D&D names from the 17th century

February 22nd, 2013

Here are some 17th century historical figures with D&D names:

From Neal Stephenson’s Quicksilver:

On 16 August 1688, I met Liselotte von der Pfalz, Elisabeth Charlotte, duchesse d’Orleans, who is known to the French Court as Madame or La Palatine, and to her loved ones in Germany as the Knight of the Rustling Leaves, at the gate of a stable on her estate at St. Cloud on the Seine, just downstream of Paris.

This is a pretty awesome name for a semi-exiled, itinerant princess. It seems to have been the real nickname of Liselotte von der Pfalz. From her letters, it seems that she was a tomboy princess who preferred hunting to fancy-dress balls, and, as she says elsewhere, swords to dolls. It would be pretty easy to fit Lisolette, the Knight of Rustling Leaves, into any D&D campaign.

And how about this name? In a 1660 passage from his diary, Samuel Pepys mentions “Sir Harbottle Grimstone, Speaker for the House of Commons.” How about that name? It sounds almost aggressively, implausibly D&D, and I had to double-check that it was a real guy.

D&D Next healing idea: the “Soldier On” rule

February 20th, 2013

Mike Mearls recently confessed that the 5e design team is out of ideas for healing.

Here’s my proposal for 5e healing. I’ll call it the “Soldier On” rule.

In a short rest, you can bring your HP up to 2/3 of your max HP. Beyond that, your HP can only be raised through magic or through overnight healing. Overnight healing is old-school slow – say 1 or 2 HP per day.

Basically, the top 1/3 of your HP is physical injuries. The bottom 2/3 is energy, luck, and will. Your last 1 HP is a mortal wound. This is not too far from a wounds/vitality system except that it doesn’t require you to maintain two different HP tracks: the only rule change from First Edition is that you heal up a little after a battle.

This rule allows injured characters to soldier on indefinitely, at slightly-reduced efficiency. You can swig the warm Gatorade of partial healing anytime, but the ice-cold spring water of overnight or clerical healing are luxuries not to be squandered.

The numbers could be tweaked depending on how serious you want injury to be. You could change the Soldier On threshold to be 50% or 75%. Ask this question: “At what stage of Hit Points depletion should we stop adventuring and go home?” and set the Soldier On threshold to a tiny bit above that.

hobbits are monsters of the week

February 18th, 2013

Sci-fi and fantasy serials are full of monsters of the week: introduced in one episode, forgotten the next. These creatures are, almost by their nature, unknown to most of the fictional society. No one has mentioned them before because the writers just thought of them! Just because Flash Gordon meets a tribe of rock-people in a cave doesn’t mean that the rock-people need to be fully integrated into galactic civilization.

Hobbits fit perfectly into the monster-of-the-week pattern. They live in an isolated area, and, outside the local area, no one has ever heard of them. It’s clear that, during the course of Gandalf’s episodic travels, he had a fun interlude in the Shire. In most high fantasy, it would have gotten a chapter at most. But here is Gandalf’s (and Tolkien’s) brilliance: Gandalf thought, “I think these guys have surprisingly good stats. I want to start making a big deal out of them.” And so he started sending them on missions of greater and greater importance. The Lord of the Rings saga is like a crazy version of Flash Gordon where the rock-people tribe take over the narrative for the rest of the series.

"Fool of a flint! Throw yourself in the well next time and rid of us your stupidity!"

But every D&D campaign doesn’t have to be Lord of the Rings.

Halflings are in a weird position in D&D: they’re one of the original four races (although Gygax didn’t like them very much). Therefore, they’re much more common in most D&D worlds than hobbits are in Middle Earth. They’ve grown in importance the same way Tatooine has in the Star Wars universe: instead of a backwater planet, it’s a ubiquitous stop on every video-game, novel, and prequel version of the galactic tour.

There’s a lot of D&D history behind us, so it’s probably fine at this point to accept halflings as one of the defining elements of the game. But it might be worth remembering that halflings don’t NEED to be one of the Big Four races in your world. Maybe there’s a middle ground between “50% of all thieves are halflings” and “halflings are banned from my game world.” On this middle ground (or middle earth, if you will) the big players would be humans, dwarves, and elves. If someone wants to be a halfling, or a dragonborn, or a drow, the DM will probably allow it, but they are all what 5e is calling “rare races.” They’re monsters of the week, allowed as occasional PCs, but not necessarily important to the setting. It’s OK if they’re there in the world somewhere… but they’re generally overlooked. I don’t know about halflings, but that’s how hobbits would prefer it.

magic from the time of Newton

February 15th, 2013

Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle is about the era of Newton, Samuel Pepys and the foundation of the Royal Society: it’s the transition period where you’d stop using D&D to model contemporary scientific belief and start using d20 Modern. From the point of view of fantasy fans, periods like this are productive. As magic goes under the microscope, its formulae are recorded in lab notes.

