My least favourite part of any book that has the label "Dungeons & Dragons" on the cover (excluding the entry of the thoul monster in Mentzer Basic), must be the fabled "Appendix N", on page 224 of the original Dungeon Master's Guide of AD&D. This is the part where Gary Gygax, the author of that legendary and excellent volume, lists his favourite fantasy and sci-fi books.
Now this is starting to sound awfully negative, and I'd very much like to concentrate on positive things in this blog, but I'll give this one a go, because I think this one needs addressing - or at least I need to get this out of my system.
From a more positive angle, I could say that there's actually not much wrong with the Appendix N itself. The book itself, the Dungeon Master's Guide, is written using a very intimate, personal style, where the original Dungeon Master, Gary Gygax, talks directly to the aspiring DM, the reader of the book. It is very much in the spirit of the book to have this kind of list in the end. Gygax talks about his personal preferences and his own Greyhawk campaign the whole time; it is only fitting that he lists his favourite book in an appendix at the end, moreso because, to quote Gygax, "all of the above authors, as well as many not listed, certainly helped to shape the form of the game". So, the reader might get some insight about (A)D&D itself by delving into those books. But, the primary reason of the existence of this list seems to be that Gygax just wants to share his preferences. And there's nothing wrong with that.
Moreover, I actually like pulp fantasy, the genre where most of the entries in "Appendix N" can be grouped. I actually like several of the authors that Gygax mentions. Or at least, I used to like. I don't read much of that stuff these days, but I remember spending countless hours enjoying books by R.E.Howard, H.P.Lovecraft, Moorcock and Tolkien. Anyway, I certainly don't hold the fact that I haven't read those books for a while against them, or against Gygax recommending them to the readers. So, I don't want to speak ill about pulp fantasy; it is a fine genre and I heartily recommend it to anyone and everyone.
What is my beef, then? If I think that the appendix fits neatly in the book, and that the books it recommends are good and worthwhile... what am I complaining about? See, I'm complaining about the disproportionate significance that the list seems to have taken these days, and the supposed relationship between pulp fantasy and D&D.
The Dungeon Master's Guide has 240 pages. I think that by reading any of the other 239, you would get a better understanding of what (A)D&D is all about. Appendix N is just Gygax kindly telling us his own preferences. Nothing more, nothing less. While I cannot deny that those books certainly helped AD&D take shape, or that Gygax was very much influenced by them, I contest the point of view that they should be studied by later generations, "to better understand D&D".
I've read my fair share of books in the Appendix N, and they haven't made me understand D&D better. Actually, I think that if I tried to understand D&D in the context of those books, I would just get confused. To me, Howard is as anti-D&D as anyone can get. With the exception of Lovecraft, perhaps. Also, emulating the adventures of Elric of the Fellowship of the Ring with D&D rules seems to me a task doomed to fail. With a right mixture of Howard and Tolkien, we might get closer... but still no cigar. Whatever portions D&D might have taken from the stories mentioned in Appendix N, they have been ground, smashed and pulped to a synthesis where the original ingredients are not seen... or at least, don't make sense taken out of the context of the new synthesis, that is D&D. Trolls might have been taken from Poul Anderson's books, but in D&D, they only make sense in a context of a world that also has Hobbits, Ents, Vorpal Blades and XP that comes from aquiring riches.
That is my central idea in this: D&D is its own world. Yes, it has its roots, but so have all things. If you always search for the roots in everything, you'll always end up in the Big Bang. That is a job for a scholar... but are we, D&D players, all to be scholars? Even if our preferred editions are those of times gone by? And even with all the research of the past, D&D indeed remains a synthesis that takes bits and pieces of the past and mutates them to something new and different altogether. I'll say it again: researching Poul Anderson, you might understand where trolls come from, but you'll get no understanding about what is their place in D&D.
Now me, I like researching and digging for the roots. It's fun, and it indeed grants us new understanding. But sometimes, something takes place that is not best understood by looking at where it came from, but my looking at it right in the face. I think D&D is one of those things. It took a myriad of things not only from pulp literature, but also from medieval Europe and the mythologies of the Ancient world, and presented them in a form so strong, so bold and so distinctive, that the ingredients were forever altered. To me, the best tool for understanding that world is taking it, as it is.
Not to talk about stifling creativity! All sources and common sense make plain that D&D is a tool for the imagination. Everyone agrees on this. If we are to forever look at D&D from the angle of pulp fantasy and appendix N, to me that seems that we shackle our imaginations. It is not relevant what Gygax would have thought about this - he was the founder of the game but not a "sacred prophet" of any kind - but I think he would have agreed with me, for what it's worth. Nothing should shackle your creativity in D&D, not even clinging to the roots where the game came from. To me, that seems a great folly.
Again, of course, there is no folly in basing your D&D campaign or character in pulp fantasy. That is actually a very old-school and cool thing to do; although I cannot for the life of me see the "spirit of D&D" in pulp fantasy, I know that Gygax did, and if you do, more power to you. But if you try to claim that it's impossible to understand (old-school) D&D outside the context of pulp fantasy... that statement I'm never going to accept. AD&D and the Dungeon Master's Guide (and the Appendix N!) are not the end-all be-all sources of D&D; already, something like the Mentzer Basic red box has about zero traces of anything pulp-related.
D&D was never an attempt to replicate or emulate any kind of literature. Looked from that point of view, I can see nothing but an enormous failure. D&D is a role-playing game about exploration, adventure, heroism, combat, monsters, treasure, plots, in-character discussions, party dynamics, and whatever you dare to imagine. It grew out of strategic war games and remains, after all these years, a game - a game of imagination. Any and all literary influences - pulp fantasy, Tolkien, later Dragonlance - have always been superficial. You can play with them, sure, but D&D is larger than that.
To end this, I present my own "Appendix N" - books that have inspired and continue to inspire me as a D&D player and DM:
*Gygax, E. Gary: Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Player's Handbook, Monster Manual and Dungeon Master's Guide, even with THAT one page.
*Mentzer, Frank: Dungeons & Dragons Basic Set, Expert Set, Companion Set and Master Set.
And that's about it. No novel or book has inspired me to make and play D&D adventures more than those.
maanantaina 30. marraskuuta 2009
torstaina 19. marraskuuta 2009
Top 10 lists part 2: magic items in D&D
Magic items are of course a major ingredient of any D&D-experience. I give them by the book, rolling from the treasure tables, only re-rolling if the item in question happens to be too powerful - the sucky ones I never re-roll. That is because I prefer a low to mid-risk, low-reward style of play, but I can write more of that later. When the characters are on levels 1 to 3, I use the magic item list in the Mentzer Basic Set, updating to the Expert Set list when they reach level 4. At level 9, I again switch to the list in the Companion Set. This way, certain items see more light of day than others. This is a list of classic magic items that appeal to me for some reason or another.
1. A sub-optimal weapon +1.
Give me a short sword +1, a spear +1, a hand axe +1 or a battle axe +1. On their own, without magic, these weapons are so bad that no one should ever use them. That's a shame, because they are cool. D&D usually forces PC's into the same mould: plate mails, shields, normal swords, bows. Mechanically, these items are so good that nothing will compete. That's why I love a sub-optimal weapon with a magic +1 modifier. A short sword +1, hand axe +1 or a spear +1 make the same average damage as the ubiquitous normal sword, but they hit better. That makes them much better choices for a fighter than a normal sword, even though the maximum damage of a normal sword is one point higher. And of course, they can hit magical and incorporeal creatures. I don't count the mace +1 and warhammer +1 as sub-optimal weapons because they are optimal for the cleric, and there's usually clerics aplenty - mechanically, the cleric has always been the best class, in my opinion. The battle axe +1 might just be the coolest weapon in existence; I'm just hoping to roll up one some day. Because of the low hit point totals of the PC's in D&D, using two-handed weapons instead of the extra protection granted by a shield is usually a very, very bad idea. Again, that's too bad, because the image of a character using a two-handed weapon is just awesome. The two-handed sword is somewhat usable, but the battle axe is just mechanically so incredibly sub-optimal that you'll never see a PC with one. With a +1 variant, that just might happen. Heck, I don't think I'd reroll a +2 variant; it might still get its wielder killed some day because he didn't use a shield.
2. Shield +1.
Now this one's a keeper. It's not that rare at all, and it's usable by - count 'em - FIVE classes (the fighter, the elf, the dwarf, the halfling and the cleric). So, usually there's several PC's in the party who'll be wanting to grab this one. As anyone who has even a slight interest in game mechanics can tell you, armor class is the most important stat in Basic D&D, and a shield +1 makes your AC one point better. What does that mean? Let me tell you, a LOT. Let's just look at one example. Your average fighter is going to have an AC of 2. To hit him in melee, a goblin needs to roll a 17 with a d20. That means, he's hitting you 20% of the time, or every fifth round on average. If the same fighter is using a shield +1, his AC will be 1, and the goblin is going to need to roll an 18 to hit. That means, he's hitting you 15% of the time, or LESS THAN EVERY SIXTH ROUND on average. In effect, you've lessened the goblin's chance to hit by a QUARTER. If you've got a character with dexterity bonuses, the effect of the shield will be even more drastic. An advice to beginners: if there's a shield +1 in the loot bag, GRAB IT.
3. Potion of gaseous form.
When we were kids, we used to laugh at this goofy item. We really thought it was really bad. That's silly. First of all, there's no spell that mimics this potion. Most potions have spells that mimic them, making those potions not very unique at mid-levels. This one doesn't. What it does, then: it saves your character's backside from certain death. There aren't many kinds of death threats that can override the mighty gaseous form. It can save you from the claws of monsters, falling damage, poison, drowning, suffocation, acid baths, squeezing to death by a descending ceiling, you name it. You'll just have to use it in time, and that's indeed a basic virtue in D&D: threat assessment and retreat if the threat happens to be too much. In addition to being a life-saver, there's a million other things that you can do with this potion. Go through cracks and inside chests; really, pretty much any inhospitable or inaccessible place becomes your playing ground when you take the gaseous form. So, in addition of being useful, this item encourages player creativity.
4. Crystal ball.
First of all, it's the fluff. It's a crystal ball. A classic item of the occult recognized by everybody. Second, it's the unlimited usage. An item like a wand is extremely evocative as well, but they just don't feel the same - because of the limited charges. They feel like rifles with a limited number of shots. You don't respect them, they're just tools to get the job done. Actually, I'd much prefer wands that had unlimited charges, but could only be used once a day or something to that effect. But the crystal ball, with its unlimited usage, feels extremely magical. It feels like you're holding a mysterious, powerful entity - indeed something like a palantír. A third point is that permanent magic items usable by magic-users are just rare. Most of the useful rings will probably be rightfully grabbed by the front row guys, because they'll just need them more. But a crystal ball is the magic-user's birthright, and I think that there should be more of them around. In addition to all that, a crystal ball is again one of those items that encourage player creativity. I've seen some outrageous crystal ball-based tactics work in the favor of the PC's. Sometimes I feel that every magic-user should be given one of these freely at 1st level.
5. Ring of protection +1.
It is painfully obvious that I cannot finish this list without mentioning this, THE magic ring. All things considered, it's pretty much the best magic item in D&D. Of course, a ring of protection +2 is even better, but honestly, raise your hand if you've ever even HEARD of anyone possessing that. It's just not going to happen. The +1 variant, on the other hand, while rare, is not impossible to get. A permanent item, usable by ANYONE, having no charges, that gives you a +1 bonus in BOTH armor class AND all saving throws?!? And you can even wear two of these babies simultaneously, if you happen to be that lucky. It's also a DM's favourite power item, because it is still very "balanced" - for all its power, it doesn't break a game down. The wearer is still very much vulnerable to both monsters and traps. But it's the ultimate "feelgood" item. The player who has it becomes very happy, and the DM can also be happy because he's made the player happy, while all of the coming combats and challenges still remain challenging.
6. Gauntlets of Ogre Power.
This would be another challenger for the "best item in D&D"-title. Zap, your strength is now 18+3? Awesome and unique, given that there are no other ways of raising ANY of your attributes in Basic D&D. And the mighty Gauntlets don't give a measly +1 or +2... zap, straight to 18. There's something deeply satisfying and magical in that simple approach. Now, if the Gauntlets would boost your dexterity or constitution, I'd say that they would be even better than the ring of protection, but now, I think that the ring beats the Gauntlets by a thin margain. You see, while the ring is useful to anyone, the Gauntlets are not that useful to a magic-user. Bah, I don't want to sound so negative, the Gauntlets are really the cream of the crop. Somewhat useful even to a magic-user, I can easily imagine PC's killing each other over this fabulous item.
