Archive for the ‘fluff/inspiration’ Category

my funny dice

Monday, July 22nd, 2013

Most DMs have a couple of funny dice and a couple of weird houserules to go with them. This is a tradition that goes back to Gary Gygax. In the First Edition DMG, he says,

The author has a d6 with the following faces: SPADE, CLUB, CLUB, DIAMOND, DIAMOND, HEART. If, during an encounter, players meet a character whose reaction is uncertain, the card suit die is rolled in conjunction with 3d6. Black suits mean dislike, with the SPADE equalling hate, while red equals like, the HEART being great favor. The 3d6 give a bell-shaped probability curve of 3-18, with 9-12 being the mean spread. SPADE 18 means absolute and unchangeable hate, while HEART 18 indicates the opposite. CLUBS or DIAMONDS can be altered by discourse, rewards, etc. Thus, CLUBS 12 could possibly be altered to CLUBS 3 by offer of a tribute or favor, CLUBS 3 changed to DIAMONDS 3 by a gift, etc.

I’ve read the DMG a couple of times and I didn’t notice that passage till recently. The dice sound cool – similar to crown and anchor dice but better because they have a sort of bell curve built in, with some suits more common than others. (For that reason, they seem like they’d be pretty useless for most card-game purposes.) I haven’t found these dice in an eBay search, but I’ll keep looking. Funny dice like these – dice with no official game rules attached – beg to be used, and so they stretch the fabric of the rules. The big tent of D&D becomes just a tiny bit bigger to accommodate them.

I already have a couple of my own funny dice and their accompanying funny-dice rules.

The danger die: I have a red die with a skull and crossbones on one side. In random-monster, random-complication, or random-unfortunate-event situations, I hand it to a player and say “Roll the danger die. Roll anything you want but don’t roll the skull and crossbones.” Over the course of our recent Isle of Dread playthrough, the players have come to fear the danger die.

The dragon die and the dinosaur die I have a d6 with a dragon on one face. When inside a dragon’s territory, I’d have a player roll the danger die and the dragon die for every random monster check. On various occasions, the dragon die resulted in either panicked flight from, or victorious conquest of, the legendary black dragon from the recent Legends and Lore column. I also have a d6 with a different dinosaur on each face, That saw occasional use on the Isle of Dread. Outside of the Isle, I have a feeling that the dragon die is going to get rolled a lot more.

My dice box is the tin for a peg game called “Yachting: An Exciting Game.” “Y:AEG” is almost worthless as a game, but it came with two cool dice: a d6 with a lighthouse on one side, and a d8 with the cardinal and intermediate directions: North, Northwest, etc. I use these dice all the time.

The weather die: I don’t always roll for random weather each day, but our Isle of Dread campaign featured a druid whose lightning storm spell was much more powerful in stormy weather. Every morning, he’d ask, “What’s the weather today?” and I’d hand him the weather die. (6 means an appropriate-for-climate storm, and the 1/lighthouse means calm and possibly fog.) The result was that there was a lot more weather in the game than I’m used to; and the characters spent a lot more time slogging through mud than they were probably used to. I liked the added layer of detail from checking the weather, and I like that the mechanics of the druid spell makes the weather relevant to one of the characters, and thus, the group.

The direction die: A d8 direction die is built into 1e D&D game rules (both for wind speed and for “grenade-like missiles”). You’re supposed to use 1 for north, 2 for northeast, etc. It’s nice to have the directions right on the die. As a group, we don’t throw a ton of grenades, but we tend to play a lot of naval adventures, so this die gets used all the time.

Little d6es: I don’t always have the energy to go digging for appropriate miniatures for every encounter. About half the dice in my dice box are from a colored assortment of mini d6es. They’re a great mini substitute, and the colors and pips are good for marking factions and hit points. The high point for the mini d6es was during our gonzo epic-level 4th Edition battle against Tiamat. Handfuls of white, black, red, green, and blue d6es each stood for dragons of the appropriate color.

