Archive for the ‘legacy D&D’ Category

OD&D cursed items that are not that bad

Friday, March 15th, 2013
This entry is part 13 of 18 in the series New Schooler Reads OD&D

I issued a challenge to OSR readers to explain why unavoidably deadly cursed items were a good idea. But to be fair, not all cursed items from the Greyhawk expansion are equally bad.

Loadstone: A stone which appears to be a Luckstone until the owner is being pursued by hostile enemies/monsters. In the case of such pursuit the Loadstone slows his movement by 50%.

This doesn’t kill a player, it just adds a complication. I can see this leading to player death, but also I can see it leading to a hilarious panic along the way. By the way, these are way more common than Luckstones, their non-cursed counterpart.

Boots of Dancing: These boots appear to be any of the others listed before them, and they will continue to so function until their wearer is in a situation where an enemy is in pursuit with intent to kill or some similar situation. When this happens the boots cause the feet of the wearer to dance a jig, soft shoe, tap, and an occasional Shuffle off to Buffalo. Naturally, he is then unable to flee or otherwise escape.

Exactly the same gimmick as the Loadstone. I’m sure the “shuffle off to Buffalo” gag got a few chuckles in the 70s.

Horn of Bubbles: This device exactly resembles a Horn of Valhalla, but when it is sounded it will bring forth a cloud of bubbles which surround its holder, completely obscuring his vision for 4-12 turns.

The Horn of Bubbles is one of the few items that doesn’t either kill you outright or necessitate a Remove Curse. It just waits until you are in a situation dire enough for you to need the help of berserker warriors, and instead of aid, you get covered with comical soap. A++! Would sound horn again!

Girdle of Femininity/Masculinity: Although this item appears to be a Girdle of Giant Strength, as soon as it is worn it changes the sex of its wearer. It can be removed only with a Wish

Ah, the Girdle of Femininity/Masculinity, introducing hundreds of 70s teens to the ultimate horror: playing a female character!

OK, not all these cursed items are great. But at least they don’t arbitrarily kill you!

OD&D cursed items that are horrible

Friday, March 8th, 2013
This entry is part 14 of 18 in the series New Schooler Reads OD&D

As a late-edition player, I’m finding a lot to like in OD&D, but there’s also a lot that mystifies me. The cursed items from the Greyhawk Supplement are solidly in the latter category. Finding some of these items is the narrative equivalent to the DM saying “You have a heart attack and die.”

Consider these items:

Horn of Collapsing: An instrument which seems to be a Horn of Blasting, but when it is winded it will cause the ceiling immediately above the user to collapse upon him, causing from 6-60 points of damage. If blown in the open it causes a rain of rocks to fall from the sky upon its user, and from 5-30 of such missiles will shower down, doing from 1-3 points damage each.

This one is not only a literal “rocks fall you die” item, it has annoying mechanics. If you’re inside, you take 6d10 damage. Hilarious. If you’re outside, though, the DM is supposed to roll 5d6, add that up, and then roll THAT NUMBER of d6 (an average of 18 dice), dividing each die total by two? Does that curve really vary meaningfully from, say, 6d10, which does about the same average damage?

Necklace of Strangulation: A device which is identical to a Necklace of Missiles, but when placed about the neck will strangle and kill its wearer in 2-5 turns, it requires a Limited Wish or Wish to remove it.

Oh, look, it’s not just an insta-death item because it can be reversed with Wish and Limited Wish! Well, guess what: so can any death. (In the description of the Wish spell: “Wishes that unfortunate adventures had never happened should be granted.”) Might as well just come out and say the necklace “immediately kills the wearer, no save.”

Poisonous Cloak: A cloak indistinguishable from others which are magical. When it is put on it immediately kills its wearer by poison. No saving throw is possible.

There you go. Honesty!

Scarab of Death: A scarab which appears to be any of the other types, but when it is held in the hand for a full turn, or when it is placed in a pack, a bag, or some other place near a person’s body it turns to a horrible burrowing monster which digs directly to the person’s heart and kills him.