7. Ring of fire resistance.
Rings are pretty much the best class of magic items; usable by anyone and having no charges. It's just too bad that what the rings actually do isn't always that great. The protection ring is of course the best, and while the ring of invisibility is extremely useful, I somehow prefer this ring to it. This one is useful, might save your life and... you can forget about it. It stays in your finger, protects you, and you don't have to worry about it. While the on/off balette happening with the ring of invisibility might be creative and fun, there's just something deeply satisfying about a magic ring that you just keep in your finger, and it protects you. Fire hazards are not rare at all in D&D; just imagine your character walking through a burning tavern or a puddle of flaming oil, unscathed. If any enemies saw that, I'd give them a morale check!
8. Magic Scroll with one spell.
In my games, magic-users and clerics have very few spells to choose from. That is why a scroll with a spell on it is always a highly valuable treasure. It is actually more like a permanent item that enhances your character abilities for good. In my D&D campaign, I've seen PC's casting spells from scrolls only once: that was when one PC had died and another had raise dead on a scroll. I actually like it when PC's have a large variety of spells to choose from: it is awesome. But I don't want to give it as a free lunch. One scroll with one spell in each adventure, and I would be happy as a DM. But alas, I seem to roll them quite rarely. Short swords +1 and potions of clairvoyance, that's what my dice have liked for years.
9. Wand of detect magic.
With all the problems that wands have, there's place for them in the game, too. Perhaps it's just the amount of charges (the Basic Set instructs to roll 1d10 for the charges! Just guess how often I've rolled one!). Anyway, this one's my favourite. At low levels, the PC's can't afford to cast many detection spells (if they even have them in the first place). They'll have to go for the big guns like magic missile, protection from evil and cure light wounds. This is when a wand of detect magic comes in handy. The detection of magic is extremely useful in dungeoneering; it is the thing you should do when you encounter anything that looks ominous or demonic, and with a positive result, you should BACK OFF. Also, if the DM indulges in the old trick of hiding a magic item in a pile of similar-looking, mundane items, detect magic is the only way to get the goods. In my games, the kind folks of the magic-users' guild cast this for 100 gold pieces, but of course there's no way you can carry all those 50 swords to them, in the hopes that one of them would be magical. Moreover, this kind of wand gives low-level magic-users more stuff to do besides being dagger/oil throwers.
10. Chain mail +2.
Ah, the chain mail. D&D evolved from a game called "Chainmail"; why, then, did they make the chain mail the most useless item ever? The only time a PC would use a chain mail would be if he's just starting adventuring, and didn't roll enough gold pieces to buy a plate mail. Yes, it's an ideal piece of equipment to give to common NPC soldiers for simulationistic reasons: landowners can afford that (at least to the officers of their troops), but they cannot afford plate mail. But for PC's, there's no use at all for the item. Now, then: let's consider a magical variant, a chain mail +1. It weighs less, makes your AC better, might survive an attack by the rust monster, and is a permanent magic item. But it's still completely useless, because it's still worse than the plate mail. Now just guess how many times I've rolled a chain mail +1 for my players? I can tell you, it's been many times. It's like chomping on an apple, and realizing there's a huge maggot inside. Disgusting, and spoils the joy that you thought you were going to have. I think that even something like a cursed sword -1 is better than a chain mail +1, because if nothing else, it advances the story and might make interesting contributions to party dynamics. But the chain mail is just useless and foul. Now, finally, let's think of the chain mail +2. It is equivalent to a plate mail. So, nothing better than what your usual 1st level Veteran/Rintamamies is having anyway. But it's much lighter: 500 vs. 150 coins, that's quite a difference. And it can resist rust monster attacks... for about two seconds. But ("and zis iz a big butt!!" -Monty Python), it is CHAIN MAIL. And nobody's ever using chain mail. Thus, it gives your character a huge advantage in coolness and uniqueness. And the image of chain mail is indeed cool: being not as stiff and bulky as plate mail, I can imagine a PC doing some agile moves while wearing chain mail. Similar to sub-optimal magical weapons I talked about in the beginning, a sub-optimal magical armor has all the same benefits. The fun thing is, it has to be +2 before you can even consider using it. I remember from my childhood the character of one of my brothers, an elf, wearing a chain mail +3. Damn, that guy was cool.
1. A sub-optimal weapon +1.
Give me a short sword +1, a spear +1, a hand axe +1 or a battle axe +1. On their own, without magic, these weapons are so bad that no one should ever use them. That's a shame, because they are cool. D&D usually forces PC's into the same mould: plate mails, shields, normal swords, bows. Mechanically, these items are so good that nothing will compete. That's why I love a sub-optimal weapon with a magic +1 modifier. A short sword +1, hand axe +1 or a spear +1 make the same average damage as the ubiquitous normal sword, but they hit better. That makes them much better choices for a fighter than a normal sword, even though the maximum damage of a normal sword is one point higher. And of course, they can hit magical and incorporeal creatures. I don't count the mace +1 and warhammer +1 as sub-optimal weapons because they are optimal for the cleric, and there's usually clerics aplenty - mechanically, the cleric has always been the best class, in my opinion. The battle axe +1 might just be the coolest weapon in existence; I'm just hoping to roll up one some day. Because of the low hit point totals of the PC's in D&D, using two-handed weapons instead of the extra protection granted by a shield is usually a very, very bad idea. Again, that's too bad, because the image of a character using a two-handed weapon is just awesome. The two-handed sword is somewhat usable, but the battle axe is just mechanically so incredibly sub-optimal that you'll never see a PC with one. With a +1 variant, that just might happen. Heck, I don't think I'd reroll a +2 variant; it might still get its wielder killed some day because he didn't use a shield.
2. Shield +1.
Now this one's a keeper. It's not that rare at all, and it's usable by - count 'em - FIVE classes (the fighter, the elf, the dwarf, the halfling and the cleric). So, usually there's several PC's in the party who'll be wanting to grab this one. As anyone who has even a slight interest in game mechanics can tell you, armor class is the most important stat in Basic D&D, and a shield +1 makes your AC one point better. What does that mean? Let me tell you, a LOT. Let's just look at one example. Your average fighter is going to have an AC of 2. To hit him in melee, a goblin needs to roll a 17 with a d20. That means, he's hitting you 20% of the time, or every fifth round on average. If the same fighter is using a shield +1, his AC will be 1, and the goblin is going to need to roll an 18 to hit. That means, he's hitting you 15% of the time, or LESS THAN EVERY SIXTH ROUND on average. In effect, you've lessened the goblin's chance to hit by a QUARTER. If you've got a character with dexterity bonuses, the effect of the shield will be even more drastic. An advice to beginners: if there's a shield +1 in the loot bag, GRAB IT.
3. Potion of gaseous form.
When we were kids, we used to laugh at this goofy item. We really thought it was really bad. That's silly. First of all, there's no spell that mimics this potion. Most potions have spells that mimic them, making those potions not very unique at mid-levels. This one doesn't. What it does, then: it saves your character's backside from certain death. There aren't many kinds of death threats that can override the mighty gaseous form. It can save you from the claws of monsters, falling damage, poison, drowning, suffocation, acid baths, squeezing to death by a descending ceiling, you name it. You'll just have to use it in time, and that's indeed a basic virtue in D&D: threat assessment and retreat if the threat happens to be too much. In addition to being a life-saver, there's a million other things that you can do with this potion. Go through cracks and inside chests; really, pretty much any inhospitable or inaccessible place becomes your playing ground when you take the gaseous form. So, in addition of being useful, this item encourages player creativity.
4. Crystal ball.
First of all, it's the fluff. It's a crystal ball. A classic item of the occult recognized by everybody. Second, it's the unlimited usage. An item like a wand is extremely evocative as well, but they just don't feel the same - because of the limited charges. They feel like rifles with a limited number of shots. You don't respect them, they're just tools to get the job done. Actually, I'd much prefer wands that had unlimited charges, but could only be used once a day or something to that effect. But the crystal ball, with its unlimited usage, feels extremely magical. It feels like you're holding a mysterious, powerful entity - indeed something like a palantír. A third point is that permanent magic items usable by magic-users are just rare. Most of the useful rings will probably be rightfully grabbed by the front row guys, because they'll just need them more. But a crystal ball is the magic-user's birthright, and I think that there should be more of them around. In addition to all that, a crystal ball is again one of those items that encourage player creativity. I've seen some outrageous crystal ball-based tactics work in the favor of the PC's. Sometimes I feel that every magic-user should be given one of these freely at 1st level.
5. Ring of protection +1.
It is painfully obvious that I cannot finish this list without mentioning this, THE magic ring. All things considered, it's pretty much the best magic item in D&D. Of course, a ring of protection +2 is even better, but honestly, raise your hand if you've ever even HEARD of anyone possessing that. It's just not going to happen. The +1 variant, on the other hand, while rare, is not impossible to get. A permanent item, usable by ANYONE, having no charges, that gives you a +1 bonus in BOTH armor class AND all saving throws?!? And you can even wear two of these babies simultaneously, if you happen to be that lucky. It's also a DM's favourite power item, because it is still very "balanced" - for all its power, it doesn't break a game down. The wearer is still very much vulnerable to both monsters and traps. But it's the ultimate "feelgood" item. The player who has it becomes very happy, and the DM can also be happy because he's made the player happy, while all of the coming combats and challenges still remain challenging.
6. Gauntlets of Ogre Power.
This would be another challenger for the "best item in D&D"-title. Zap, your strength is now 18+3? Awesome and unique, given that there are no other ways of raising ANY of your attributes in Basic D&D. And the mighty Gauntlets don't give a measly +1 or +2... zap, straight to 18. There's something deeply satisfying and magical in that simple approach. Now, if the Gauntlets would boost your dexterity or constitution, I'd say that they would be even better than the ring of protection, but now, I think that the ring beats the Gauntlets by a thin margain. You see, while the ring is useful to anyone, the Gauntlets are not that useful to a magic-user. Bah, I don't want to sound so negative, the Gauntlets are really the cream of the crop. Somewhat useful even to a magic-user, I can easily imagine PC's killing each other over this fabulous item.
7. Ring of fire resistance.
Rings are pretty much the best class of magic items; usable by anyone and having no charges. It's just too bad that what the rings actually do isn't always that great. The protection ring is of course the best, and while the ring of invisibility is extremely useful, I somehow prefer this ring to it. This one is useful, might save your life and... you can forget about it. It stays in your finger, protects you, and you don't have to worry about it. While the on/off balette happening with the ring of invisibility might be creative and fun, there's just something deeply satisfying about a magic ring that you just keep in your finger, and it protects you. Fire hazards are not rare at all in D&D; just imagine your character walking through a burning tavern or a puddle of flaming oil, unscathed. If any enemies saw that, I'd give them a morale check!
8. Magic Scroll with one spell.
In my games, magic-users and clerics have very few spells to choose from. That is why a scroll with a spell on it is always a highly valuable treasure. It is actually more like a permanent item that enhances your character abilities for good. In my D&D campaign, I've seen PC's casting spells from scrolls only once: that was when one PC had died and another had raise dead on a scroll. I actually like it when PC's have a large variety of spells to choose from: it is awesome. But I don't want to give it as a free lunch. One scroll with one spell in each adventure, and I would be happy as a DM. But alas, I seem to roll them quite rarely. Short swords +1 and potions of clairvoyance, that's what my dice have liked for years.
9. Wand of detect magic.
With all the problems that wands have, there's place for them in the game, too. Perhaps it's just the amount of charges (the Basic Set instructs to roll 1d10 for the charges! Just guess how often I've rolled one!). Anyway, this one's my favourite. At low levels, the PC's can't afford to cast many detection spells (if they even have them in the first place). They'll have to go for the big guns like magic missile, protection from evil and cure light wounds. This is when a wand of detect magic comes in handy. The detection of magic is extremely useful in dungeoneering; it is the thing you should do when you encounter anything that looks ominous or demonic, and with a positive result, you should BACK OFF. Also, if the DM indulges in the old trick of hiding a magic item in a pile of similar-looking, mundane items, detect magic is the only way to get the goods. In my games, the kind folks of the magic-users' guild cast this for 100 gold pieces, but of course there's no way you can carry all those 50 swords to them, in the hopes that one of them would be magical. Moreover, this kind of wand gives low-level magic-users more stuff to do besides being dagger/oil throwers.