Other dice: I’ve got plenty of other weird dice still waiting for their opportunity to come into their own. I’ve occasionally used the pig die (when the PCs were searching for wild game, and as a stand-in mini for a particularly tough and fat evil cultist) but I haven’t found use for the unicorn, letter, month, or Tower of Gygax die yet. I’m gonna hold on to them all though. A funny die is a house-rule generator. I’m sure all these dice have a use. I just haven’t figured it out yet.

witches are hobbyists

Monday, June 24th, 2013

My random forest monster chart includes witches, which don’t usually get a stat block. The Hag isn’t the same thing. The important thing about witches is that each has her own cottage industry.

Despite the fact that witches gather in covens, and despite the misguided Hansel and Gretel movie where witch mooks are mowed down with machine gun fire, D&D witches are most interesting as lone monsters. Each witch should have a unique and cruel form of magic.

Hansel and Gretel’s witch makes gingerbread. Circe has a pig farm. The witches in the seminal work on witchcraft, Nick Cage’s Wicker Man, keep bees. The Macbeth witches are political wonks, and probably have a Nate Silver-style blog. Each witch has a horrific twist on their own hobby*, but they’re all hobbyists nonetheless, following the dictates of their own peculiar imaginations, and therefore spiritual sisters to D&D players. Some witch probably plays a twisted variant of OD&D where the players suffer the fate of their characters. “Bad luck, your character stumbled into a trap! Roll on the random trap chart! ROLL ON IT!”

When your players randomly encounter a witch, you should take a few seconds to come up with some unique pastime. Or roll on this chart (when you roll an entry, cross it off and write in something new):
1: baker (we used a witch baker recently in the Mearls sidebar)
2: shoemaker (collects feet for study so that the shoes will fit better)
3: mason (turns the victims of her trickery into stones; has a pretty big castle by this point)
4: playwright (captures friend/family groups and compels them to enact horrific Shakespearean tragedies)
5: cooking contest judge (mystery ingredient: pieces of yourself!)
6: randomly choose from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_hobbies – so many good ones to choose from! B-boying, RC car racing, and parkour witches are all great possibilities.

Witches and gender

Because medieval Europeans were weirdos, traditional witches are female. We don’t need to reject this powerful archetype, but we don’t have to be bound to it either. As far as I’m concerned, a witch is a person who seems civilized, but who uses guile and magic to destroy travelers in terrifying ways. Bluebeard is a nice example of a male character with witch-like characteristics (his particular hobby is serial monogamy). Inside the game world, he might not be called a witch, but I’d use witch stats for him.

*I didn’t see the movie, so I can’t say for sure that the Wicker Man witches had a particularly horrific style of beekeeping. I can only hope that they did, and that it involved Nick Cage getting stung, a lot.

pray for paris

Thursday, June 20th, 2013

I saw a dude in the subway wearing this t-shirt. My first thought was “What happened to Paris? Medusa attack?” Turns out Pray for Paris is just a fashion T-shirt line. Paris is just fine. Fleshly as ever.

Got me wondering, though. In a magical D&D world, when some magical catastrophe strikes a city (which must happen, like, every other week) would we see the same outpouring of concern and charity that we do when a natural disaster hits a real city? Is there a Clerics Without Borders in a world with isolated nations and city-states? Would Athens care if something bad happened to Sparta?

Athens and Sparta is actually a good example. I suppose that warring city-states would react to a monstrous threat the way Athens and Sparta did to the Persian invasions. Athenians are foreigners to the Spartans, but the Persians are even more foreign, so the two city-states unite. An army of medusae would be more foreign still.

So this is something that can happen in a D&D city. Word arrives of some horrific magical disaster or attack in a foreign land. People pray. (Clerics leading thousands of believers in prayer probably has a concrete D&D spell effect, maybe casting Stone to Flesh at a distance). People donate coins and iron rations. A band of clerics sets off on a mission against the medusae.* Church bells toll. And maybe the king hires an adventuring band or two.

*This is the source of the famous “Clerics of Paris” statue garden.

our ghouls and ghasts are not as good as the originals

Tuesday, May 28th, 2013

On a Wikipedia binge, I learned the origin of the D&D ghast: Lovecraft’s The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath. (I’ve read it before, but this detail never made an impression on me.)


