Archive for the ‘news’ Category

jared, health, art

Wednesday, March 20th, 2013

Jared von Hindman, who’s a good guy, a good artist, and one of the talents behind my kickstarter, has been diagnosed with cancer. There isn’t an official help-Jared fund, like the terrific Help Ernie Gygax page (go there too!), but don’t worry, I’ve been thinking about how we can help.

For the kickstarter, I put up Jared’s amazing dungeon art on Zazzle (all profits to Jared). Now the deal is even better. It’s $50 for a set of 2 paintings (a map and an illustrated map key), of which Jared normally gets about half and Zazzle gets half. Instead of just getting the profits, Jared will now get 100% of what you spend. All this year, I’ll cover the Zazzle cut out of my own pocket, up to $5k. I’d love the total to get that high!

Here are 2 of the 10 paintings:

Coroner's Dungeon

And the map key:

Coroner's Dungeon key

More…

Buy a couple of these, pick up a couple of the Ernie Gygax eBay items, and you can be pretty proud of yourself today.

more magic and monsters from Quag Keep

Friday, February 8th, 2013

From Andre Norton’s silly D&D novel, Quag Keep:

Memory once more moved in Milo’s mind, opening grudgingly another door. It was a gar-eagle-the greatest of all winged creatures (save, of course, a dragon) that his world knew. The very beating of those wings churned up snow as the bird descended. And when it came to perch at last on a rock a little farther ahead, closed its fifteen-foot wings, and twisted its head downward toward the elf-over whom it would have towered another head’s length had they been meeting on level ground-even Naile pushed back a fraction.

Many fantasy worlds provide their own version of a roc, from Tolkien’s giant eagle to John Norman’s tarn from the Gor series which Arneson used in his own campaign. I’m not sure where the gar-eagle came from: was it a reference, conscious or otherwise, to John Norman’s Gor? or just a nonsense fantasy world?

Odd note: in looking for prior references to “gar”, I found this veteran’s organization, whose symbol is an eagle.

Milo did not need the faint, musty smell of corruption that wafted toward them from that crew to know that these were liches, the Undead. Their body armor was the same color as the dust that had been their outward tomb for so long. They even wore masks of metal, having but holes for eyes and nostrils, which hung from their helmets, covering their faces. The masks had been wrought in the form of fierce scowls, and tufts of metal, spun as fine as hairs, bearded their chins to fan outward over their mail corselets. They poured up from the hold, swords in hand-strange swords curved as to blade-which they swung with a will. And the Undead could not die. Milo, as he reached the surface of the deck, saw Naileboar savage one of the Undead with his tusks, breaking armor as brittle as the shell of a long-dead beetle, in fact breaking the liche almost in two. But its feet continued to stand and the torso, as it fell, still aimed a blow at its attacker. “ALL-LL-VAR!”

In this passage, “lich” is used as a general term for undead. In fact, these liches sound more like skeletons or zombies – undead fighters, not undead wizards.

If Andre Norton encountered, or heard of, a spell-casting lich in her dungeon crawl, there’s actually no reason that she would have believed that the creature’s spells were an integral part of its lichiness. After all, before D&D, “lich” just means “corpse”. But for me, decades of D&D tradition and fantasy imitation have made “lich” synonymous with “skeleton spellcaster”, so this passage just seems weird.

There were women secrets that even the wizards could not fathom. Milo had heard tell of them. He shook his head as if to loosen a pall of dust from his mind, as he had in part from his body. Women magic-cold. Moon magic. . . . All men knew that women had a tie with the moon which was knit into their bodies. What she wrought here might be as alien to him as the thoughts and desires of a dragon — or a liche — if the dead-alive had thoughts and not just hungers and the will of Chaos to animate them. Yet Milo could not turn away — for still that trilling enticed, drew him. Then she spoke, though she did not turn her head.