10. Chain mail +2.
Ah, the chain mail. D&D evolved from a game called "Chainmail"; why, then, did they make the chain mail the most useless item ever? The only time a PC would use a chain mail would be if he's just starting adventuring, and didn't roll enough gold pieces to buy a plate mail. Yes, it's an ideal piece of equipment to give to common NPC soldiers for simulationistic reasons: landowners can afford that (at least to the officers of their troops), but they cannot afford plate mail. But for PC's, there's no use at all for the item. Now, then: let's consider a magical variant, a chain mail +1. It weighs less, makes your AC better, might survive an attack by the rust monster, and is a permanent magic item. But it's still completely useless, because it's still worse than the plate mail. Now just guess how many times I've rolled a chain mail +1 for my players? I can tell you, it's been many times. It's like chomping on an apple, and realizing there's a huge maggot inside. Disgusting, and spoils the joy that you thought you were going to have. I think that even something like a cursed sword -1 is better than a chain mail +1, because if nothing else, it advances the story and might make interesting contributions to party dynamics. But the chain mail is just useless and foul. Now, finally, let's think of the chain mail +2. It is equivalent to a plate mail. So, nothing better than what your usual 1st level Veteran/Rintamamies is having anyway. But it's much lighter: 500 vs. 150 coins, that's quite a difference. And it can resist rust monster attacks... for about two seconds. But ("and zis iz a big butt!!" -Monty Python), it is CHAIN MAIL. And nobody's ever using chain mail. Thus, it gives your character a huge advantage in coolness and uniqueness. And the image of chain mail is indeed cool: being not as stiff and bulky as plate mail, I can imagine a PC doing some agile moves while wearing chain mail. Similar to sub-optimal magical weapons I talked about in the beginning, a sub-optimal magical armor has all the same benefits. The fun thing is, it has to be +2 before you can even consider using it. I remember from my childhood the character of one of my brothers, an elf, wearing a chain mail +3. Damn, that guy was cool.
lauantaina 14. marraskuuta 2009
I've been workin' on the rail-road
"Railroading" is a commonly used term in role-playing games, referring to an almost universally frowned-upon practice where the Dungeon Master limits the choices of the players and their characters, forcing them to follow the plot that he's planned beforehand.
Let us today discuss the term and its meanings. What is it in its core? Is it indeed as detrimental to RPG's as commonly seen? Can we learn anything of value from this technique? Can it be used to our enjoyment?
First, the short answer: "I feel that railroading is most of all a tool that can be used heavily, in moderation, a little or not at all, and all these approaches can be used in skilled hands to make our games more fun." Then, let's elaborate a bit.
I've DM'ed and played in games that have had extensive and brutal railroading, and in games that do not railroad at all, and everything in between. I've enjoyed all these games. This has reinforced my belief that RPG's are an extremely varied hobby, indeed limited only by our imagination. There are numerous ways to play these games, and enjoyment comes in many forms. Most likely we haven't even yet discovered all the possible ways to play these games, and I would really like to discover numerous of these new ways myself. I fancy myself a fairly non-prejudiced person when it comes to my tastes in RPG's; I always like to try something new. I do have my prejudices, but they are more related to asthetic matters than gaming styles: for example, I don't know if I would ever like to try a game of Exalted, an all-technomage campaign of Mage: the Ascension, or any game of Cthulhu mythos not set in the 1920's. So, while having my reservations, I'm quite an omnivore; however, and I would like to stress this, there is no inherent virtue in this approach. If your tastes, dear reader, go along the lines of "Tom Moldvay edition of Basic D&D with sandbox approach and NOTHING else", there is nothing wrong with that! To each his own, and while it is good to be open-minded, it is also good to know yourself and the things that bring you joy. It's just that to me, many different approaches to RPG's bring that joy.
What is railroading, then? A DM limiting the options of the players and their characters. First, we have to realize, that some of that is happening all the time in all RPG's. With unlimited options, each of them completely as valid as the other, there would not actually be any interaction between the players and the DM. Anything the DM would say would be irrelevant. On the other hand, in the reversed situation, anything the players say would be irrelevant! So, we have a spectrum, with the DM talking to himself in the other end, and the players talking to themselves in the other. RPG's are games about the interaction of the players with the DM (and between themselves, too, of course), and with 0% railroading, as with 100% railroading, that exchange of information does not take place.
Now, someone might say, that for example a completely sandbox-style (sandbox-style meaning a player-driven campaign, where the DM takes a much more reactive role, for those uninitiated; an opposite of railroading, someone might say), old-school campaign in, say, OD&D, would be a RPG without railroading at all. I do not agree. If the DM has drawn a world map, it is railroading; limiting the choices of the players. If the DM has made a dungeon adventure, he railroads as well. Always by presenting choices, he is engaging in limiting the choices of the players. Unless... the choices are not meaningful. Say, a three-way intersection, where all the passages lead to a room with five orcs. If the DM so much as colors the doors different, the choices of the players are then affected by their associations with those colors. A red door might give associations about a violent place behind the door; a golden-colored one might hint of a treasure (or, more likely, a trap trying to lure the PC's in with its false promise of riches). From coloring the dungeon doors differently, there's a short distance to giving the players an uneven choice in larger matters, for example a choice between a seemingly low-risk, high-profit quest, and a high-risk, low-profit one. Granted, the PC's just might choose the unlikely one: and even, if a DM lets that happen, he is indeed engaging in moderate railroading. Also, let's not forget, that he gave only two choices to begin with. And even if the players choose the strangest option - not choosing either quest, but establishing a flower shop in their home town and starting carreers as horticulturists and business owners, or something to that effect - raliroading took place. It's just that the players got sidetracked. And just because the DM lets them be sidetracked, that does not mean that he's not railroading, at least a bit.
Now I know that some of this might sound strange to some of you, mainly because railroading has gotten such a bad name over the years, and because often when the subject comes up, what is really meant is something that I'd call total or 100% railroading, a style where players have absolutely no possibility of affecting the outcome of things. You can see this disastrous style used, for example, on many of the pages of the great webcomic DM of the Rings, where even some of the discussions of characters are scripted beforehand. (Although the DM of the comic does not do that all the time... remember Legolas shooting Gollum dead in the river after Lothlorien! Now that was an instance where, I think, some more railroading could have been used, perhaps in the form of distance penalties, penalties due to mist and the movement of waves... and if the DM had written Gollum as a major NPC, he should have given him a couple more hit dice so that he couldn't be killed just like that!)
Of course it all then comes down to semantics. But semantics are sometimes important, and in this case, I think that if we define the word "railroading" to only refer to the practice of "total railroading", it becomes a confusing and not very useful term. You see, most of what we call "railroading" in actual RPG's is certaily not "total railroading". I'll give one more example.
The DM knows the PC's, their histories and motivations. He knows the players of those PC's, their playing styles and personalities. Thus, he can arrange events so that the most likely outcome is the one that he's planned. Say, we have a group of thoul-hunters, who'd do anything and everything for the opportunity to hunt down some of those nasty, nonsensical and anti-simulationist thoul monsters. The players of those thoul-hunters love dungeon adventures, being the heroes and interacting with NPC's. So, the DM makes an adventure where evil thouls have taken over a castle, and they hold the castle inhabitants, including a beautiful princess, as ransom. The PC's have then an opportunity to kill thouls, go down in a dungeon, be the heroes, and interact with NPC's. Of course they could choose not to go, and spend the gaming night in the town instead. But, given the situation, that is extremely unlikely. The DM has really done everything in his power to get the PC's where he wants them.
Now THIS is the form of railroading most seen in games. This DM, not indulging in "total railroading", would be amazed, befuddled and maybe even angry, if the PC's for some reason chose to stay in town - but he would let them do it. Perhaps he would ask them questions like "Why would you do it? Your characters are thoul-hunters, this is like a dream come true to them!". The players would respond, perhaps with faulty logic, perhaps with something resembling reason. But the DM would let them do it. Was he railroading? Yes, he was. Because the players acting like that was something like a 1 in a 1000 occurence. 999 times out of a thousand, the DM would have got the PC's right where he wanted them. There was a player choice involved... but it was not much of a choice at all. This seems "railroading" to me - railroading used skillfully and productively, and for the enjoyment of all participants. I think that the highest art of railroading is when the DM presents the PC's a choice, for the purposes of the story, all the while knowing how they're going to respond - and the players don't notice being manipulated, thinking that they chose out of free will. Of course, there's nothing wrong in giving real choices as well! Giving real choices is, after all, one of the most basic and important parts of role-playing games. But some skillful railroading, whether a minor or major part of the campaign, depending on the style, can do wonders in spicing things up.
For most part, railroading is a tool of the narrativist DM. It is not the only tool in his disposal, but it's the oldest and most traditional of them. Quite rarely does a system or a campaign totally distance itself from any narrativism; usually, at least a pinch is present. Because railroading is "opaque" (the opposite of "transparent", meaning that the PC's have no other way than gut instinct to tell whether something is happening due to 1) DM's choice, 2) their own choices or 3) the random effects of the dice), it melds smoothly in a game that has also simulationist and gamist elements. The players might guess that it's happening... but they cannot be certain; even if they are, they won't mind, if the engine driver is skillful. That's an advantage that traditional methods have over some of the newer, very "transparent", indie-gaming style mechanics, like "deus ex machina points".
Summa summarum: what can be a disaster in inexperienced hands can do wonders when wielded by a DM who knows what he's doing. The lesson of today: play, play, and play some more. It's only going to get better, never worse. Your characters are not the only ones getting experience points.
Let us today discuss the term and its meanings. What is it in its core? Is it indeed as detrimental to RPG's as commonly seen? Can we learn anything of value from this technique? Can it be used to our enjoyment?
First, the short answer: "I feel that railroading is most of all a tool that can be used heavily, in moderation, a little or not at all, and all these approaches can be used in skilled hands to make our games more fun." Then, let's elaborate a bit.
I've DM'ed and played in games that have had extensive and brutal railroading, and in games that do not railroad at all, and everything in between. I've enjoyed all these games. This has reinforced my belief that RPG's are an extremely varied hobby, indeed limited only by our imagination. There are numerous ways to play these games, and enjoyment comes in many forms. Most likely we haven't even yet discovered all the possible ways to play these games, and I would really like to discover numerous of these new ways myself. I fancy myself a fairly non-prejudiced person when it comes to my tastes in RPG's; I always like to try something new. I do have my prejudices, but they are more related to asthetic matters than gaming styles: for example, I don't know if I would ever like to try a game of Exalted, an all-technomage campaign of Mage: the Ascension, or any game of Cthulhu mythos not set in the 1920's. So, while having my reservations, I'm quite an omnivore; however, and I would like to stress this, there is no inherent virtue in this approach. If your tastes, dear reader, go along the lines of "Tom Moldvay edition of Basic D&D with sandbox approach and NOTHING else", there is nothing wrong with that! To each his own, and while it is good to be open-minded, it is also good to know yourself and the things that bring you joy. It's just that to me, many different approaches to RPG's bring that joy.
What is railroading, then? A DM limiting the options of the players and their characters. First, we have to realize, that some of that is happening all the time in all RPG's. With unlimited options, each of them completely as valid as the other, there would not actually be any interaction between the players and the DM. Anything the DM would say would be irrelevant. On the other hand, in the reversed situation, anything the players say would be irrelevant! So, we have a spectrum, with the DM talking to himself in the other end, and the players talking to themselves in the other. RPG's are games about the interaction of the players with the DM (and between themselves, too, of course), and with 0% railroading, as with 100% railroading, that exchange of information does not take place.
Now, someone might say, that for example a completely sandbox-style (sandbox-style meaning a player-driven campaign, where the DM takes a much more reactive role, for those uninitiated; an opposite of railroading, someone might say), old-school campaign in, say, OD&D, would be a RPG without railroading at all. I do not agree. If the DM has drawn a world map, it is railroading; limiting the choices of the players. If the DM has made a dungeon adventure, he railroads as well. Always by presenting choices, he is engaging in limiting the choices of the players. Unless... the choices are not meaningful. Say, a three-way intersection, where all the passages lead to a room with five orcs. If the DM so much as colors the doors different, the choices of the players are then affected by their associations with those colors. A red door might give associations about a violent place behind the door; a golden-colored one might hint of a treasure (or, more likely, a trap trying to lure the PC's in with its false promise of riches). From coloring the dungeon doors differently, there's a short distance to giving the players an uneven choice in larger matters, for example a choice between a seemingly low-risk, high-profit quest, and a high-risk, low-profit one. Granted, the PC's just might choose the unlikely one: and even, if a DM lets that happen, he is indeed engaging in moderate railroading. Also, let's not forget, that he gave only two choices to begin with. And even if the players choose the strangest option - not choosing either quest, but establishing a flower shop in their home town and starting carreers as horticulturists and business owners, or something to that effect - raliroading took place. It's just that the players got sidetracked. And just because the DM lets them be sidetracked, that does not mean that he's not railroading, at least a bit.