The ghasts are a race of fearsome humanoids. They are much larger than a man and have a vaguely human face, albeit missing a nose. Their skin is rough and knotty. Their senses are unusually acute; they can see in the dark and have a strong sense of smell. They hop about on a pair of hooved, kangaroo-like legs, and are swift, strong, and agile. They have also been described as lacking a forehead. Ghasts prefer to dwell in complete darkness and have no tolerance for natural light — sunlight will kill them instantly.

That grotesque kangaroo-hopping detail is what gets me. Make these guys pack hunters who travel, say, twice as fast as the PCs, and, whether they’re chasing you across midnight plains or down pitch-black dungeon corridors, you’ve got a really creepy monster.

D&D ghasts, on the other hand, are like ghouls but they smell bad. As far as I’m concerned, D&D ghasts now hop like kangaroos.

Score: D&D 0, Lovecraft 1

Ghouls, of course, are from Arabian folklore (the earliest mention is in the Arabian Nights). Arabian Nights ghuls act a lot like D&D ghouls: they hang out in graveyards, eat human flesh, etc. “The creature also preys on young children, drinks blood, steals coins, and eats the dead, then taking the form of the person most recently eaten.

Ghouls were already one of my favorite D&D encounters, but this is the detail they’ve been missing. A shuffling pack of ghouls, each with the familiar face of their victims, partakes somewhat of the horror of doppelgangers and somewhat of zombie-movie zombies, but it has its own special something. This isn’t a “this zombie was once my buddy” pathos moment, or a “my buddy was a doppelganger all along” chills moment; this is a “this ghoul ate my buddy’s face, and now he’s wearing it” rage moment.

In the past, I’ve had my ghoul-eaten PCs return as ghouls, but I think that from now on I’ll have the original ghouls take on the PCs’ appearances.

Score: D&D 0, Arabian Nights 1

unnamed Gygax and Grubb campaign setting

Monday, May 20th, 2013

This week, two exciting, unpublished TSR settings collided in my head to form a third setting.

setting 1: Jeff Grubb project

On the latest WOTC D&D podcast, Steve Winter talked about the great campaign-world books that came out of Second Edition D&D. He said that, for every kick-ass setting like Planescape or Al’Quadim, they had a bunch of ideas just as good – they just didn’t have time to print them all. Prompted, he described one of the settings that he’d never forgotten:

There’s one that always comes to mind: it was proposed by Jeff Grubb, and I forget what the name of it was, but the idea was, it was a world where there were all these mountain ranges, and all of civilization – the good part of civilization – has been driven up to the tops of these mountains, and then there’s a tremendously thick cloud layer, so wherever the sun shines is where good exists. Everything beneath the cloud layer has been overrun by evil. There are cloud ships that sail out from these mountain-top cities across the clouds, and the adventurers rappel down to the world where they go raiding the ruined cities that used to be down there, looking for gold, metal, and all the kinds of things that they don’t have in these mountaintop cities.

As Steve Winter says, that idea isn’t quite as fresh as it was in the late 80s (he’s seen elements in anime, and it reminds me of Final Fantasy) but I think it’s still an evocative and inspiring world. I’m ready to play it! But, since all we have is a podcast sound bite and not a campaign book, I’m left with a lot of questions: exactly what kind of evil lurks in the cloudy lowlands? What does the wilderness look like?

setting 2: “The Original D&D Setting”

Here’s the other great setting I read this week: The Original D&D Setting, a series of blog posts by Wayne Rossi. This teases out the weirdness that you get if you take the original OD&D books and play its assumptions to the hilt. Griffin-riding Arthurian knights wait inside sinister castles, swamps crawl with dinosaurs, there are Martian creatures in the desert, and undead shamble through cities.

Wayne Rossi provides a “campaign map” of this strange wild land: James Mishler’s version of the Outdoor Survival map that Gygax used for his wilderness adventures. When I took a close look at it, I noticed that three areas had little snow-capped peaks – presumably impassable. That’s when the Steve Winter idea crash-landed into the setting. What if those white-capped peaks aren’t covered with snow, but shining with sunlight? What if they’re the only safe places in the setting, and the PCs descend from the mountains to explore the misty lands of Wilderness Survival?

