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.

how’s this for d&d timekeeping: it’s always now!

January 28th, 2013

I’m a logistics-light DM, so I never tracked time. Before the endless 5e playtest, back when I occasionally ran actual campaigns, I’d sometimes have the game weather match the real weather, and that was about it. I think that’s how a lot of DMs play, and I actually think it’s not a bad system.

I have some ideas for pushing this non-system a little farther. Some of the ideas are sillier than others. I’m not sure if I’d always want to play this way, but it’s worth an experiment – next time I run a campaign.

What year and month is it in D&D? It’s always now. For instance, in real life, it’s January ’13. If I started a D&D adventure right now, it’d be set in January ’13. Maybe not 2013, but the thirteenth year in some century.

What century is it? That’s determined by the edition you’re playing. If you’re playing Fourth Edition, it’s January 413 – the thirteenth year of the Fourth Age. If you play First Edition, it’s the year 113. In OD&D, it’s plain old Year 13. This calendar system will work for the next eighty-seven real years, by which time we’ll all be dead.

Tweaks: If you play 3.5, maybe it’s the year 363: 350 + 13. Pathfinder game: 375 + 13. If you’re playing 13th Age, it’s the year 1313. Auspicious!

How time passes: Generally, the fantasy-world date keeps up with the real date. If two weeks pass between game sessions, two weeks pass in the game world. Exceptions: a single day’s adventure might take multiple sessions, or the players might take a five-day boat trip during a session. In this case, fantasy and real time get out of sync. However, between sessions, the fantasy date advances to the current date.

the four-hour work week
Reading 2e books, I discovered that the “adventure” and the game session used to be virtually synonymous. Nowadays, we think of session-based mechanics as strictly indie-game territory. Interestingly, in the “it’s always now” system, you can tie renewable resources to the session. If you play in a weekly D&D game, you can have hit points and spells fully recharge every in-game week. Thus, you can’t rest and recharge multiple times in a single game session. The five-minute workday is gone.

Sometimes, beat-up characters do need rest. I’d say that the players can always rest overnight during the course of a game session, recovering most of their hit points and a few spells. Complete rest, though, requires a week of off-time – for the players AND characters.

travel
Another obstacle to the “it’s always now” method is that you can’t easily hand-wave two weeks of travel. You’ll want to adjust your hex-crawl parameters so that a week of wilderness travel frequently takes at least a session.

festivals!
A bonus of using today’s date: My DMing practice is that, when the PCs enter a village and ask what’s going on, there’s equal chances of 1) business as usual, 2) supernatural crisis, or 3) a festival. Using the real date helps you schedule real-holiday-appropriate festivals (and supernatural crises, for Halloween). Festivals offer lots of opportunities for silly competitions and quests. I’ve had PCs win ice-sculpture contests at the Ice Festival, compete in pumpkin-throwing and pie-eating contests at the Pumpkin Fair, and look for lost May Queens at the spring holiday.

weather
Another bonus: you can use the real world as your weather generator. If your players come in tracking snow on your floor, you can throw a blizzard into the adventure. Note: This doesn’t work for people who live in California. Those characters, like their players, live in a typical D&D campaign: an unrealistically clement fairyland.

treasure from Quag Keep

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.

revenant ankh, leveled

January 22nd, 2013

Last year I set out to create interesting variations on each of the thirteen Wondrous Items in the 4e Player’s Handbook. I wanted to add a little unpredictability to 4e magic treasure, which can sometimes feel dull because you often know exactly what you’re getting.

The Revenant Ankh is the last of the PHB’s Wondrous Items, and I’m converting it pretty much at the end if the 4e development cycle. From the recent Fifth Edition beta release, it looks like magic items will be more exciting in the new edition: the new “secrets” and “attunement” mechanics can provide the same sort of magic item improvement that I’ve tried to provide in these blog posts.

Let’s wrap up by providing three variations on the Revenant Ankh, a strange item that temporarily resurrects an ally for a few rounds. Some time after you obtain it, you could realize that your Revenant Ankh is actually one of these models.

Dark Revenant Ankh: If you die while clutching this revenant ankh, its powers operate on you. Your life is temporarily sustained by dark energy. If you manage to kill a humanoid creature (getting the killing shot) before you die, you absorb its life energy and you are freed of the effects of the ankh – you are now alive. However, you change faces with the slain creature until the next extended rest.