Now I know that some of this might sound strange to some of you, mainly because railroading has gotten such a bad name over the years, and because often when the subject comes up, what is really meant is something that I'd call total or 100% railroading, a style where players have absolutely no possibility of affecting the outcome of things. You can see this disastrous style used, for example, on many of the pages of the great webcomic DM of the Rings, where even some of the discussions of characters are scripted beforehand. (Although the DM of the comic does not do that all the time... remember Legolas shooting Gollum dead in the river after Lothlorien! Now that was an instance where, I think, some more railroading could have been used, perhaps in the form of distance penalties, penalties due to mist and the movement of waves... and if the DM had written Gollum as a major NPC, he should have given him a couple more hit dice so that he couldn't be killed just like that!)
Of course it all then comes down to semantics. But semantics are sometimes important, and in this case, I think that if we define the word "railroading" to only refer to the practice of "total railroading", it becomes a confusing and not very useful term. You see, most of what we call "railroading" in actual RPG's is certaily not "total railroading". I'll give one more example.
The DM knows the PC's, their histories and motivations. He knows the players of those PC's, their playing styles and personalities. Thus, he can arrange events so that the most likely outcome is the one that he's planned. Say, we have a group of thoul-hunters, who'd do anything and everything for the opportunity to hunt down some of those nasty, nonsensical and anti-simulationist thoul monsters. The players of those thoul-hunters love dungeon adventures, being the heroes and interacting with NPC's. So, the DM makes an adventure where evil thouls have taken over a castle, and they hold the castle inhabitants, including a beautiful princess, as ransom. The PC's have then an opportunity to kill thouls, go down in a dungeon, be the heroes, and interact with NPC's. Of course they could choose not to go, and spend the gaming night in the town instead. But, given the situation, that is extremely unlikely. The DM has really done everything in his power to get the PC's where he wants them.
Now THIS is the form of railroading most seen in games. This DM, not indulging in "total railroading", would be amazed, befuddled and maybe even angry, if the PC's for some reason chose to stay in town - but he would let them do it. Perhaps he would ask them questions like "Why would you do it? Your characters are thoul-hunters, this is like a dream come true to them!". The players would respond, perhaps with faulty logic, perhaps with something resembling reason. But the DM would let them do it. Was he railroading? Yes, he was. Because the players acting like that was something like a 1 in a 1000 occurence. 999 times out of a thousand, the DM would have got the PC's right where he wanted them. There was a player choice involved... but it was not much of a choice at all. This seems "railroading" to me - railroading used skillfully and productively, and for the enjoyment of all participants. I think that the highest art of railroading is when the DM presents the PC's a choice, for the purposes of the story, all the while knowing how they're going to respond - and the players don't notice being manipulated, thinking that they chose out of free will. Of course, there's nothing wrong in giving real choices as well! Giving real choices is, after all, one of the most basic and important parts of role-playing games. But some skillful railroading, whether a minor or major part of the campaign, depending on the style, can do wonders in spicing things up.
For most part, railroading is a tool of the narrativist DM. It is not the only tool in his disposal, but it's the oldest and most traditional of them. Quite rarely does a system or a campaign totally distance itself from any narrativism; usually, at least a pinch is present. Because railroading is "opaque" (the opposite of "transparent", meaning that the PC's have no other way than gut instinct to tell whether something is happening due to 1) DM's choice, 2) their own choices or 3) the random effects of the dice), it melds smoothly in a game that has also simulationist and gamist elements. The players might guess that it's happening... but they cannot be certain; even if they are, they won't mind, if the engine driver is skillful. That's an advantage that traditional methods have over some of the newer, very "transparent", indie-gaming style mechanics, like "deus ex machina points".
Summa summarum: what can be a disaster in inexperienced hands can do wonders when wielded by a DM who knows what he's doing. The lesson of today: play, play, and play some more. It's only going to get better, never worse. Your characters are not the only ones getting experience points.
torstaina 5. marraskuuta 2009
Top 10 lists part 1: D&D monsters
Apologia:
I'd like to now indulge in a bit in egocentrism (although ANY blog-writing is a bit egocentrist, isn't it?) and present you a couple of "top 10 lists" regarding my personal tastes in RPG's and related stuff. It's a bit pointless, but it might make a nice "breather" inbetween all the heavy analysis (both for the writer and the reader). Also, a small window to my personal preferences might shed some light on my other opinions as well. At least, dear reader, you can compare my lists to ones you would make and see if there's any overlap. If there is, that is awesome: we share something that we appreciate in the world of RPG's. If there isn't, then it just illustrates the great brevity, diversity and scope of RPG's; that too is a fine, fine thing.
The entries are in no particular order. This, the first one, is about D&D monsters.
MY TOP 10 MONSTERS IN D&D
1. Rust monster.
I'll just have to mention the ol' armadillo first. It's bizarre, it's iconic, it's the players' nightmare. And it's kinda cute as well. I've been fascinated by the rust monster since I encountered it in the solo adventure in the Player's Handbook of Mentzer's Basic Set. Despite its weirdness, it somehow feels completely natural to me. It's an animal. A bizarre animal, of course, but an animal nonetheless. There are pretty strange animals on our Earth as well, if you look close enough. It's a niche animal, a specialist. So, I feel that it's simulationistic enough for me to like it. Gamism-wise, it's challenge par excellence. A monster that has to be fought in a completely different manner compared to other monsters. Players have to keep cool and not panic; otherwise they might lose a lot of their gear, and that just spells DOOM. A plate mail and a shield worn and wielded by a guy in the front row is the backbone of any D&D-party; while one of the coolest things in D&D is that there's more than one way you can build a functional party, it just doesn't work if there's no one with a plate and a shield. And a rust monster takes that crucial defense away. It rightfully terrifies players. And that brings us to the narrativistic goodness of this monster: not only does it provoke strong emotional reactions in the players and their characters, but if it indeed is able to disintegrate some of the items of the party, the whole story changes. What might have been a mission of exploration or assassination now turns into a story about survival and escape. And personally, best of all is the fact that while this monster is a formidable threat to characters of any level, it is not a fatal threat. It might cause a death, surely, but inderectly - in the case that the players are stupid enough to continue the task that they were doing without their metal equipment. So in that case, it becomes a test of player skill. And, well, although I fancy myself in many ways a tough, uncompromising DM, I'm a big softie as well. I might make the PC's lives a miserable hell, but I just don't like to kill them if I can avoid it. And this monster gives me a chance to be mean, without taking their lives. I'll also have to mention that the tough armor class of the rust monster is very meaningful, as it prolongs the battle, granting the rustie more chances to destroy the party's equipment.
2. Carrion crawler.
Some of the same reasons apply to my fondness of the tentacled abomination as to my liking of the rust monster. Although fantastic, it somehow feels natural. Like the rust monster, the carrion crawler inhabits old, abandoned places, making it an ideal monster in my preferred low-level adventures - abandoned houses. Also, like the rust monster, it's always a moment of terror when this creature appears. It becomes the sole focus of the scene, such is its deadliness. For unlike the rustie, the carrion crawler is a killing machine. I realize its potential for killing people, and thus I use this monster carefully. I don't usually let them wander around or surprise the party. They dwell in dark, dismal holes and usually only come out when a brave PC willfully chooses to enter their lair. While potentially lethal, a carrion crawler only kills people if it succeeds in paralyzing the whole party (or if the remaining members of the party abandon their paralyzed comrades!). Thus: wise players only encounter the crawler on their own terms, and when they're good and ready. The crawler usually is able to paralyze at least a couple of adventurers, before it is put to death. The lousy armor class of the beast suits it also well: its attacks are so mighty that the PC's have much reason not to fight it at all, but the bad AC makes the fight more lucrative. Even the magic-user can hit it with his daggers; also, because the crawler's attacks don't do damage, the magic-user has a reason to enter melee. Fights with carrion crawlers are adrenaline-packed, memorable group efforts where everyone can participate... and if the adventurers manage to win, they have lost nothing.
3. Yellow mold.
Yellow mold is mean, yellow mold is nasty. It kills people, has no treasure and gives practically no XP. This monster must be the favorite of sadistic and evil DM's everywhere. I have absolutely no intention to be a sadistic or evil DM, but I try to be... challenging. And sometimes it takes a bit of yellow mold to be challenging. I think of yellow mold as some kind of an IQ test. It does not move, it does not do anything except kill you if you touch it. And an adventurer really should not touch things like that. I mean, it's yellow. And it's mold. That's enough reasons not to touch it. I also like the mold's biological nature; I am a biologist and I love plants and fungi. What's extra nasty about the mold is that the radius of the spore cloud is 10 feet, exactly the length of the famous pole used by adventurers; so unless you specified that you're holding your pole at the very end, you'll be breathing spores when you do the tapping. It's actually a good reminder that ten-foot-poling, although a very good and necessary tactic, is not foolproof. In my descriptions, I emphasize the very bright, almost unnatural colour of the mold, and I try to make it seem creepy. That should be enough reasons for the PC's to first cast a stone (or a flask of burning oil!) to the mold. Player skill being tested again, and with a monster that seems completely naturalistic, fitting effortlessly in dungeon environments.
4. Giant rat.
A superb naturalistic monster. A big rat, and not even that big at that. They could almost exist in our own world! A natural dweller in abandoned places. The added risk of disease from a bite is a bit nasty, but it's not something that the PC's shouldn't expect. This is a staple monster in my dungeons, whether low or high level: the rat is a survivor and lives everywhere. It really scratches my simulationist itch and makes any dungeon seem more real. Also, for low-level PC's, a melee victory over a horde of giant rats is not unthinkable. Feelings of glory and victory are very important, they motivate the players to press on and keep playing. A group of giant rats is an easy way to grant low-level PC's a moment of glory by steel.
5. Giant beetles.
Ah, the giant beetles. I've grouped them here; from the ones presented in Mentzer's Basic Set (Fire Beetle, Oil Beetle, Tiger Beetle), the oil beetle is my favourite, but I love them all. Again, they feel natural. Only the tiger beetles attack on sight, but with the others, I make reaction rolls. That's what I always do with animals and animal-like, neutral monsters: my vision is that monsters like that do not always attack. That kind of behavior, I think, makes them seem more real. If they always attacked, they might feel more like gamistic obstacles that I've placed to challenge my players. They are partly that, of course, but more than anything I want them to feel like something that could really exist in the context of a fantasy world. The oil beetle is my special favourite because of its oil spray attack: if the attack hits, the PC develops icky boils and suffers -2 in to hit rolls for some time. Again, a threat that is considerable, but not lethal by itself. I love those. And it gives me a chance to indulge in some gross descriptions about how the boils look like and feel like!
6. Giant Centipede.
I bet that by now you're starting to tap into my tastes. The lowly giant centipede is a naturalistic vermin that does not kill anybody. Its poison makes you unable to do physical exercise for 24 hours: what a wonderful ability! It's something to be feared, but by itself, it doesn't kill anybody. Man, was I shocked when I read that in AD&D, giant centipede poison is actually lethal. That's not my giant centipede, that's something else.
7. Insect swarm.
What's even better than giant insects? Well, normal-sized insects, of course! They feel even more real, more believable. They're even more icky, and give me the chance to describe how they feel when they crawl on a character's skin, biting and stinging. Also, since they always hit, they are a nuisance even to high-level characters, but because the damage they make is very low, I can assign these monsters even against very low-level PC's.
8. Shrieker.
First: a mushroom monster. Second: pseudo-believable, with sound ecology, and a dungeon dweller. Third: an indirect threat. All my favourite traits again! The shrieker mushroom is a useless threat just on its own, but coupled with the other dungeon dwellers, it can be lethal. The PC's better not underestimate the mighty shrieker! When the shrieker shrieks, I sometimes just roll on my table of wandering monsters made for that particular adventure, but what I like much more, is looking at the topography of the dungeon map, and deducing which monsters might hear the shriek. But what I like most of all is planning the symbiotic relationship between the shrieker and some dungeon predator (usually a carrion crawler) beforehand. The shrieker is one of the ultimate "dungeon ecology"-monsters, and plausible dungeon ecology is one of THE reasons I love D&D.
Let's face it, I could write every giant insect and fungal monster here, but I like some other kinds of monsters, too. Let's try to break the "mold", haa haa.