This “moon magic” stuff reminds me of the back of Sign of the Labrys, another book by a female Appendix N author:

There was life also, for he started once and nearly spun off into the dust, as the sound of shrill and loud croaking made him think, with a shiver he could not entirely subdue, of that horror tale told about the Temple of the Frog and the unnatural creatures bred and nurtured therein to deliver the death stroke against any who invaded that hidden land. That, too, occupied the heart of a swamp, holding secrets no man of the outer world could more than guess.

Temple of the Frog! That’s from the 1975 Blackmoor supplement. Just how much did Andre Norton know about D&D? Did she have the rulebook and all the supplements? Are her lore changes made in ignorance, or was her novel set in a consciously house-ruled version of D&D? So confusing.

magic and monsters of Quag Keep

Friday, February 1st, 2013

From Andre Norton’s bizarre D&D novel, Quag Keep:

“We light no more fires. That feeds them,” the cleric continued. “They must have a measure of light to manifest themselves. We must deny them that.”

“Who are ‘they’?” growled Naile. He, too, slewed around to look without.

“The shadows,” returned Deav Dyne promptly. “Only they are more than shadows, though even my prayers for enlightenment and my scrying cannot tell me what manner of manifestation they really are. If there is no light they are hardly to be seen and, I believe, so weak they cannot work any harm. They came yesterday after Ingrge had ridden forward. But they are no elven work, nor have I any knowledge of such beings. Now they gather with the dark-and wait.”

This is a great D&D monster, perhaps more interesting than the classic D&D Shadow. It works especially well in 5e, which does distinguish between darkness, light, and the “shadowy illumination” in which these monsters thrive.

I’d say that these monsters can move around, but not attack, in the darkness beyond the PCs’ torchlight; can attack from shadows; and are helpless and possibly even damaged when inside an area of bright light.

“Is it not true that a spell once used, unless it can be fed from another source, will not answer again?”

This is another bizarre feature of the Quag Keep version of D&D. Each character can use each spell once. It actually seems more like Mazes and Monsters than D&D in some ways – or perhaps Arneson’s original magic system.

While we’re on the magic system…

They backed Deav Dyne who swung his beads still as he might a whip advancing on the black druid who cowered, dodged, and tried to escape, yet seemingly could not really flee. The prayer beads might be part of a net to engulf him, as well as a scourge to keep him from calling on his own dark powers. For to do that, any worker of magic needed quiet and a matter of time to summon aides from another plane, and Carivols was allowed neither.

In this version of D&D, does “any worker of magic” need quiet and time to cast any spell? If so, can spells not be cast in combat? Or is this stricture only placed on summoning spells? (Maybe the latter. In the Greyhawk supplement, the “monster summoning” spells do specify that they come with a “delay: one turn.”)

treasure from Quag Keep

Friday, January 25th, 2013

From Andre Norton’s flawed D&D novel, Quag Keep:

“Warrior.” Now he addressed Naile directly. “To my Lord, money is nothing. A year ago he found the hidden Temple of Tung and all its once-locked treasures are under his hand. I am empowered to draw upon them to secure any rarity. What say you to a sword of seven spells, a never-fail shield, a necklet of lyra gems such as not even the king of the Great Kingdom can hope to hold, a-“

How about that? 3 D&D treasures that have never been written up. Google reveals that the only reference to any of “sword of seven spells”, “never-fail shield” or “lyra gems” is from Quag Keep. So what do they do exactly?

The problem is that they seem like they might be a bit too powerful. Specifically, the “never-fail shield” seems like it should protect you from all harm, which is obviously overpowered. Let’s say that, once a day, you can use the never-fail shield to block one attack or spell, but you must decide to use the shield’s power before the attack roll or saving throw.

As for the sword of seven spells: it’s probably equivalent to a combined +1 sword/scroll with 7 random spells on it, except that only Fighting Men can use the spells. Once each spell has been used, it can’t be used again. When all 7 spells are used, it’s nothing but a +1 sword.