Revenant Ankh of Slavery: This ankh can be used on a defeated enemy instead of an ally. In this case, you control the creature: it is dominated. Elite or solo monsters and creatures with level higher than the user’s level get a saving throw at the end of each round: on a success, they die.

Revenant Ankh of Slow but Inevitable Revenge: Your risen ally rises with speed 4, +5 to all defenses, and +5 to hit against the creature that killed him.

Quag Keep: alternate-history D&D

January 18th, 2013

Quag Keep is a bizarre book. It’s the first D&D novel (it was published in 1978, so it was written before Advanced Dungeons and Dragons came out). It’s by Andre Norton, an Appendix N author and a well-respected fantasy/sci fi writer, above the level of most licensed-setting writers. And yet it’s neither a great novel nor a great D&D book.

It seems to be based on a alternate-dimension version of Greyhawk D&D: there are many ideas that are quite interesting, but don’t appear anywhere else in D&D canon. Perhaps this can be explained by the book’s blurb:

“In 1976, Andre Norton was invited to play a new sort of adventure game, Dungeons & Dragons. Its creator, E Gary Gygax, introduced Norton to his world of Greyhawk. After a session of world building, role playing, and fantasy adventuring, Norton wrote “Quag Keep”, a tale of six adventurers from our world who journey to the city of Greyhawk in order to aid a wizard and unlock the secrets of the stronghold of “Quag Keep”.”

It makes a lot of sense that Andre wrote this after a session of D&D, not multiple sessions, and presumably without a lot of subsequent input from Gary.

The book is interesting as a piece of D&D history. It’s also interesting as a different take on D&D: a way D&D could have gone, had it taken a different branch in the road. Who knows, maybe it has some ideas worth bringing back into D&D canon.

I’ll read Quag Keep and look for its idiosyncrasies and see if I can figure out ways to use any of them in a game.

OK, here’s the basic premise: a bunch of real-world people get sucked into a game of D&D, where they are railroaded into an adventure via a geas. OK Go!

Boar helm, boar cloak-memories and knowledge Milo did not consciously search for arose. This other was a berserker, and one with skill enough to turn were-boar if he so desired.

1978 was well before the introduction of the Barbarian class, so the berserker here is either a Fighting Man or some unique pre-barbarian class. It seems like the latter, since at high level, the character gains the ability to turn into a were-boar. It’s an interesting idea for a class. I actually seem to remember reading something similar to this in an early piece of Dragon Magazine fiction, so maybe there was a fan-made Berserker class floating around somewhere.

Nor was he surprised that the stranger should have the pseudo-dragon as a traveling companion or pet, whichever their relationship might be. For the weres, like the elves and some others, could communicate with animals at will.

More details about the Berserker class! And also, incidentally, details about the elven race that you won’t find in the PHB: they can speak Animal.

This makes me think that it might be kind of cool to add a few languages to the usual D&D collection of Common, Goblin, Lawful Good, etc: maybe 5 or so animal language (Wolfish, spoken by mammal predators; Deer, spoken by mammal herbivores; Avian, spoken by birds; Piscian, fish; etc.) Let them be taken as bonus languages just like any other language. Maybe they would be restricted to “weres, elves and some others.”

The eternal war between Law and Chaos flared often in Greyhawk. It was in a manner of speaking a “free city”-since it had no one overlord to hold it firmly to his will. For that reason it had become a city of masterless men, a point from which many expeditions, privately conceived and planned for the despoiling of ancient treasures, would set out, having recruited the members from just such masterless men as Milo himself, or perhaps the berserker only an arm’s length away. But if those on the side of Law recruited here, so did the followers of Chaos. There were neutrals also, willing to join with either side for the sake of payment. But they were never to be wholly depended upon by any man who had intelligence, for they might betray one at the flip of a coin or the change of the wind itself.

As a swordsman Milo was vowed to Law. The berserker had more choice in such matters. But this place, under its odors of fresh and stale food, stank to Milo of Chaos.

As D&D has gone on, the importance of the battle between Law and Chaos has gradually diminished. in 1978, it was still a big thing. But the importance of the “eternal war” in Quag Keep is maybe even more important than it is in the OD&D rules. It’s explicitly a game-world concept, like race, not a meta-game concept like class or hit points. Furthermore, it’s a palpable thing: Milo can smell it.