9. Gargoyle.
As a young DM, I was endlessly frustrated by the fact that there were no demons of demon-like monsters in D&D. I wanted really bad guys, monsters from Hell! So, I had to make do with the undead and the few demonic monsters that I could find. I also made monsters on my own (something that I don't do these days), and boy, were those things a demonic lot. The gargoyle was the most demonic monster in the manuals, though. Well, there was the beholder, that I felt was extremely demonic, but I figured that one was too tough even for my brothers' characters, who were very high level. But the gargoyle I used a lot. It's certainly evil... but mostly in appearance. If the group has magical weapons, a gargoyle is not that hard to overcome. What I like about the gargoyle these days: again, the evil appearance, and the fact that it is a nice and interesting threat to a group that has only one, or perhaps two magic weapons. For a group with no magic weapons, it's just a DM's way of saying "no". For a group with magic weapons aplenty, it's just a fairly easy monster. With my DM'ing style, I do give out magic weapons, but very stingily, so that the phase when the group has only one or two of those remains quite long. And for that period gargoyle is a nice monster, because it forces the group to change tactics. One more thing I like about the gargoyle is its aura of mystery. Is it a construct? A living creature? Or a demon? Whatever it is, I use fantastic monsters like this sparingly, only on fitting occasions, like abandoned temples.
10. Shadow.
Most of the same reasons apply as to the gargoyle, but a shadow is even more mysterious. The best thing about it to me is that it's not an undead. I know that it's undead in AD&D and some other editions of D&D, but in Mentzer, it is not. That makes it a very unique, very mysterious creature. In fact, I like it more than the gargoyle. This is a creature that always leaves my players guessing, and always terrifies them with the strength drain, as they always suppose that it's permanent. When the strength comes back, their faces just glow with happiness. If I want an inhumane, "evil spirit" type of creature, one that can just barely reach the material world, there's no better choice than the shadow. This monster just drips occultism and dread all over the place. To make them even more mysterious, I usually restrict their movement to only some areas, and they never, ever enter sunlight.
BONUS MONSTERS:
My favourite benevolent monster: Dryad.
Benevolent monsters are a big part of D&D; no matter what edition, all the monster books are full of them, and they're meant to be used. Monsters are not just challenges, they are creatures that one meets when exploring, and exploration is indeed a major part of the game (this is actually one of the very few things that I agree with the Grand Master of Flowers). And the dryad is my favourite benevolent monster. I love trees, I love hippie girls, ergo, I love dryads. Yep, I am a tree-hugging hippie and proud of it. Also, the dryads have an in-built source of drama in the fact that they die if they get separated from their tree: that's a powerful storytelling tool. I see dryads as very inhuman (but benevolent) ceratures, something between a human, a spirit and a plant. This makes roleplaying a dryad a challenging but very rewarding experience.
My favourite undead monster: Wight.
As a young DM, when I couldn't find demons to satisty my fascination with evil monsters, I had to make do with the undead. And back then, the undead were indeed my favourite monsters, especially the intelligent, more powerful ones. Thematically, I loved them, and I still do: but when I filled my dungeons with the undead all those years ago, I noticed there was a problem with their game mechanics; namely, energy drain. Especially, double energy drain. Everyone who's had their character energy drained knows how supremely evil and annoying it is. It is a tool to make players drop the hobby altogether, a weapon of supreme evil. Now I know that many old-school people think that the ability is all right, and it's the PC's responsibility to avoid the battle with energy-draining undead altogether: they think, that if the group faces a wight, wraith, spectre or a vampire in melee, they've already lost; they should have averted the monster. There is some harsh old-school sense in that statement, but it also means, that if the PC's play their cards right, we're never going to see a cool scene where the group takes on a powerful undead creature. And as for me, I want to see that scene! I've made some effort to correct the problem. First, I don't fill my dungeons with masses of powerful undead like I used to. They are rare and scary. The double-draining ones, the spectre and the vampire, are even more rare. Skeletons and zombies are of course all right, and the ghoul remains a scary and challenging opponent, and also a favourite of mine. The mummy is OK, too, but it is a big brawler, more than capable of killing lots of PC's with hit point damage alone. The spectre and the vampire are almost not usable, unless there's a cleric in the group. The wight and the wraith remain extremely scary, but not completely unfair. Of those, I slightly prefer the wight because of its material nature. It is like a little brother of the lich, a suitable boss monster for low level groups. It's clearly not a spirit but an undead creature. I envision it as not rotting and moist, but dried and parched, filled with malevolent intelligence and the dread touch of the grave. My second solution to the problem is nerfing the energy drain. I felt that a saving throw would be quite un-D&D-like, making possible battles with multiple hits from an energy-draining monster, to no actual effect. That felt quite lame to me. So, I made a system where energy drain functions otherwise by-the-book, but the XP stolen goes to this pool, called your "safe XP". Then, when you gain XP in adventuring, you get one XP from the "safe XP" pool per one normal XP earned, until your pool is emptied. That way, you get a big penalty for getting hit with an energy drain, but if you keep adventuring and surviving, eventually all your lost XP will come back. I'm quite satisfied with the results; wights are still scary, but not so unfair that I can actually use them and have the PC's battle them. Oh, and they still kill people, just ask a certain first-level bard.
I'd like to now indulge in a bit in egocentrism (although ANY blog-writing is a bit egocentrist, isn't it?) and present you a couple of "top 10 lists" regarding my personal tastes in RPG's and related stuff. It's a bit pointless, but it might make a nice "breather" inbetween all the heavy analysis (both for the writer and the reader). Also, a small window to my personal preferences might shed some light on my other opinions as well. At least, dear reader, you can compare my lists to ones you would make and see if there's any overlap. If there is, that is awesome: we share something that we appreciate in the world of RPG's. If there isn't, then it just illustrates the great brevity, diversity and scope of RPG's; that too is a fine, fine thing.
The entries are in no particular order. This, the first one, is about D&D monsters.
MY TOP 10 MONSTERS IN D&D
1. Rust monster.
I'll just have to mention the ol' armadillo first. It's bizarre, it's iconic, it's the players' nightmare. And it's kinda cute as well. I've been fascinated by the rust monster since I encountered it in the solo adventure in the Player's Handbook of Mentzer's Basic Set. Despite its weirdness, it somehow feels completely natural to me. It's an animal. A bizarre animal, of course, but an animal nonetheless. There are pretty strange animals on our Earth as well, if you look close enough. It's a niche animal, a specialist. So, I feel that it's simulationistic enough for me to like it. Gamism-wise, it's challenge par excellence. A monster that has to be fought in a completely different manner compared to other monsters. Players have to keep cool and not panic; otherwise they might lose a lot of their gear, and that just spells DOOM. A plate mail and a shield worn and wielded by a guy in the front row is the backbone of any D&D-party; while one of the coolest things in D&D is that there's more than one way you can build a functional party, it just doesn't work if there's no one with a plate and a shield. And a rust monster takes that crucial defense away. It rightfully terrifies players. And that brings us to the narrativistic goodness of this monster: not only does it provoke strong emotional reactions in the players and their characters, but if it indeed is able to disintegrate some of the items of the party, the whole story changes. What might have been a mission of exploration or assassination now turns into a story about survival and escape. And personally, best of all is the fact that while this monster is a formidable threat to characters of any level, it is not a fatal threat. It might cause a death, surely, but inderectly - in the case that the players are stupid enough to continue the task that they were doing without their metal equipment. So in that case, it becomes a test of player skill. And, well, although I fancy myself in many ways a tough, uncompromising DM, I'm a big softie as well. I might make the PC's lives a miserable hell, but I just don't like to kill them if I can avoid it. And this monster gives me a chance to be mean, without taking their lives. I'll also have to mention that the tough armor class of the rust monster is very meaningful, as it prolongs the battle, granting the rustie more chances to destroy the party's equipment.
2. Carrion crawler.
Some of the same reasons apply to my fondness of the tentacled abomination as to my liking of the rust monster. Although fantastic, it somehow feels natural. Like the rust monster, the carrion crawler inhabits old, abandoned places, making it an ideal monster in my preferred low-level adventures - abandoned houses. Also, like the rust monster, it's always a moment of terror when this creature appears. It becomes the sole focus of the scene, such is its deadliness. For unlike the rustie, the carrion crawler is a killing machine. I realize its potential for killing people, and thus I use this monster carefully. I don't usually let them wander around or surprise the party. They dwell in dark, dismal holes and usually only come out when a brave PC willfully chooses to enter their lair. While potentially lethal, a carrion crawler only kills people if it succeeds in paralyzing the whole party (or if the remaining members of the party abandon their paralyzed comrades!). Thus: wise players only encounter the crawler on their own terms, and when they're good and ready. The crawler usually is able to paralyze at least a couple of adventurers, before it is put to death. The lousy armor class of the beast suits it also well: its attacks are so mighty that the PC's have much reason not to fight it at all, but the bad AC makes the fight more lucrative. Even the magic-user can hit it with his daggers; also, because the crawler's attacks don't do damage, the magic-user has a reason to enter melee. Fights with carrion crawlers are adrenaline-packed, memorable group efforts where everyone can participate... and if the adventurers manage to win, they have lost nothing.
3. Yellow mold.
Yellow mold is mean, yellow mold is nasty. It kills people, has no treasure and gives practically no XP. This monster must be the favorite of sadistic and evil DM's everywhere. I have absolutely no intention to be a sadistic or evil DM, but I try to be... challenging. And sometimes it takes a bit of yellow mold to be challenging. I think of yellow mold as some kind of an IQ test. It does not move, it does not do anything except kill you if you touch it. And an adventurer really should not touch things like that. I mean, it's yellow. And it's mold. That's enough reasons not to touch it. I also like the mold's biological nature; I am a biologist and I love plants and fungi. What's extra nasty about the mold is that the radius of the spore cloud is 10 feet, exactly the length of the famous pole used by adventurers; so unless you specified that you're holding your pole at the very end, you'll be breathing spores when you do the tapping. It's actually a good reminder that ten-foot-poling, although a very good and necessary tactic, is not foolproof. In my descriptions, I emphasize the very bright, almost unnatural colour of the mold, and I try to make it seem creepy. That should be enough reasons for the PC's to first cast a stone (or a flask of burning oil!) to the mold. Player skill being tested again, and with a monster that seems completely naturalistic, fitting effortlessly in dungeon environments.
4. Giant rat.
A superb naturalistic monster. A big rat, and not even that big at that. They could almost exist in our own world! A natural dweller in abandoned places. The added risk of disease from a bite is a bit nasty, but it's not something that the PC's shouldn't expect. This is a staple monster in my dungeons, whether low or high level: the rat is a survivor and lives everywhere. It really scratches my simulationist itch and makes any dungeon seem more real. Also, for low-level PC's, a melee victory over a horde of giant rats is not unthinkable. Feelings of glory and victory are very important, they motivate the players to press on and keep playing. A group of giant rats is an easy way to grant low-level PC's a moment of glory by steel.
5. Giant beetles.
Ah, the giant beetles. I've grouped them here; from the ones presented in Mentzer's Basic Set (Fire Beetle, Oil Beetle, Tiger Beetle), the oil beetle is my favourite, but I love them all. Again, they feel natural. Only the tiger beetles attack on sight, but with the others, I make reaction rolls. That's what I always do with animals and animal-like, neutral monsters: my vision is that monsters like that do not always attack. That kind of behavior, I think, makes them seem more real. If they always attacked, they might feel more like gamistic obstacles that I've placed to challenge my players. They are partly that, of course, but more than anything I want them to feel like something that could really exist in the context of a fantasy world. The oil beetle is my special favourite because of its oil spray attack: if the attack hits, the PC develops icky boils and suffers -2 in to hit rolls for some time. Again, a threat that is considerable, but not lethal by itself. I love those. And it gives me a chance to indulge in some gross descriptions about how the boils look like and feel like!
6. Giant Centipede.
I bet that by now you're starting to tap into my tastes. The lowly giant centipede is a naturalistic vermin that does not kill anybody. Its poison makes you unable to do physical exercise for 24 hours: what a wonderful ability! It's something to be feared, but by itself, it doesn't kill anybody. Man, was I shocked when I read that in AD&D, giant centipede poison is actually lethal. That's not my giant centipede, that's something else.
7. Insect swarm.
What's even better than giant insects? Well, normal-sized insects, of course! They feel even more real, more believable. They're even more icky, and give me the chance to describe how they feel when they crawl on a character's skin, biting and stinging. Also, since they always hit, they are a nuisance even to high-level characters, but because the damage they make is very low, I can assign these monsters even against very low-level PC's.
8. Shrieker.
First: a mushroom monster. Second: pseudo-believable, with sound ecology, and a dungeon dweller. Third: an indirect threat. All my favourite traits again! The shrieker mushroom is a useless threat just on its own, but coupled with the other dungeon dwellers, it can be lethal. The PC's better not underestimate the mighty shrieker! When the shrieker shrieks, I sometimes just roll on my table of wandering monsters made for that particular adventure, but what I like much more, is looking at the topography of the dungeon map, and deducing which monsters might hear the shriek. But what I like most of all is planning the symbiotic relationship between the shrieker and some dungeon predator (usually a carrion crawler) beforehand. The shrieker is one of the ultimate "dungeon ecology"-monsters, and plausible dungeon ecology is one of THE reasons I love D&D.