DM: You find a magical scarab.
Player: I’m not using any magic items until I’m back in town, standing next to a cleric with Water Breathing, Neutralize Poison, Cure Disease, Remove Curse, Wish, and Limited Wish! Making sure not to touch it directly, I’ll wrap the scarab in several layers of cloth and throw it in my backpack.
DM: It turns into a horrible burrowing monster which digs directly to your heart and kills you. No save.
Player: …

There are many more cursed items; the schtick is that every type of magic item (scarab, horn, etc) has a cursed item, so you never know for sure if a magic item is going to kill you. In fact, sometimes the deadly version of the item is much more common than the helpful one. According to the random treasure tables, more than half of all bowls are Bowls of Watery Death. 75% of all carpets are of Smothering. Half of necklaces are Necklaces of Strangulation.

What recourse do the players have here? In Grayhawk, the Identify spell hadn’t been invented yet. I guess spellcasters could cast the 5th level spells Commune and Contact Higher Plane every time they found a magic item, but I’d think the gods would get sick of that. (Anyway, Contact Higher Plane has a good chance to drive the caster insane.) And Raise Dead is a 5th level spell anyway, so might as well just wait and cast that instead.

Why not skip cursed items, and just say this: “Whenever someone gets a new magic item, flip a coin. If it’s tails, they die! There’s nothing they can do to lower this risk!”

I get that death is common in OD&D. I get that sometimes the player dies through no fault of his or her own. But I don’t see how it’s fun for the DM to place an item, knowing that there’s a 100% chance it will kill a character. I just can’t get it out of my spoiled, 4e, everything-is-padded head that PC death should involve, at minimum, one of a) an attack roll, b) a saving throw, c) a bad decision, or d) a missed clue.

Here’s my challenge: Can anyone contribute an anecdote about a time they used one of these insta-death items, and it was fun?

Next week: OD&D cursed items that are not that bad!

more magic and monsters from Quag Keep

Friday, February 8th, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

D&D Greyhawk magic items

Wednesday, February 6th, 2013
This entry is part 11 of 18 in the series New Schooler Reads OD&D

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

magic and monsters of Quag Keep

Friday, February 1st, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

While we’re on the magic system…

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

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

four Fire Balls (Jim!)

Wednesday, January 30th, 2013
This entry is part 12 of 18 in the series New Schooler Reads OD&D

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

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

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

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

Jim Ward

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

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

cursing the thoroughness of the caller

Wednesday, January 16th, 2013
This entry is part 10 of 18 in the series New Schooler Reads OD&D

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

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

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

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

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

Onwards, friends, to more and better loot!

At what level do these game elements become irrelevant?

Monday, January 14th, 2013

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

(Click to enlarge)

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

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

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

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

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

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

od&d staves

Wednesday, January 9th, 2013
This entry is part 9 of 18 in the series New Schooler Reads OD&D

The standout magic items from OD&D are the staves. They seem like they’re much more powerful than everything else.

Compare the best magic sword with a Staff of Fireballs:

Magic sword: +3 to hit, +0 to damage (so, 1d6 damage).

Staff of Fireballs: Shoots fireballs that do 8d6 damage (save for half). 8d6 is a lot of damage in a game in which the strongest monsters have 12d6 HP. The Purple Worm is the outlier, with 15 Hit Dice, but it will still die in two hits.

And the Staff of Fireball has 100 CHARGES.

Compare that to the equivalent item, Wand of Fireballs, from 3rd edition: it throws 6d6 fireballs and has 50 charges. Furthermore, in 3rd edition, monsters have d8 Hit Dice, and they have more of them. (For instance, dragons have 5-38 HD instead of 5-12 HD.)

Not only that, the Staff of Power is like a Staff of Fireballs with a bunch of other abilities. The Staff of Wizardry is like a Staff of Power with a bunch of other abilities. Between these 3 items, about 10% of staves have the ability to fire 8-die fireballs. You only have a 2% chance of getting the sword +3.

The Staff of Fireballs family might not even be the most game-changing staves in the game. The staff I’d want is “Staff of Secret Doors and Trap Detection.” It has 100% chance of detecting both; it works within 20 feet; and it doesn’t have charges. It’s operational as long as it’s being held. It’s SO MUCH better than having a thief in your party, guys.

