my craw more than reading published modules that have as their hook the idiotic premise that the local king or lord is seeking to actually locate and hire these idiots who are followed by danger and misfortune like a stray puppy. The most common phrase an adventurer should know is "We thank you for killing Thorbald the Dark, Unleasher of Plagues, but would you kindly now get the hell out? You're frightening the townfolk."

By the same token, I as the GM (and often as a player) have some overriding urge to see things make sense. Why are there kobolds, orcs, goblins, hobgoblins, a red dragon, 13 carrion crawlers, two rust monsters, and 37 rot grubs all living in such close proximity to each other without there being an all out furball conflict between them all? Why in the world aren't they all seeking the seclusion of their own? For that matter, why in the world would they be moving into a large dungeon complex filled to the brim with clever tricks and traps of the ancients when a nice, quiet, untrapped location could be theirs for the taking?

In the end, I think that a mega-dungeon raises more questions than I, as a GM, am prepared to answer. It feels too much like laying all my cards out on the table in one giant pile rather than carefully playing them in a slow game, one corner at a time so that the players aren't sure if they're looking at the corner of a seven of clubs, or a nine.