Let's face it, I could write every giant insect and fungal monster here, but I like some other kinds of monsters, too. Let's try to break the "mold", haa haa.
9. Gargoyle.
As a young DM, I was endlessly frustrated by the fact that there were no demons of demon-like monsters in D&D. I wanted really bad guys, monsters from Hell! So, I had to make do with the undead and the few demonic monsters that I could find. I also made monsters on my own (something that I don't do these days), and boy, were those things a demonic lot. The gargoyle was the most demonic monster in the manuals, though. Well, there was the beholder, that I felt was extremely demonic, but I figured that one was too tough even for my brothers' characters, who were very high level. But the gargoyle I used a lot. It's certainly evil... but mostly in appearance. If the group has magical weapons, a gargoyle is not that hard to overcome. What I like about the gargoyle these days: again, the evil appearance, and the fact that it is a nice and interesting threat to a group that has only one, or perhaps two magic weapons. For a group with no magic weapons, it's just a DM's way of saying "no". For a group with magic weapons aplenty, it's just a fairly easy monster. With my DM'ing style, I do give out magic weapons, but very stingily, so that the phase when the group has only one or two of those remains quite long. And for that period gargoyle is a nice monster, because it forces the group to change tactics. One more thing I like about the gargoyle is its aura of mystery. Is it a construct? A living creature? Or a demon? Whatever it is, I use fantastic monsters like this sparingly, only on fitting occasions, like abandoned temples.
10. Shadow.
Most of the same reasons apply as to the gargoyle, but a shadow is even more mysterious. The best thing about it to me is that it's not an undead. I know that it's undead in AD&D and some other editions of D&D, but in Mentzer, it is not. That makes it a very unique, very mysterious creature. In fact, I like it more than the gargoyle. This is a creature that always leaves my players guessing, and always terrifies them with the strength drain, as they always suppose that it's permanent. When the strength comes back, their faces just glow with happiness. If I want an inhumane, "evil spirit" type of creature, one that can just barely reach the material world, there's no better choice than the shadow. This monster just drips occultism and dread all over the place. To make them even more mysterious, I usually restrict their movement to only some areas, and they never, ever enter sunlight.
BONUS MONSTERS:
My favourite benevolent monster: Dryad.
Benevolent monsters are a big part of D&D; no matter what edition, all the monster books are full of them, and they're meant to be used. Monsters are not just challenges, they are creatures that one meets when exploring, and exploration is indeed a major part of the game (this is actually one of the very few things that I agree with the Grand Master of Flowers). And the dryad is my favourite benevolent monster. I love trees, I love hippie girls, ergo, I love dryads. Yep, I am a tree-hugging hippie and proud of it. Also, the dryads have an in-built source of drama in the fact that they die if they get separated from their tree: that's a powerful storytelling tool. I see dryads as very inhuman (but benevolent) ceratures, something between a human, a spirit and a plant. This makes roleplaying a dryad a challenging but very rewarding experience.
My favourite undead monster: Wight.
As a young DM, when I couldn't find demons to satisty my fascination with evil monsters, I had to make do with the undead. And back then, the undead were indeed my favourite monsters, especially the intelligent, more powerful ones. Thematically, I loved them, and I still do: but when I filled my dungeons with the undead all those years ago, I noticed there was a problem with their game mechanics; namely, energy drain. Especially, double energy drain. Everyone who's had their character energy drained knows how supremely evil and annoying it is. It is a tool to make players drop the hobby altogether, a weapon of supreme evil. Now I know that many old-school people think that the ability is all right, and it's the PC's responsibility to avoid the battle with energy-draining undead altogether: they think, that if the group faces a wight, wraith, spectre or a vampire in melee, they've already lost; they should have averted the monster. There is some harsh old-school sense in that statement, but it also means, that if the PC's play their cards right, we're never going to see a cool scene where the group takes on a powerful undead creature. And as for me, I want to see that scene! I've made some effort to correct the problem. First, I don't fill my dungeons with masses of powerful undead like I used to. They are rare and scary. The double-draining ones, the spectre and the vampire, are even more rare. Skeletons and zombies are of course all right, and the ghoul remains a scary and challenging opponent, and also a favourite of mine. The mummy is OK, too, but it is a big brawler, more than capable of killing lots of PC's with hit point damage alone. The spectre and the vampire are almost not usable, unless there's a cleric in the group. The wight and the wraith remain extremely scary, but not completely unfair. Of those, I slightly prefer the wight because of its material nature. It is like a little brother of the lich, a suitable boss monster for low level groups. It's clearly not a spirit but an undead creature. I envision it as not rotting and moist, but dried and parched, filled with malevolent intelligence and the dread touch of the grave. My second solution to the problem is nerfing the energy drain. I felt that a saving throw would be quite un-D&D-like, making possible battles with multiple hits from an energy-draining monster, to no actual effect. That felt quite lame to me. So, I made a system where energy drain functions otherwise by-the-book, but the XP stolen goes to this pool, called your "safe XP". Then, when you gain XP in adventuring, you get one XP from the "safe XP" pool per one normal XP earned, until your pool is emptied. That way, you get a big penalty for getting hit with an energy drain, but if you keep adventuring and surviving, eventually all your lost XP will come back. I'm quite satisfied with the results; wights are still scary, but not so unfair that I can actually use them and have the PC's battle them. Oh, and they still kill people, just ask a certain first-level bard.
tiistaina 3. marraskuuta 2009
Old School: Form or Content?
Which one is more meaningful for a role-playing campaign that identifies itself as "Old School": using the old systems (or their modern derivatives) or playing in a style associated with the old times, no matter what the system?
To give a specific example: which one is more "Old School", an adventure focusing on the social problems of truck drivers of the 1960's, using OD&D as the system, or delving into the dungeons of Castle Greyhawk, the original notes stolen from Gary's black suitcase, using a modern, indie system that, say, lets any player be the DM whenever they feel like it?
Most importantly: does any of this even matter at all?
Let's try to begin sorting out this mess. So, there seems to exist a problem in the OSR. Always when we invent a new label, someone wants to understand the exact definition of it, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's just that usually labels get invented before they get defined; then, people come up with their own definitions, and after that, it's hard to come up with a common denominator. Just ask any beer geek about the meaning of the phrases "craft beer" or "extreme beer". All this leads to the fact that when people try to come up with exact definitions after the cat's already out of the bag, those definitions have to be the simplest and broadest possible, to have any meaning. And there's nothing wrong with that, I think. This just seems to be how things go.
I'm not out here to define the term "Old School Role-Playing"; for goodness' sake, I don't even have the street cred for that. Someone like the Grand Master of Flowers can do that; I'm just here to share some of my thoughts about the borders of the term. I'm not even sure whether we indeed need any definition for the term at all.
First: who defines the "true" nature of a role-playing game, the author of the game, or the community of (the first) players? Or, which one is more important? If Gary Gygax wanted AD&D to be a toolkit, a collection of rules from which you could pick your favourites, he certainly didn't make this intent clear in his presentation. Rather, his tone suggests more of an "all-or-nothing" approach: Gary's way or the highway. Whichever the case, it seems that the community of players who adopted AD&D took the toolkit approach. Very few people (except modern revivalists) seem to have played AD&D "by the book"; they took bits and pieces that they liked and amputated the rest. Let's take another, more recent example: Mark Rein-Hagen and his (first edition) Vampire: the Masquerade. Rein-Hagen strongly suggests that the game's focus should revolve around the characters' morality, indeed, their very "Humanity", which is actually represented as a game trait. Again, the reality of the game seemed to be different. V:tM seems to be suited for the morality plays envisioned by the author... if there's only one player. With a larger group, it becomes hard to keep the focus there, and the game tends to shift more towards traditional RPG's. And this is how the community played it. While all groups did not go for the full-on (and later maligned) style of "D&D with fangs, trenchcoats and katanas", very few were able to maintain the supposed focus as envisioned by the author.
So, we had these two games; both some of the most successful RPG's of all time, games that have a strong identity and immediately provoke a reaction when you mention them to any role-player. And in retrospect it seems that neither of them was played by the way suggested by the books themselves. Would anyone have the nerve to say that the early community of either was "not getting it" or "playing it wrong"? That only a careful reading of the books, decades later, with modern understanding, would grant us access to "true AD&D" or "true V:tM"? I guess one could say that.. if one was of a hagiographist bent and indeed had the nerve to ignore the reality of the situation; the very community of players and the understanding of the game that they established.
Of course, neither of those communities had much in the way of uniformity. RPG communities form as more or less isolated pockets, each having the rulebooks from a common source, but otherwise not interacting with each other. This was especially the case before the Internet, but I guess it still is more or less like that. In biology, we have a phenomenon that slightly resembles that; it's called "adaptive radiation". In adaptive radiation, we have a common source of organisms; a place where the species in question exists in a more or less uniform state. From there, the species starts migrating to many other places, it sort of "radiates" around. Small groups of the organism thus reach diverse places, more or less losing contact with each other. Then they start adapting to the environmental and biological conditions of those places. Natural selection leads to evolution, and we end up with several new species or subspecies, who might not resemble each other very much, but they all share a common ancestor... who they all resemble, at least a bit. I think it makes up a nice analogy. Before, I said that the AD&D and V:tM communities developed some sort of a common understanding of those games... but when we look closer, we can see that the "common understanding" only consists of a shared habit of ignoring parts of the rulebook. Some bits were more likely to be ignored (natural selection at work!), like psionics and weapon speed factors in AD&D or the wackiest suggestions at ego-tripping in Vampire, some stood the test of time better, like the interesting and imaginative creatures in the AD&D Monster Manual or the simultaneously simple and complex dice pool system of V:tM. But the bottom line remains: the games were sliced and diced by the community, to the point that while they had some resemblance to the original game (as presented in the books), they might not had much resemblance with each other.
Thus: while I think that we have absolutely no ground to say that the early (or current!) RPG communities were (or are) playing their games wrong, we cannot find any kernel of wisdom about the true identity of a game in the community-generated styles themselves... other than that modifying RPG's to one's tastes (and the demands of the actual gaming experience) seems almost a defining feature, something without which these games might not even be able to exist.
It now seems that while we must stick to the form of RPG's to find a definition for them (as the content seems too diverse and mutable to ever give us any), we cannot take that form seriously, so to speak. We cannot see the form as something that's set in stone. If we want a definition, it's in the form, but if we see parts of the form ignored, or foreign parts implemented in a particular game, we cannot say that it diverts from the definition. Otherwise we would have a defined a game so narrowly that no actual gaming group would qualify as its players.
Now we can go back to the original question: is the "Old School" in the system or in the style? It seems to me now that it is more in the system and less in the style. Styles are difficult to pin down, they are elusive; they are mutable; they evolve over time; and the styles written in the RPG books can have next to no resemblance with styles found in actual gaming. So, to pinpoint "Old School" gaming, you first have to pinpoint "Old School" systems. That's easy, because everyone has a different opinion on that anyway. For example, we might have someone to whom "Old School" systems consist of OD&D, AD&D, Holmes, Moldvay, Mentzer, AD&D 2nd edition, and their respective retro-clones. Then, all this person has to do, is to identify games or campaigns that use those systems, or parts of them --- and voilá, those are "Old School". All that one has to keep in mind, of course, is that labels like this are not binary, on/off things. They are a spectrum with different shades of gray. And on that spectrum, it seems to me that a game using something like OD&D as a system is "more Old School" than a game that tries to go for a style that it percieves as "Old School", but with a different system. This, however, does not make it better, more "true" (whatever that means) or even more interesting. All I'm saying is that if matters like this matter to you, there's no greater Holy Grail than the old books themselves, but even with them, "What did Gary mean?" has no more relevence as a question than "How did the players understand this?" or "Was this bit used at all?". But the question that digs deepest into the black heart of "Old School", to me, seems to be "How could I use this and this bit to have an enjoyable gaming experience next weekend?".
To give a specific example: which one is more "Old School", an adventure focusing on the social problems of truck drivers of the 1960's, using OD&D as the system, or delving into the dungeons of Castle Greyhawk, the original notes stolen from Gary's black suitcase, using a modern, indie system that, say, lets any player be the DM whenever they feel like it?
Most importantly: does any of this even matter at all?