It’s possible that when you use up a spell, you use it up only for yourself, so once you’re finished with it, you should hand it to the Fighting Man next to you.

As for lyra gems, they’re probably nonmagical, but clearly very valuable. Maybe they’re the next price category of gems, above diamonds.

“Masterly — masterly and as evil as the Nine and Ninety Sins of Salzak, the Spirit Murderer.”

This is an offhand comment that I’m throwing in because this Salzak, the Spirit Murderer sounds awesome. Use Salzak as your campaign villain and you will be using a bit of Greyhawk canon that hasn’t been used since 1978.

give me a hand with this chest

Friday, January 11th, 2013

Last week I mentioned a bizarre trapped chest from a Sax Rohmer novel. Here’s another weird chest, from The Star Venturers by pulp-sci-fi author Kenneth Bulmer:

A door slid aside in the far wall. Through this opening walked two young girls, each clad in a bikini and boots, each carrying the ornate silver hands of an ebony box swung between them, the hands a left and a right, making a pair.

OK, the bikini-and-boots thing may be a little over the top, but the chest is cool. Its two hand-handles might be decorative, might be a trap, but also might be part of a puzzle to open some hidden compartment.

a trapped chest

Friday, January 4th, 2013

Here’s a classic D&D-ism from the 1917 pulp novel The Hand of Fu Manchu:

All conversation had ceased, when, just as the muted booming of London’s clocks reached my ears again and Weymouth pulled out his watch, there came a faint click – and I saw that Smith had raised the lid of the coffer! Weymouth and I sprang forward with one accord, and over Smith’s shoulders peered into the interior. There was a second lid of some dull, black wood, apparently of great age, and fastened to it so as to form knobs or handles was an exquisitely carved pair of golden pomegranates!

“They are to raise the wooden lid, Mr. Smith!” cried Weymouth eagerly. “Look! there is a hollow in each to accommodate the fingers!”

“Aren’t you going to open it?” I demanded excitedly – “aren’t you going to open it?”

This is not Nayland Smith’s first time at the rodeo. Smith, who is a sort of racist anti-Chinese version of Sherlock Holmes, notes a subtle clue: a dead man next to the chest.

I examined the peculiarity to which Smith had drawn my attention. The dead man’s fingers were swollen extraordinarily, the index finger of either hand especially being oddly discolored, as though bruised from the nail upward.

“Look into these two cavities where one is expected to thrust one’s fingers!” Weymouth and I craned forward so that our heads came into contact.

“My God!” whispered the Inspector, “we know now what killed him!” Visible, in either little cavity against the edge of the steel handcuff, was the point of a needle, which evidently worked in an exquisitely made socket through which the action of raising the lid caused it to protrude. Underneath the lid, midway between the two pomegranates, as I saw by slowly moving the lamp, was a little receptacle of metal communicating with the base of the hollow needles. The action of lifting the lid not only protruded the points but also operated the hypodermic syringe!

I wouldn’t be too surprised if this passage inspired the ubiquitous poison-needle chest in D&D. I’d be even less surprised if this passage inspired a poison-needle chest in some 1960s pulp sci-fi/fantasy, and that inspired the D&D version.

berserk men

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012
This entry is part 8 of 18 in the series New Schooler Reads OD&D

Monsters and Treasure P 6:

“Berserkers are simply mad men with battle lust.”

Last minute Christmas gift: the Random Dungeons kickstarter book!

Tuesday, December 11th, 2012

If you’d like the real-book version of every printable reward from my Random Dungeon kickstarter, you can get Random Dungeons, a 180-page book containing every reward made for every backing level, for $19.95. Until December 14, you can use the coupon code FELICITAS to get 20% off the price (for a price of around $16) and it should arrive before Christmas if you order, like, today.