Take this passage from Quicksilver, inspired by a real experiment conducted by the Royal Society:

Sir Robert Moray came to visit, and ground up a bit of the unicorn’s horn to make a powder, which he sprinkled in a ring, and placed a spider in the center of the ring. But the spider kept escaping. Moray pronounced the horn to be a fraud.

The description of this experiment, by which they prove that unicorn’s horn does not kill venomous beasts, raises some questions: where did they get the unicorn horn? Let’s put that aside. The D&D takeaway here is that, if magic does work, unicorn horns (and unicorns) should be very dangerous to venomous creatures. Let’s say that a touch from a unicorn horn forces a creature to make a save vs. its own poison or suffer its effects. A creature’s immunity to poison does not protect it against this effect. This is the sort of using-its-own-power-against-it magical judo you’d expect from a good-aligned creature like a unicorn.

Daniel… read the graffiti cut in the stone by prisoners of centuries past. Not your vulgar Newgate Prison graffiti–most of it was in Latin, big and solemn as gravestones, and there were astrological diagrams and runic incantations graven by imprisoned sorcerers.

One thing we know about the incantations of imprisoned sorcerers: none of them are Knock or Teleport. Here is one of the real Tower of London carvings, etched the sorcerer Hugh Draper in 1561:

It looks just like the kind of thing I doodle in meetings. In D&D terms, it actually looks less like a spell and more like a spellbook: something you’d carve once, and then consult while doing innumerable astrological readings.

The D&D inspiration I get from this carving: a spellbook is a collection of shortcuts and pre-computed values. A wizard can’t be permanently separated from his or her spellbook. Given enough time, the wizard can re-compute and re-draw the various calculations and diagrams necessary to cast spells, even with nothing to write with but a stone wall and a tiny piece of metal. I like to think that in 1562, after a year or so of turning his dungeon cell wall into a spellbook, Hugh Draper was able to memorize Teleport and get the hell out of the Tower.

why you don’t want to learn 10th level spells

February 11th, 2013

One of the coolest spells implemented in a video game was Armageddon, in Ultima 6. The description: “Once it is cast, it destroys all life on the world, with exception of the spellcaster, leaving only a barren wasteland behind, devoid of any life.” If you cast it, every creature in the world would, indeed, die. You could wander around and pick up all the treasure you wanted. Obviously, at this point, the game was unwinnable and, indeed, pointless.*

I suspect that the spell was in there as a sort of nuclear-holocaust cautionary fable. But such fables have a place in post-apocalyptic games like D&D. Something happened to all those dungeon-building civilizations. Maybe they cast Armageddon.

D&D’s 9 spell levels have always called out to be rounded up to an even 10. The problem is, with wish a 9th-level spell, what is there left to wish for? Let’s slot Armageddon, and other big, dangerous, world-altering spells in here: spells that fuse the Prime Material with another plane of your choice, spells that sink continents, spells of apotheosis, spells that scry on Cthulhu, scrolls of genocide.

Extrapolating from the wizard spell chart, you’d get access to 10th level spells at level 19 (pretty close to the level cap in some editions). In D&D campaign worlds, there are no existing 10th level spells to learn: they’ve been expunged from every ancient library. (If any hints of their existence exist, they are in incomplete and obscure form, like the scientific learning in A Canticle for Leibowitz.) Generally, a civilization can’t research such powerful spells until they have a greater academic understanding of magic than exists in standard D&D campaigns. Peaceful golden ages lead to such academic advancements. Academic advancements lead to 10th level spells. 10th level spells lead to Armageddon.

Given that this cycle has probably happened multiple times in the campaign world’s history, there’s probably a conservative, anti-intellectual secret cult that seeks to save the world by spreading chaos, toppling golden ages, and assassinating saints and sages, and they’re right about everything.

* Ultima 6 also has a big in-game library, in the Lycaeum. If someone develops an eyeglasses mod, we can re-create episode 8 of the Twilight Zone.

more magic and monsters from Quag Keep

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.

D&D Greyhawk magic items

February 6th, 2013

Continuing my readthrough of TSR books in publication order, I’m up to the magic items of the Greyhawk supplement:

sword of cold: In addition to the bonus shown vs. creatures of fiery origin, the weapon scores triple damage whenever a 20 is rolled. It is able to dispell a Wall of Fire and gives its user the same protection as a Ring of Fire Resistance.

This is an example of what I’d be glad to see in a 4e or 5e magic item. It’s a reasonably powerful weapon, but not overpowered compared to other magical weapons; it has a lot of thematically-related abilities; and it reminds the owner of its presence (its acting as the ring of fire resistance, for instance, makes you glad you have it in several non-hewing situations). It also has a very satisfying crit power.

shield of missile attraction: This item will appear to be a perfectly genuine +1 to +5 shield until missiles from true enemies are shot at its user in anger. It will attract such missiles and reduce the person’s armor class by 5% (-1).

Depending on how you read it, this might just be another “bummer” cursed item, or a quite interesting one.