Let's try to begin sorting out this mess. So, there seems to exist a problem in the OSR. Always when we invent a new label, someone wants to understand the exact definition of it, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's just that usually labels get invented before they get defined; then, people come up with their own definitions, and after that, it's hard to come up with a common denominator. Just ask any beer geek about the meaning of the phrases "craft beer" or "extreme beer". All this leads to the fact that when people try to come up with exact definitions after the cat's already out of the bag, those definitions have to be the simplest and broadest possible, to have any meaning. And there's nothing wrong with that, I think. This just seems to be how things go.
I'm not out here to define the term "Old School Role-Playing"; for goodness' sake, I don't even have the street cred for that. Someone like the Grand Master of Flowers can do that; I'm just here to share some of my thoughts about the borders of the term. I'm not even sure whether we indeed need any definition for the term at all.
First: who defines the "true" nature of a role-playing game, the author of the game, or the community of (the first) players? Or, which one is more important? If Gary Gygax wanted AD&D to be a toolkit, a collection of rules from which you could pick your favourites, he certainly didn't make this intent clear in his presentation. Rather, his tone suggests more of an "all-or-nothing" approach: Gary's way or the highway. Whichever the case, it seems that the community of players who adopted AD&D took the toolkit approach. Very few people (except modern revivalists) seem to have played AD&D "by the book"; they took bits and pieces that they liked and amputated the rest. Let's take another, more recent example: Mark Rein-Hagen and his (first edition) Vampire: the Masquerade. Rein-Hagen strongly suggests that the game's focus should revolve around the characters' morality, indeed, their very "Humanity", which is actually represented as a game trait. Again, the reality of the game seemed to be different. V:tM seems to be suited for the morality plays envisioned by the author... if there's only one player. With a larger group, it becomes hard to keep the focus there, and the game tends to shift more towards traditional RPG's. And this is how the community played it. While all groups did not go for the full-on (and later maligned) style of "D&D with fangs, trenchcoats and katanas", very few were able to maintain the supposed focus as envisioned by the author.
So, we had these two games; both some of the most successful RPG's of all time, games that have a strong identity and immediately provoke a reaction when you mention them to any role-player. And in retrospect it seems that neither of them was played by the way suggested by the books themselves. Would anyone have the nerve to say that the early community of either was "not getting it" or "playing it wrong"? That only a careful reading of the books, decades later, with modern understanding, would grant us access to "true AD&D" or "true V:tM"? I guess one could say that.. if one was of a hagiographist bent and indeed had the nerve to ignore the reality of the situation; the very community of players and the understanding of the game that they established.
Of course, neither of those communities had much in the way of uniformity. RPG communities form as more or less isolated pockets, each having the rulebooks from a common source, but otherwise not interacting with each other. This was especially the case before the Internet, but I guess it still is more or less like that. In biology, we have a phenomenon that slightly resembles that; it's called "adaptive radiation". In adaptive radiation, we have a common source of organisms; a place where the species in question exists in a more or less uniform state. From there, the species starts migrating to many other places, it sort of "radiates" around. Small groups of the organism thus reach diverse places, more or less losing contact with each other. Then they start adapting to the environmental and biological conditions of those places. Natural selection leads to evolution, and we end up with several new species or subspecies, who might not resemble each other very much, but they all share a common ancestor... who they all resemble, at least a bit. I think it makes up a nice analogy. Before, I said that the AD&D and V:tM communities developed some sort of a common understanding of those games... but when we look closer, we can see that the "common understanding" only consists of a shared habit of ignoring parts of the rulebook. Some bits were more likely to be ignored (natural selection at work!), like psionics and weapon speed factors in AD&D or the wackiest suggestions at ego-tripping in Vampire, some stood the test of time better, like the interesting and imaginative creatures in the AD&D Monster Manual or the simultaneously simple and complex dice pool system of V:tM. But the bottom line remains: the games were sliced and diced by the community, to the point that while they had some resemblance to the original game (as presented in the books), they might not had much resemblance with each other.
Thus: while I think that we have absolutely no ground to say that the early (or current!) RPG communities were (or are) playing their games wrong, we cannot find any kernel of wisdom about the true identity of a game in the community-generated styles themselves... other than that modifying RPG's to one's tastes (and the demands of the actual gaming experience) seems almost a defining feature, something without which these games might not even be able to exist.
It now seems that while we must stick to the form of RPG's to find a definition for them (as the content seems too diverse and mutable to ever give us any), we cannot take that form seriously, so to speak. We cannot see the form as something that's set in stone. If we want a definition, it's in the form, but if we see parts of the form ignored, or foreign parts implemented in a particular game, we cannot say that it diverts from the definition. Otherwise we would have a defined a game so narrowly that no actual gaming group would qualify as its players.
Now we can go back to the original question: is the "Old School" in the system or in the style? It seems to me now that it is more in the system and less in the style. Styles are difficult to pin down, they are elusive; they are mutable; they evolve over time; and the styles written in the RPG books can have next to no resemblance with styles found in actual gaming. So, to pinpoint "Old School" gaming, you first have to pinpoint "Old School" systems. That's easy, because everyone has a different opinion on that anyway. For example, we might have someone to whom "Old School" systems consist of OD&D, AD&D, Holmes, Moldvay, Mentzer, AD&D 2nd edition, and their respective retro-clones. Then, all this person has to do, is to identify games or campaigns that use those systems, or parts of them --- and voilá, those are "Old School". All that one has to keep in mind, of course, is that labels like this are not binary, on/off things. They are a spectrum with different shades of gray. And on that spectrum, it seems to me that a game using something like OD&D as a system is "more Old School" than a game that tries to go for a style that it percieves as "Old School", but with a different system. This, however, does not make it better, more "true" (whatever that means) or even more interesting. All I'm saying is that if matters like this matter to you, there's no greater Holy Grail than the old books themselves, but even with them, "What did Gary mean?" has no more relevence as a question than "How did the players understand this?" or "Was this bit used at all?". But the question that digs deepest into the black heart of "Old School", to me, seems to be "How could I use this and this bit to have an enjoyable gaming experience next weekend?".
torstaina 22. lokakuuta 2009
Motivational support
Like I wrote in the last entry, my campaign world stays constant, it's laws not accommodating to the wishes of the players or their characters. But it's a huge place that has several things going on at once, and also a place that you can observe from many vantage points, so to speak (like any world, imaginary or real). Thus, while my world stays constant and true, I do have many tools with which to tinker wildly different adventures to my players. What kinds of adventures do I make? Ones that are constant with the realities of the world, ones that challenge players and their characters, ones that I find interesting... but also, ones that I think would motivate the characters and players in question to undertake and enjoy them.
This last point is quite important for me. It could be said that I sometimes tailor adventures for both my players and their characters. What do I mean with this?
First, I do believe that it's an unwritten rule (that should be adhered to) that the players should in most cases go to the adventure that the DM has prepared for them. Yes, I do believe in immersion and doing "what your character would do", but this one's my nod to... shall we say, reality. In addition to taking place in an "imagination-space", an RPG session also takes place at the kitchen table, and if there's no adventure... well, then there's no adventure. Of course the PC's could then just chat with each other, visit NPC's and do some familiarizing with the setting, update their gear, groom their horses, visit their mother's house for once and the like. I am not averse to things like these happening in an RPG, but my vision of Dungeons & Dragons is a little bit different. D&D should be action-oriented, stuff should happen, new adventures should arise all the time. So, while there's certainly some room for idle in-character chit-chat in my D&D (in fact, I love it), a session without any adventuring or travelling at all should be quite rare.
This also means that the Dungeon Master has a certain responsibility towards the players. If their characters are going to go to the adventure that the DM has prepared no matter what, even if doing so violates their characters' personalities... then I think the DM had better minimize those violations as much as he's able. While I don't think my current D&D campaign is the game to have 10-page PC backstories in (you certainly COULD play D&D that way; see earlier entries in this blog), I do require some information about the characters; something about their personality, something about their history, something about their aspirations. I familiarize myself with the characters... to get some tools.
And I use those tools for making adventures for them.
I want the characters to feel motivated. This is a branch of simulationism again, I think: some kind of "psychological simulationism", I'd say. The players could certainly play their characters on their quests without any in-character motivation: they could be "motivated" by the players themselves, the players' interest in the adventure, their need to see what's going to happen to these poor (and poorly motivated) souls. Sure, one could play that way, and it might even be interesting. But again, I want to immerse the players in my world. If I boast so much about the supposedly infallible reasons and consequences in my world, wouldn't it be silly if the PC's acted all weirdly and unreasonably in this place, going to strange quests "just because"? Sure, it would, and much of the immersion that I've tried to build would be lost. So: I make adventures that I think that the PC's in question would undertake. Nothing harder than that. Actually, it's pretty easy. But being easy does not make it not important. It becomes a little harder if the group consists of PC's who have wildly differing interests... but even then, with a little bit of work, it's not that hard. In games where the PC's do have those 10-page backstories it becomes really challenging (if also rewarding). But in D&D, where most characters are simply motivated by the need of wealth, or fame, or glory, or the desire to do good... it's not a problem.
However, it's not only about the aspirations of the characters; like I said, also their personalities and histories (and abilities!) are to be accounted. Someone likes animals a lot? Maybe local animals are being threatened. Someone can speak the Tuulikansa language? Let them find a treasure map written in that language. Someone's working class family was wronged by the nobility in the past? Even if the player has not explicitly stated that the desire to exact a little bit of vengeance to the noble class is a major part in that character's personality, he should be at least a little bit intrigued if you present an opportunity to steal something valuable from the local posh prince, thus embarassing him.
In other words: the patterns of the DM's world present tools to the players, and the patterns of the player's character present tools to the DM.
So, I tend to make adventures that motivate the characters and "press their buttons". But that's not all: I do the same thing regarding their players.
I see the "job" of the DM to be primarily that of an entertainer. Maybe I see it that way because I'm so strict about the actual rules and I allow no exceptions. That makes me much less of a "referee" (because there is really no dispute to be a referee in) and more of an entertainer. In any case, that's the side of DM'ing that interests me the most. Again, and as always, all this concerns just my personal style: your DM'ing may vary, and I pass no judgement. What this means is that I try to entertain my players. That requires that I know them as people. What are their interests? What do they enjoy most in a role-playing game? What "presses their buttons"? I'd like to think of myself as someone who understands people pretty well (and quickly). This, I think, enables me to make adventures that people find interesting. Granted, sometimes I make mistakes, but usually only regarding people that I don't know well at all. If I know a person a little bit more than superficially, I can usually tell what kinds of things that person would like to happen in a role-playing game.
And yes, what makes this a bit more tricky is that I usually never ask these things directly. I just listen to people talk, and observe them. And I do think that this method works! It's not that hard, really. Someone likes character interaction, someone likes to play the "devil's advocate", someone likes to be the leader, someone likes combat, someone likes to optimize a character, someone likes to solve puzzles, someone likes storylines, someone likes comedy... All these diverse interests could be categorized to perhaps three general classes. First, many people just like to play a certain kind of character, with no regards of the adventure that's taking place around them. These people are very easy to please, you'll just have to let them do their thing, and they'll like any adventure you present. Secondly, some people like to DO a certain thing with their character, whether it's roleplaying, powerplaying, solving problems, or doing combat. You'll just have to present those opportunities. And third, some people are not that much into their character at all, they are more into the adventure. They like certain elements in the adventure, whether it's combat, intrigue, tragedy, comedy, or romance. And guess what, you'll just have to include some of those elements in the adventure, and - wham!- you'll have a happy player.
Of course, there might be arise a conflict between the realities of the campaign world (or just your gaming style) and the preferences of the players. In those cases, I rule in favor of the campaign world and my style. Let's say, for example, that a player likes playing middle-aged people. It's not going to happen in my D&D, because one of the cornerstones of my campaign is that PC's start at the ages between 14 and 16 (I might talk about the reasons to this later). Or, someone likes taking part in world-spanning quests: that might happen, but first you'll have to reach, say, level 8, doing sporadic treasure hunts and smaller quests. Or, god forbid, someone likes to play a thoul-hunter of all things: sadly, there's no thouls in my world.
So, I am an unashamed entertainer, tailoring adventures for the (percieved) tastes of my players and their characters. I am unwilling, however, to sacrifice the integrity of my campaign world and gaming style in doing so. Also, these are in no way all the things that I keep in mind when making adventures. Making adventures is a matter of balancing your creativity on a narrow ledge, with several elements pulling you in different directions. What I call "Motivational support" is one of those elements for me, and a strong one at that, but still, one of many.
This last point is quite important for me. It could be said that I sometimes tailor adventures for both my players and their characters. What do I mean with this?