Speaking of in-game concepts: as a “swordsman” (an OD&D level title for Fighting Men, right?) Milo is “sworn to Law.” It’s hard to say exactly what this means in QD&D (Quag Keep D&D), but it might mean that a) all Fighting Men are lawful and b) OD&D level titles aren’t metagame descriptors: they are the names of in-world military orders or ranks.

Berserkers, apparently, don’t have to be lawful: more evidence that they’re a separate class from Fighting Men.

“Deav Dyne, who puts his faith in the gods men make for themselves.” There was exasperation in the wizard’s voice as he spoke the name of the next. By his robe of gray, faced with white, Deav Dyne was a follower of Landron-of-the-Inner-Light and of the third rank.

Perhaps the most interest thing about Quag Keep is that nearly everything that I think of as a game-only concept turns out to be explicitly known by the characters in the novel. Deav Dyne is a third level (or rank) cleric. Furthermore, he wears a color-coded robe that shows that he is a third level cleric. When he advances to fourth level, he’ll get a new robe.

This makes it more plausible that Milo’s title of “swordsman” is also an identification of his character level. (Furthermore, later in the novel, someone says that Milo is “a swordsman, a rank that marks you as a seasoned fighting man.”)

The other interesting thing from this passage: Deav wears a robe. In QD&D, clerics are clothies.

cursing the thoroughness of the caller

January 16th, 2013

REFEREE: The chest with the poison needle is full of copper pieces – appears to be about 2,000 of them.
CALLER: Empty out all the copper pieces and check the trunk for secret drawers or a false bottom, and do the same with the empty one. Also, do there seem to be any old boots or cloaks among the old clothes in the rubbish pile?
REFEREE: (Cursing the thoroughness of the caller!) The seemingly empty trunk has a false bottom…

OD&D, as described in the sample of play, is unique in that the DM seems to be TRYING TO HIDE HIS CONTENT FROM THE PLAYERS. It’s not just adversarial, it’s gnostic. The DM gets some kind of joy if they miss the treasure – but he still places the treasure.

I’m not convinced that this is really what OD&D game was like. When I played with Mike Mornard, I never got the feeling that Mike was rooting for us to ignore treasure. He might have created lots of treasure we never saw, but but he’d be happy if we were smart enough to earn it.

Trying to twist this example around into something I can understand, I can see playing OD&D as a game more like the Descent boardgame than the D&D I’m used to: the DM is bound by certain rules of fair play, but is actually in competition with the players. If the PCs find more than half of the treasure, the players win. If the DM manages to outsmart the players by concealing more than half of the treasure, he wins.

Naturally, at the end of such a game, the DM would reveal all the hiding places of treasure, and cackle. “There was an onyx in that desk in the Gnoll room, but you walked right by it. (cackle). The pile of discarded rubbish contained Elven Boots, guess you should have checked that out. (cackle)”

Onwards, friends, to more and better loot!

At what level do these game elements become irrelevant?

January 14th, 2013

The following chart shows the character level when certain game elements (encumbrance, overland travel, light sources, keys, death, food, nonmagic equipment, camping) can be ignored by most D&D parties. I’ve charted 1e AD&D, 3.5, and 4e, because I don’t have 2e, and because 2e is usually pretty similar to 1e.

(Click to enlarge)

Note on encumbrance: I don’t know when 1e parties typically get Bags of Holding, but it’s probably before level 9. 3e parties, on the other hand, may not all buy Handy Haversacks at level 3, although they can afford to.

Note on overland travel: Would you trust the unreliable 1e Teleport for your overland travel, or wait for Teleport Without Error? How about the more forgiving 3e Teleport? I decided that 3e Teleport’s mild risks were more acceptable than those of 1e Teleport, which always carried at least 1% chance of instant death.

Note on light sources: Torches and Light spells are always available at level 1: the level given is the level at which no one in the party need hold a torch or lantern.

Note on keys: 1e Knock can open locks at level 3; the level given for each edition, though, is the level at which the party can deal with an arbitrarily large number of locks in one day.

Finally: Yes, I know that the real level that everything becomes irrelevant is “when the DM says it does.” If your DM doesn’t track encumbrance, it’s never relevant. If your DM wants your 20th level characters to be too poor to buy plate armor, that can happen. This chart is intended to mark the level at which the game designers think a subsystem is no longer the focus of the game.

Let me know if I missed any reliable ways to ignore a subsystem earlier than the level I specified: and help me fill in 2e information.

give me a hand with this chest

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.