A couple of nice things happen when we combine these settings:

getting lost

Getting lost is a big deal in Wilderness Survival, and in the OD&D exploration rules. If you roll badly, you can end up wandering north when you think you’re going south. I’ve always wondered how getting lost by 180 degrees can happen on a sunny day, when you always know which ways East and West are. But suddenly, in this setting, it’s possible! Beneath the cloud cover, you can’t see the sun or the stars, and navigation is much harder than it is in a traditional outdoor adventure.

cities

Even if you’ve played a campaign on the classic Wilderness Survival map before, this setting inverts it. Usually, peaks are impassable and towns are your home base. Now, peaks are safe in a way that no valley village is. Cities will be places of horror: mockeries of safety.

In OD&D, in a city encounter, 50% of the time you roll on the “men” subtable and 50% of the time you roll on the “undead” subtable. Even in straight OD&D, there are way more undead in cities than we’re used to from later adventure settings. It really makes sense in this below-the-clouds horror setting, where, as Steve Winter says, the ruined cities are the primary dungeons. Since it’s always cloudy, you’re never safe from sun-fearing undead like vampires. Maybe the cities are filled with vampire lords who keep humans (the “men” encounters) as their cattle; maybe anyone who dies down here becomes undead, so cities are amoung the most dangerous places in the world; maybe the cities are straight-up dungeons ruled by necromancers and evil high priests (who together form 1/6 of the encounters on the “men” subtable).

Wayne points out that the arrangement of the cities is odd: there are five in a cross in the middle of the map, and the central one is in the forest. If we’re saying that ruined cities are the main dungeons of the settings, the central one, overgrown by eerie forest, is probably the scariest and most dangerous dungeon.

castles

Most OD&D castle encounters, with wizards and clerics who enslave you and high-level fighters who challenge you, fit squarely into Steve Winter’s description of the wilderness as “overrun by evil.” While cities are the megadungeons of the settings, castles might be the bite-sized minidungeons that the players can try to clear in a single adventure.

Wayne Rossi makes the point that, according to the number of castles on the Wilderness Survival map and the castle-inhabitant charts, you’d expect three of the castles to be controlled by good clerics. I have my eye on the three castles in the mountain pass near the largest mountain peak area.

Wayne suggests that these good clerics are all part of one holy order dedicated to recapturing the land from evil. This makes sense to me. We can say that, while the surface of the world is nearly overrun with evil, there is one little area where a holy order has a foothold. This is the likely starting point of the PCs’ adventures: these castles control the only safe way to ascend to the mountain peaks. From the southernmost castle, it’s only 4 hexes to the closest city. That will undoubtedly be the first dungeon that the PCs tackle.

rivers

OK, there’s something I haven’t figured out. According to OD&D, rivers are just swarming with buccaneers and pirates. Who are they preying on? Each other?

Steve Winter said that cloud ships travel from mountain peak to mountain peak. Maybe the buccaneers and pirates are based on the river, but their ships can ascend to the clouds to attack cloud shipping. Maybe the pirates even have flying submarines.

That said, if pirates can fly, why do they spend so much time on the river? Maybe someone can solve this for me.

Another thing: there are a lot of flying monsters in the original OD&D encounter tables – dragons, griffins, chimerae. Can they threaten the mountain settlements and cloud ships, or are they confined to the lowlands?

This week I’ll try to delve more into the implications of this setting.

the art of titan: the fighting fantasy world

Monday, April 22nd, 2013

I had Ian Livingstone and Steve Jackson’s Titan: The Fighting Fantasy World when I was a kid. If I may Grognardia for a minute, I have to say that I didn’t think much of it when I was a kid. For some reason I perceived it as a pretentious challenger to D&D’s dominance. Now I see that it’s a loving D&D pastiche, with orcs, elves, and D&D off-brand monsters like Tua-suo and Dvorgar. It’s not pretentious at all. It’s enthusiastic, and very charming. I’ve already stolen a few ideas for my D&D game.