First, I do believe that it's an unwritten rule (that should be adhered to) that the players should in most cases go to the adventure that the DM has prepared for them. Yes, I do believe in immersion and doing "what your character would do", but this one's my nod to... shall we say, reality. In addition to taking place in an "imagination-space", an RPG session also takes place at the kitchen table, and if there's no adventure... well, then there's no adventure. Of course the PC's could then just chat with each other, visit NPC's and do some familiarizing with the setting, update their gear, groom their horses, visit their mother's house for once and the like. I am not averse to things like these happening in an RPG, but my vision of Dungeons & Dragons is a little bit different. D&D should be action-oriented, stuff should happen, new adventures should arise all the time. So, while there's certainly some room for idle in-character chit-chat in my D&D (in fact, I love it), a session without any adventuring or travelling at all should be quite rare.
This also means that the Dungeon Master has a certain responsibility towards the players. If their characters are going to go to the adventure that the DM has prepared no matter what, even if doing so violates their characters' personalities... then I think the DM had better minimize those violations as much as he's able. While I don't think my current D&D campaign is the game to have 10-page PC backstories in (you certainly COULD play D&D that way; see earlier entries in this blog), I do require some information about the characters; something about their personality, something about their history, something about their aspirations. I familiarize myself with the characters... to get some tools.
And I use those tools for making adventures for them.
I want the characters to feel motivated. This is a branch of simulationism again, I think: some kind of "psychological simulationism", I'd say. The players could certainly play their characters on their quests without any in-character motivation: they could be "motivated" by the players themselves, the players' interest in the adventure, their need to see what's going to happen to these poor (and poorly motivated) souls. Sure, one could play that way, and it might even be interesting. But again, I want to immerse the players in my world. If I boast so much about the supposedly infallible reasons and consequences in my world, wouldn't it be silly if the PC's acted all weirdly and unreasonably in this place, going to strange quests "just because"? Sure, it would, and much of the immersion that I've tried to build would be lost. So: I make adventures that I think that the PC's in question would undertake. Nothing harder than that. Actually, it's pretty easy. But being easy does not make it not important. It becomes a little harder if the group consists of PC's who have wildly differing interests... but even then, with a little bit of work, it's not that hard. In games where the PC's do have those 10-page backstories it becomes really challenging (if also rewarding). But in D&D, where most characters are simply motivated by the need of wealth, or fame, or glory, or the desire to do good... it's not a problem.
However, it's not only about the aspirations of the characters; like I said, also their personalities and histories (and abilities!) are to be accounted. Someone likes animals a lot? Maybe local animals are being threatened. Someone can speak the Tuulikansa language? Let them find a treasure map written in that language. Someone's working class family was wronged by the nobility in the past? Even if the player has not explicitly stated that the desire to exact a little bit of vengeance to the noble class is a major part in that character's personality, he should be at least a little bit intrigued if you present an opportunity to steal something valuable from the local posh prince, thus embarassing him.
In other words: the patterns of the DM's world present tools to the players, and the patterns of the player's character present tools to the DM.
So, I tend to make adventures that motivate the characters and "press their buttons". But that's not all: I do the same thing regarding their players.
I see the "job" of the DM to be primarily that of an entertainer. Maybe I see it that way because I'm so strict about the actual rules and I allow no exceptions. That makes me much less of a "referee" (because there is really no dispute to be a referee in) and more of an entertainer. In any case, that's the side of DM'ing that interests me the most. Again, and as always, all this concerns just my personal style: your DM'ing may vary, and I pass no judgement. What this means is that I try to entertain my players. That requires that I know them as people. What are their interests? What do they enjoy most in a role-playing game? What "presses their buttons"? I'd like to think of myself as someone who understands people pretty well (and quickly). This, I think, enables me to make adventures that people find interesting. Granted, sometimes I make mistakes, but usually only regarding people that I don't know well at all. If I know a person a little bit more than superficially, I can usually tell what kinds of things that person would like to happen in a role-playing game.
And yes, what makes this a bit more tricky is that I usually never ask these things directly. I just listen to people talk, and observe them. And I do think that this method works! It's not that hard, really. Someone likes character interaction, someone likes to play the "devil's advocate", someone likes to be the leader, someone likes combat, someone likes to optimize a character, someone likes to solve puzzles, someone likes storylines, someone likes comedy... All these diverse interests could be categorized to perhaps three general classes. First, many people just like to play a certain kind of character, with no regards of the adventure that's taking place around them. These people are very easy to please, you'll just have to let them do their thing, and they'll like any adventure you present. Secondly, some people like to DO a certain thing with their character, whether it's roleplaying, powerplaying, solving problems, or doing combat. You'll just have to present those opportunities. And third, some people are not that much into their character at all, they are more into the adventure. They like certain elements in the adventure, whether it's combat, intrigue, tragedy, comedy, or romance. And guess what, you'll just have to include some of those elements in the adventure, and - wham!- you'll have a happy player.
Of course, there might be arise a conflict between the realities of the campaign world (or just your gaming style) and the preferences of the players. In those cases, I rule in favor of the campaign world and my style. Let's say, for example, that a player likes playing middle-aged people. It's not going to happen in my D&D, because one of the cornerstones of my campaign is that PC's start at the ages between 14 and 16 (I might talk about the reasons to this later). Or, someone likes taking part in world-spanning quests: that might happen, but first you'll have to reach, say, level 8, doing sporadic treasure hunts and smaller quests. Or, god forbid, someone likes to play a thoul-hunter of all things: sadly, there's no thouls in my world.
So, I am an unashamed entertainer, tailoring adventures for the (percieved) tastes of my players and their characters. I am unwilling, however, to sacrifice the integrity of my campaign world and gaming style in doing so. Also, these are in no way all the things that I keep in mind when making adventures. Making adventures is a matter of balancing your creativity on a narrow ledge, with several elements pulling you in different directions. What I call "Motivational support" is one of those elements for me, and a strong one at that, but still, one of many.
keskiviikkona 14. lokakuuta 2009
The joys of predictability
I’d like to write a bit about the DM’ing style I use in D&D. I’ve used that style since 2000, when I revamped my D&D campaign, making a new world and style. I run several other games besides D&D, and with them I often utilize completely different styles. Versatility as a DM/GM is something that I strive for. I don’t think that my D&D style is the perfect, end-all-be-all way to do D&D; sometimes I fantasize about DM’ing another D&D-like campaign using a completely different style (perhaps with another system as well, such as AD&D or Castles & Crusades, to further emphasize the difference). But I really like what I’ve been doing, which is something I could call a “predictable” style of DM’ing.
There’s a lot of talk about randomness, weirdness and whimsy in the Old School Renaissance. And then there’s the talk about challenging your players by surprising them and always giving them something new, taking them out of their comfort zone. I don’t believe that these are bad concepts, quite the contrary, but I do things a little differently.
My campaign world is… predictable. The opposite of random and weird. In other words, it’s quite simulationist, in the sense that things happen for a reason. I might go so far as to say that pretty much everything that’s going on in there has a reason behind it. Most of these reasons are not outright evident, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t there.
Many of the adventures that I do are connected to the history of my campaign world. I reveal tiny bits and pieces, and let the players do the puzzle, if they’re interested. Many more are connected to the biogeography and ecology of the world. Again, puzzle pieces are to be found. Some are connected to the cultures and customs of the people (and monsters) living there. Ditto, puzzle pieces again. But very rarely do I make an adventure “just because”. I might come up with a good idea about an adventure, a room or a monster, but most of these never see daylight, because they would have to fit my campaign world. And if they don’t, I don’t use them. This is also why I have such hard time using modules. I do use them from time to time (and I do like using them), but I’ll have to modify them heavily to fit my campaign world. I’m very careful about the smallest details and I strive for consistency (or, again, predictability).
To make my world even more predictable, I use very few monster types. I know their distribution patterns in my world map and I’m very careful about their ecology. Often, the distribution patterns of today are the result of history. Sometimes, it’s more about biology. But the reasons are there. I’ve got my own wandering monster tables, and I really don’t want Mr. Mentzer telling me that the players are now confronting goblins while travelling on the big plains – sorry, not going to happen. They never migrated to the plains due to orc and human resistance and they prefer the northern woods anyway. You’ll never meet a goblin on the plains of my world unless there’s a specific, plot-related circumstance, of course. Similar laws govern every creature out there.
Then there’s dungeon ecology. Man, I love dungeon ecology. Frank Mentzer loves too; one of the best advices in his Basic Set was that DM’s should think what happens in the dungeon if it’s left as is for a week. I ask this question all the time when I’m making a dungeon adventure… and more: why are these creatures here? What do they eat, where do they sleep, where have they come from? There might be predation going on, or war, or a symbiosis. Also, I ask questions about the architecture of the place. Who made it? Why was it built this way? Would another way of building it have been better? Would a trap here still be intact? Would it have disturbed the daily life of this place if I place a trap here? What were the aesthetic preferences and financial resources of the builder? What was going on in the history of my campaign world when this place was built?
In other words: while I do think about things like “what would be fun?” and “how could I challenge my players and their characters?”, the question “is this realistic in the reality of my campaign world?” kind of overrides them. Call it Gygaxian naturalism, hardcore simulationism, what you will… that’s what I do.
However, I do want to emphasize that this desire to simulate a fictional reality only goes so far. This is still D&D, a game and a pastime. It would be great to write a book about the symbolic meanings of fabric colours in some fictional culture in this world, but it would not support the actual gaming experience very much. Also, and I shouldn’t even mention this, but a lot of physical realism is thrown out of the window because of the combat system (and other systems) of D&D, and that’s just how I like it. All this talk of “realism” only means that my campaign world obeys the laws of a fantastic reality… to an extent, and on some aspects of life. Tapeworms do exist in this world, but the PC’s are not going to get one. A 10th level fighter will not go down from a single sword hit, no matter how hard you hit. Infections exist, but the wounds of the PC’s will not get infected. And sometimes, when plot-critical stuff happens, the PC’s just “happen to be there”. You know, it’s D&D, not a reality simulation. Some RPG’s strive to be “reality simulations” and there’s certainly nothing wrong about that… but (my and usually anyone’s) D&D is something else.
Nevertheless, my approach is extremely naturalistic to a degree, and this is one of the reasons why I do it: it gives my players tools, and using these tools they can utilize and improve their player skill.
Heck, I don’t even let my players take a peek at the Basic Set Player’s Handbook. Clerics get one measly spell at 2nd level (one recently got resist cold… yeah, that’s his one and only spell). I think in terms of “character knowledge” and I categorically refuse any player attempts to use their real-life knowledge (or “D&D knowledge” learned in another campaign or with another character) to solve a situation. I thus take many tools away from my players. But I give them loads more in the form of the predictable world. They’ll just have to learn how to use those tools. And rest assured, a predictable world automatically means that there’s dozens of tools at the players’ disposal. If you pay attention to monster strength, behaviour, habitat and ecology, you’ll get tools for fighting (or avoiding) them later. If you pay attention to the original purpose and usage of the dungeon of the week, you’ll get tools for surviving that dungeon. If you pay attention to the clues about campaign history, you’ll get tools for impressing NPC’s and understanding the big picture and the metaplot.
Anything that has a pattern can be used as a tool.
And sometimes, just sometimes… I can be mean and break the pattern that I’ve cherished. I almost never do that, but I reserve the right to do it, just as an exception that proves the rule. And if there’s no pattern, there’s no joy or surprise in breaking it, is there? It rarely gets completely weird, zany or… fantastic in my D&D, but if and when it does, I want it to mean something. And you can bet that there’ll be a reason for the anomaly!
And finally, perhaps the most important reason for all these patterns: immersion in character. While I do acknowledge that there are several means with which character immersion can be achieved, the simulationist route is definitely one of them. When you (the player) realize that the world works, and with that I mean it works predictably, it feels more real; thus, your character and his/her interaction with that world feels more real as well. Certainly, this is not an “old school” virtue, but to me it is a very important one.
Thus, I do feel that “predictable naturalism” is as viable a method of Dungeon Mastering “old-school” D&D as randomness, surrealism, and thinking in terms of challenges. It does present challenges, but the challenges arise from, and are defined by the reality, rather than other way around. Although it limits the use of player skill, it rewards it as well. It supports the “zero to hero” principle of D&D by giving knowledge that accumulates, thus making experienced characters not only more powerful, but more knowledgeable as well. It supports unorthodox solutions to problems due to the existence of a reality that’s in many (but not all) cases above the game rules in hierarchy.
Yeah, I love my predictability and naturalism. But if I had more time, I’d make another, parallel D&D campaign, in the spirit of Tolkien, Dragonlance, Star Wars, Hollywood and adventure path railroads, with the narrative as omnipotent king! There’s so much in Dungeons and Dragons to be explored… and only 24 hours in a day.
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