Traps (and secret doors) are such a major part of OD&D-style dungeon crawling that I can hardly imagine them removed. Imagine a campaign where that entire aspect of the game was thrown away. I think the DM would have to resort to semi-cheating in order to downplay the staff’s power: “Well technically the lever that turned you all into insects was a TRICK, not a TRAP.” “You detect a trap in the corridor which is THE ONLY WAY OUT OF THE DUNGEON.” “I know you can detect secret doors, but the treasure was hidden behind a CONCEALED DOOR.”

what constitutes an “adventure?”

Monday, January 7th, 2013

Earlier editions frequently make references to the “adventure” as if it were a discrete unit of some sort. I’ve never known exactly what it is. Is it, like, one game module? One game session? One game day?

Here’s an interesting passage from the 2e DMG, in which “adventure” seems to be used as a synonym for “game session”:

Most passing time occurs within a single adventure: Spells rarely carry over from adventure to adventure (unless the session is stopped with the characters lost in winding caverns or the like); rounds of combat, while taking several game minutes, don’t affect or spill over into subsequent adventures; days of travel often have no effect other than healing and the consumption of supplies.

If the DM wants, this is the only sort of timekeeping required. Time passed in previous adventures has little or no effect on the current session–each session or adventure is distinct and separate. For example, in one adventure, the characters spend a few hours in the dungeon, get injured, have some success, and return wounded. The night’s game session ends with them returning to their home base. Next game session, the DM announces, “A week or so has passed since you last went out. Everybody is healed and rested. People with spells can pick new ones.” The DM has chosen not to worry about the passage of time in this instance. An entire campaign can be played this way. Here’s another example: In one adventure, a group of characters travels for three weeks and has several encounters, ending camped outside some ruins. The next session starts after the characters have camped for five days, so they can heal their wounds. Several hours pass as they explore the ruins, but no one is particularly hurt when they return to camp, and the game session ends.

The next session starts the morning after their previous adventure, everyone having gotten a good rest. The characters set out again. They spend a week on the road and arrive at a village. Here, the mage insists everyone wait while he researches a vital spell. Again, the game session ends. The next session begins two months later, after the mage has learned his spell and continues from there.

It’s difficult to read “adventure” as anything other than a synonym for “session” in here. If it did, a “session stopped with the characters lost in winding caverns” would not, as it does, constitute two adventures. Also, constructions like “In one adventure… Next game session…” suggest that there is no distinction in the authors’ minds between the concepts.

And what do you make of this advice from the D&D Companion set?

After reaching “Name” level, characters should gain a new level for each 3 to 8 adventures. More adventures can cause player frustration; fewer adventures can make the game too easy, and eventually bore them. If you play twice or more each week, 6 to 8 adventures per level gained is recommended. If your games are once a week or less often, 3 to 5 adventures per level are recommended.

Again, “adventure” here may well be a synonym for “game session”. If not, what’s the relevance of the number of times you play per week? If it doesn’t mean game session, what does it mean? One castle? One dungeon? One module?

On the other hand, “adventure” is sometimes used as a synonym for “module”. The D&D Expert set says, for instance, that “The Isle of Dread is a wilderness adventure designed for use with the D&D Expert rules.” There’s no way that the Isle of Dread is meant to be played in one session. And there’s no way that characters are meant to play through 3 to 8 giant modules like Isle of Dread in order to gain one level.

Is “adventure” one of those words like “level” with a lot of meanings?

I have a feeling that “adventure” usually means something vague: not exactly “game session”, but maybe “the amount of exploration that the DM thinks will take approximately one game session”. But I’m interested in what you guys think. Is there some old-school assumption about this word’s meaning that never made it into a rule book?

Lots of games have explicit game-session mechanics. Savage Worlds give you so many bennies per game session, for instance. Many D&D fans reject the idea of something that artificial as an explicit rules element. However, it seems to me that the game session has been baked into D&D since at least the 80s.

The funny thing is that 5e developers say that they’re thinking of returning to the “adventure” as an explicit challenge-balancing mechanism. If you take them literally, that sounds like a return to the game session as as a game mechanic.