One of the most charming things about the book is the art. Like the content of the book, most of it looks like it would be at home in an 80s TSR product. One of my favorites is this painting of the world’s fantasy metropolis, the City of Thieves:

Perhaps more useful in a game is this sideways map of a wizard’s tower. It’s presented as the home of a friendly wizard, and it isn’t immediately useful in that context. But as a dungeon it would be tops. It reminds me of Jeff Rients’s vertical dungeons. It looks like it would be great fun keying each one of these rooms – though it is a little linear, I’ll admit. And because it’s so detailed, you could actually simulate a character making a search check by having the player find an item – possibly folding or covering parts of the map so that only one floor could be searched at once.

It would also be a kick-ass tower to give to one of the PCs as their home base.

Finally, here’s a nice Russ Nicholson critter for your collection:

Why is that one guy pouring from his cup into another cup? Don’t goblins care about GERMS?

in praise of the funhouse dungeon

Monday, April 8th, 2013

A Dungeon Master’s Tale reminded me that “the dungeon is the mythic underworld; the sprawling underdark manufactured or discovered by the Ancients and now given over entirely to enigmatic and inscrutable things.” I’ve seen that mythic underworld phrase before but it resonated with me this time.

I usually try to make each of my dungeons a themed, well-justified, sensible little environment, where the whole tells a story. That’s a worthy goal, but perhaps there are some things that such a tidy dungeon can’t do. I’d like to run a mythic-underworld game, with dream logic and primal hooks from the subconscious and all that Joseph Campbell stuff.

I started to think how I’d make such a dungeon, and I realized that a bunch of good steps – hostile doors and darkness that thwart PC but not monsters, changing maps so that the dungeon is forever unknown – are all in the original OD&D books. I always balked at them because there was no good explanation for them. How’s this for an explanation: it’s the Mythic Underworld, or, to put it another way, it’s a horror movie down there. Dammit Gary! You beat me to all the cool ideas.

I do think there is a place for the sensible, well-curated dungeon, as opposed to a constant diet of funhouse-dungeon pie. To perhaps overthink it: all underground chambers start as sensible environments, but if left alone they eventually “go bad”: huge monsters spontaneously generate in rooms with tiny doors, strange altars emerge from the rock, passages connect to other dungeons. A complicated labyrinth under a palace might remain under its builders’ control for centuries as long as they patrol each part of it. But woe betide them if they forget about some locked broom closet for a few decades. It might turn into a stairway, leading down…

jared, health, art

Wednesday, March 20th, 2013

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

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

Here are 2 of the 10 paintings:

Coroner's Dungeon

And the map key:

Coroner's Dungeon key

More…

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

randomly generate aeons of warring empires

Monday, March 18th, 2013
In this post, I use Mediterranean history to create charts that randomly generate plausible history. If you want to skip the numbercrunching, here are the charts:

1: Each century, for each already-existing empire, roll 1d4:
1-3: It continues to be important.
4: It dissolves or becomes unimportant.

2: How many new empires arose this century? Roll 1d6.
1-2: 0
3: 1
4: 2
5-6: 1d4

What does a plausible fantasy history look like? In order to feel familiar, it should avoid the monolithic extremes of 30,000 years of barbarism of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation and the 1000 generations of peace of Star Wars’ Old Republic. Better to stick to something more like Earth history: constantly changing borders as competing empires rise and fall. Not only does this feel more realistic, it lends itself better to D&D play. A big pool of fallen-empires-of-the-week provides diverse dungeons and treasure.

I decided that, to better determine what imperial histories look like, I’d count up a representative sample of Earth empires: How many exist side-by-side, and how often do they arise? From there, I could extrapolate random charts to generate my own game worlds. I limited myself to the Mediterranean from 500 BC to 1500 AD (after iron and before the New World). This is a manageable piece of the world. The Mediterranean is fairly easy to travel, so co-existing empires can interact. Furthermore, it provides the history many of us are familiar with.

Empires of the Mediterranean, 500 BC to 1500 AC

(A lot of data is from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_largest_empires. Specific dates are arguable, but I’m just trying to get a rough count here.)

How long do empires last?