It contains

  • the art from the Random Dungeon and Random Monster posters
  • the sticker art by Rich Burlew and other artists
  • the final Dungeon Robber rules
  • Paul’s DM Notebook, a 64-page book on its own
  • the All-Star DM notebook, containing new adventures and game tools by Mike Mornard, Mike Shea, Tavis Allison, James Maliszewski, Jared von Hindman, and myself.

    My adventure is none other than the dungeon crawl that we’re doing in the Mearls sidebar. Watch out for spoilers!

    Buy it here!

  • just try to do business with the elves

    Thursday, December 6th, 2012

    If you don’t have any D&D-themed winter-holiday cards yet, time is running out! Get Laura’s card set, which includes these elven-holiday-celebrating elves.

    On the subject of elven holidays, here’s a chart you can roll on when you need to get the elves to trade with you, or join your fellowship, or honor their promise to send you troops.

    Roll d4:
    1-2: The elves are celebrating an important elven holiday today. Come back tomorrow.
    3: The elves are preparing for an important elven holiday tomorrow. Come back the day after tomorrow.
    4: The elves are so ready for business right now. What’s this about? Let’s do this!

    combat, exploration, interaction, logistics

    Monday, December 3rd, 2012

    The D&D Next designers say that the “three pillars” of D&D are combat, exploration, and interaction.

    In Playing At the World, Jon Peterson seems to have independently developed three very similar play modes: combat, exploration, and logistics. “Another key ingredient in Dungeons & Dragons is dramatic pacing, achieved by transitioning between three different game modes: a mode of exploration, a mode of combat and a mode of logistics. Time flows differently in each of these modes.”

    Comparing the D&D Next developers’ and Jon Peterson’s analyses is comparing apples and oranges, so it’s strange that the fruit look so similar. The D&D next pillars are, I think, intended to remind the developers that each character should have something to do in different scenes of the game. Peterson is analyzing the flow of game time in a session, which varies between turns, rounds, and days.

    Now that we know that it’s a bad idea, let’s try merging the two models.

    In Peterson’s model, combat has a game speed that might be significantly slower than real time (depending on whether your rounds are a minute or six seconds long). Even if each round takes a minute of game time, you’re unlikely to get through all the PCs and monsters in that much real time. Exploration is faster than real time, but the scale varies: “we go north for 120 feet” and “we go north for 10 miles” might take the same amount of real time. Logistics is even more variable: shopping for new plate mail and spending a month healing up might both take, say, thirty seconds each.

    Interaction (i. e. conversation, mostly with NPCs) is unique in D&D modes in that it takes roughly the same amount of time in real and game time. There might be variations: a player might consult his notes to remember his character’s wife’s name, and a DM might pause to roll reaction dice, but in general, during interaction, the player and the character are doing roughly the same thing. It doesn’t hurt to throw an interaction mode into a discussion of pacing: I’ve definitely run sessions where the pace suffered from too much or too little interaction.

    Logistics is interesting because I’ve never heard it mentioned as a positive part of a game. If it’s mentioned, it’s as something to be gotten through as quickly as possible. Still, it’s always been a big part of D&D. Gaining levels, or researching spells, or replacing spent arrows, or collecting tax income takes up table (or between-session) time. Peterson convincingly argues that “by rationing the modes carefully a referee guides the players through satisfying cycles of tension, catharsis and banality that mimic the ebb and flow of powerful events.”

    The logistics portion of D&D can be fun in itself. Sometimes you want to be fighting a monster, and sometimes you want to be updating your character sheet. The Adventurer Conqueror King fief-management rules are fun because they embrace logistics as something to be relished.

    How would a “logistics pillar” inform D&D Next development? It seems a little strange to say that each class should have its fair share of bookkeeping, but maybe there’s some truth to that. The wizard class comes with plenty of bookkeeping, with its ever-increasing spell menu to be tweaked each day, along with the most complex spell- and item-creation rules in the game. In 1e, a fighter eventually gets a castle to manage. In 3e, a fighter gets a feat to choose every two levels. Maybe it needs a little more logistics in Next.