It might be a shield that seems to be a magic shield, but when used turns out to be a -1 shield against all attacks, and it also “attracts missiles” in some undefined way. Or, it could be read as an ordinary magic shield against melee attacks, +1 to +5, but -1 against all missile attacks. This makes the shield a situationally valuable, but very dangerous, item that might cause some angst to the player! “Do I keep this shield? It might get me killed! But it might save my life!” Seems like a nice model for cursed items, but D&D didn’t go in that direction.

vorpal sword: The Vorpal Blade differs from a Sword of Sharpness in several ways:
1) its bonus hit probability is +2;
2) it needs only 10% over the required score to hit, or an 18 through 20 in any event to sever, and it will always sever the neck; and
3) it will perform in the hands of any Lawful fighter, although it requires a Paladin in order to act in its anti-magic capacity.

Wow, this weapon is crazy. It kind of makes a mockery of the D&D combat system.

It’s +2, and if you get 10% more on the attack roll you need, you sever the target’s head. Note that that +2 and 10% cancel each other out on the attack die. That’s roughly equivalent to (but better than) a sword with no pluses to hit, that does A MILLION DAMAGE on a hit. Combats are going to be a lot shorter with this weapon. I don’t know how the DM could continue to challenge a party with this sword, except send them a constant stream of gelatinous cubes and other headless creatures.

Arrows of Slaying: Special magical arrows which are specifically enchanted to slay Monsters with a single hit. The referee may distinguish them by basic types if he wishes, or they may each slay any monster. Basic types would be: Giant Class, Undead Class, Flying Monsters, Other Monsters, Enchanted Monsters (Invisible Stalkers, Elementals, Golems, Aerial Servants, and so on).

I want an “Arrow of Slaying Other Monsters”. It’s an arrow that’s defined only in relationship with other arrows! It’s a meta arrow!

A year between levels

February 4th, 2013

Last week I suggested that in-game time match real time. If your D&D campaign lasts a real year, your characters grow one year older. You could also try the opposite approach: Leveling up always takes a year.

This is good for the type of game where earning a level is a real achievement. As part of the leveling-up process, the players describe how they spent their year. Have them describe exactly how they got their level-up perks: where did they learn their feats and spells? Did the PCs travel the world, or work as guards? The Pendragon RPG incorporates this idea into its “winter phase”, and you could certainly use some Pendragon-inspired charts to find out what happened to your family, friends and lands over the course of the year. This would also be a good time to roll on the investments and business charts from Lamentations of the Flame Princess or the ACKS domain charts. In general, the intersession can be a celebration of the role of logistics in D&D.

The DM can advance the gameworld’s story between levels. At this pace, this type of campaign is much more likely to experience wars, royal succession, and other big events. Furthermore, characters can build castles, found guilds, start families, and otherwise impose their wills upon the world. In a high-speed game, where you go from level 1 to 20 in a month, you don’t have time for such things.

In such a game, your character actually ages significantly. Over the course of 20 levels, a 20-year old youth becomes a 40-year-old veteran. Racial age categories are not meaningless fluff. If you decide to start the game as an aged human wizard, magical aging and elixirs of youth might actually be relevant for once.

magic and monsters of Quag Keep

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.”)

four Fire Balls (Jim!)

January 30th, 2013

There’s a startling passage in the Greyhawk supplement, under Meteor Swarm:

Meteor Swarm: A blast of four Fire Balls (Jim!). thrown in whatever pattern the caster desires, each of 10-60 points of damage–or eight Fire Balls (Jim!) of one-half normal diameter and 5-30 points damage may likewise be thrown. Range: 24″ .

When I first read this, I found this mystifying. It’s clearly an inside joke: I speculated that it might somehow be a Star Trek reference? When I googled it, I found this post on dragonsfoot by Jim Ward:

There is kind of an amusing story behind that. Yes it does refer to me. Back in the good old days when the AD&D game was being playtested I wasn’t high enough level to actually have a Meteor Swarm but I could get them on scrolls. At the time I needed something more substantial than fire to do the job against my enemy. It wasn’t clear what the spell did and I maintained (as long as it wasn’t written down any where) that the spell generated a huge mass of flying rocks. Rob Kuntz as the referee disagreed with me, but had to give me my due because it wasn’t written down yet. When those rules came out, suddenly my interpertation was ‘legally’ wrong, sigh and the once useful Meteor Swarm became less usefull. That’s life in the rough and tumble world of AD&D and D&D. 😉

Jim Ward

That shows you what a mom’n’pop organization D&D was then. The TSR of five years later – or most OSR publishers today – wouldn’t put in such an obviously exclusive in-joke into one of their books. It really does feel like, even by the time of the second D&D supplement, these guys were still making rulebooks for their own little gaming club. As someone who started D&D during the era of more impersonal rulebooks, details like this are both alienating and charming.

It must have been the same for lots of readers in 1976. When the Greyhawk supplement was published, this “Jim” line must have mystified lots of fans.