It looks like empires have a half-life of a little more than 200 years: of the 27 Mediterranean empires, half (14) are dead after 200 years, 8 more after another 200, and 4 more after another 200. Only the Byzantine empire defies the odds for 1200 years. You’d be pretty close to accurate if you said that each empire has a 3 in 4 chance of surviving each century.

How often do empires start?

In the 21 century-marks I examine, 7 see the birth of 0 empires, 6 see 1, 5 see 2, 2 see 3, and one exciting century (1200) sees 4 empires arise. Here’s a d6 chart that models that pretty closely.
1-2: 0 new empires
3: 1
4: 2
5-6: 1d4

How big is each empire?

That’s extremely variable, even over the course of a single empire’s lifetime. Most empires reach their height around the middle. The Macedonian empire started small, conquered all of the Mediterranean overnight, and then shrunk again. The Bulgarian empire, on the other hand, is donut-shaped: it started at a decent size, disappeared briefly when it was conquered by the Byzantines, and then re-established itself. Therefore, I won’t make any dice charts for this one. Look at your campaign map and see what fits where. Generally, if an empire shares the world with many rivals, it’s probably smaller, and if it’s alone, it probably spans the known world.

The final empire-building model:

For every 100 years of ancient history, roll on the following tables.

1: Each century, for each already-existing empire, roll 1d4:
1-3: It continues to be important.
4: It dissolves or becomes unimportant.

2: How many new empires arose this century? Roll 1d6.
1-2: 0
3: 1
4: 2
5-6: 1d4

Differences between the Mediterranean and your campaign world: Monsters and magic!

Your campaign world is probably wilder than ancient and medieval Mediterranean, which should reduce the rise of empires. On the other hand, magic increases each country’s logistic and military might. People must compete for land with monsters, which reduces their imperial resources – but on the other hand, monsters can start their own empires. Let’s say that these opposing factors cancel out. Just make sure that a few of your empires are ruled by demi-humans, humanoids, or monsters. In my campaign world, I’d expect humans to be the major empire-builders. Obviously I have no real-world numbercrunching to do here, so I will just make up an extra, top-of-my-head d6 chart:

Who rules each new empire? Roll 1d6 for each new empire.
1-4: human
5: humanoid or demihuman (orc, elf, etc)
6: monster (vampire, lich, etc)

OR you can just play a game of Small World.

Edit: Gallowglas wrote a sweet random empire generator using these rules. I tried it a few times, and it works great, and I saw some interesting history unfold! Thanks!

d&d is inspired by westerns

Monday, March 11th, 2013
This entry is part 1 of 2 in the series everybook

In Men & Magic, Gary Gygax says that D&D is “strictly fantasy. Those wargamers who lack imagination, those who don’t care for Burroughs’ Martian adventures where John Carter is groping through black pits, who feel no thrill upon reading Howard’s Conan saga, who do not enjoy the de Camp & Pratt fantasies or Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser pitting their swords against evil sorceries will not be likely to find DUNGEONS and DRAGONS to their taste.”

Re-reading Burroughs’ A Princess of Mars recently, I was struck with how explicitly it’s a Western. John Carter fights savages on dead sea bottoms, gropes through caverns looking for treasure, and fights weird monsters. And that’s all before he goes to Mars. The first episode of the novel is a shoot-em-up Arizona adventure which encapsulates all the rest of the book. Mars is Arizona writ large, with bigger and drier deserts, more savage natives, more accurate guns, faster horses, and more faithful dogs. In structure, the book is a lot like the Wizard of Oz movie: a reasonably plausible day, followed by a fantasy dream sequence version of the same events.

The second of Gygax’s sources, Howard’s Conan, is similar. Howard was a Texan who wrote Westerns along with his fantasy stories, cowboys-in-the-Middle East stories, and boxing stories. It’s frequently argued that Conan is a Western hero. His martial skills allow him to triumph over the lawless savages and over the decadent “civilized” folk of his wild land. That’s what cowboys do.

That’s two of Gygax’s Big Four. De Camp & Pratt and their characters are highly-educated scientists and historians, and Leiber and his heroes are urban goofballs. D&D is inspired by no one tradition. But if you scratch the surface, you’ll find that D&D is as much Boot Hill as it is Tolkein.