Archive for the ‘advice/tools’ Category

using the Ravenloft board game to make 4e less “board gamey”

Tuesday, November 30th, 2010

Castle Ravenloft uses simplified D&D mechanics. Movement speed and tactical positioning are of reduced importance, so, ironically, the Ravenloft board game points to a version of 4e D&D that can be played off the battlemap, without minis.

Most Ravenloft monsters move 1 room per turn. Extremely fast ones, like wolves, move 2 rooms. A room is a dungeon tile: it might be, say, four by four squares. At this lower level of granularity, though, we’re usually not dealing with squares; we’re dealing with zones or range bands: concepts used by RPGs that are less finicky and tactical than D&D.

If you applied these movement rules to D&D combats, most combatants will probably end up in the same zone. Suddenly, it becomes pretty easy to track everyone’s position without a map. Chances are, all the melee fighters are going to be in the same zone, and some ranged guys will be one or two zones away. You could track this on a little zone chart, or even in your head.

This is not a ready-to-play 4e D&D houserule: 4e has too many game elements that involve shifts, pushes, pulls, and other square-based movement. It’s more of a wishful fantasy for 5e. Sometimes I like playing a tactical encounter on a battlemat, and sometimes I like to run a combat in everybody’s imagination. In my magical perfect D&D game: let’s call it Pauls and Dragons: every such rule would have two rules writeups, one for battlemat play and one for no-map play. Example:

Battle Push
Tactical map rule: The target is pushed up to 3 squares to a square that is not adjacent to any other creature.
Mapless rule: On the target’s next turn, it must spend a move action before it makes a melee attack.

In this imperfect world, one might want to play mapless 4e even without the full Pauls and Dragons rules being available. Here are some quick rules substitutions for zone-based D&D:

Adjacent: Everyone in the same zone is considered to be adjacent to everyone else.

Combat advantage: Movement can be used to gain abstract positioning.

When a push, pull, slide, or shift power is used, the actor makes a saving throw, with a bonus equal to the number of squares pushed, pulled, slid, or shifted. On a success, the actor gains combat advantage against another creature in the same zone. Combat advantage lasts until the actor or the subject moves again.

Hindering terrain: Pushes, pulls, and slides can move a creature into a pit or other dangerous terrain in the same zone. The pusher/puller/slider makes a saving throw, with a bonus equal to the number of squares pushed, pulled, or slid. On a success, the victim is moved into the hindering terrain. (The victim gets its usual saving throw to avoid being moved into the terrain.)

you find 400 gp and 50 cattle

Thursday, November 25th, 2010

For most of history, cattle were the primary form of wealth. This is a form of treasure that would be extremely annoying for PCs to deal with, and therefore should be exploited.

Let’s say that there is a people that exclusively uses cattle for wealth. Gold jewelry may be valued as a luxury good but is not used as currency. The PCs need to buy something from the king of this people.

To strike a deal with the king, the PCs will have to go to the nearest place that accepts gold, and buy a herd of cattle. They will then have to drive it to the king and enter negotiations.

I’d make the cattle drive a skill challenge. Besides nature checks, any smart decision made by the PCs (for instance, to hire experienced cattle drivers) would count as a success. More successes would mean that less cattle wandered away during the cattle drive.

Also, a lot of cattle-wealth cultures area also cattle-stealing cultures (highland Scots for instance). Therefore, there would be a few combat encounters on the way to the king; raiders whose intent was not to kill the PCs but to distract them long enough to panic the herd and make off with a few cows.

When the PCs meet the king, he’d say something like “My spies inform me that you lost x% of your cattle on your way.” He’d judge the PCs accordingly. If the PCs had done a bad job, he’d be more likely to think the PCs were weak and steal the rest of the cattle himself.

mazes and monsters: holy man in manhattan

Monday, November 8th, 2010
This entry is part 13 of 34 in the series Mazes and Monsters

Raise your hand if you’d like to see Tom Hanks harassed by street toughs! Because it’s HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.

While Tom Hanks’ friends are searching for him fruitlessly, he’s totally been subsumed by his Mazes and Monsters persona. As Pardieux, he’s haplessly stumbling around 80’s New York, which as we know is grittier, uglier, more lawless, and generally more old-school than modern New York.

Naturally, it’s not long before he has an encounter with 1d3 human bandits.

Notice that Tom Hanks, in his Pardieux persona, is making no effort to avoid being surrounded by the thugs. Apparently MAZES AND MONSTERS DOES NOT HAVE FLANKING RULES.

The thugs notice Tom Hanks’ little leather dice bag.

THUG: Hey, what is that? Give it to me!
HANKS: It’s my spells! I guard them with my life.

Confirmed: spells are physical objects which can be held in a dice bag.

Spells are small physical objects which you can find in a maze, each of which can trigger a unique magic power. If you have a sufficiently high Level, and are of a spell-casting class, you can cast these spells. Spells are reusable.

Tom runs from the two muggers, but is cornered in an alley. He takes out what appears to be a flower petal from his dice bag and flourishes it at the thugs, but it has no effect.

I guess he doesn’t have enough mana or something. Or maybe they made their saving throw.

One of the muggers lumbers forward, and, through Tom Hank’s Mazed eyes, we see it as a horrible monster!

I think that’s a Gorville, right? Based on the frequency with which Tom encounters them, Gorvilles must be like the orcs of the Mazes and Monsters setting. Where do they get their crazy name? Illinois, I’m guessing.

A Holy Man is supposed to prefer spells and reason to violence. Tom Hanks has tried spells on the thugs. He doesn’t really make any effort to try reason; he instead scuffles with the thugs, and he ends up stabbing one of them with a switchblade. Bad Holy Man! No Experience for you! The Great Hall must be rolling over in his foggy tube.

After a brief interlude of sanity, during which he summons his allies via payphone, Tom loses it again and finds an open door that leads to the tunnels beneath the subway. “A maze!” he breathes.

How do people find these entrances to off-limits subterranean complexes beneath cities? It looks so easy for the guys in Mazes and Monsters, Beauty and the Beast, and Neverwhere. I’ve been commuting in New York for years and I’ve never passed an unguarded door marked “Steam Tunnels: Absolutely No Admittance Unless You Are On a Hero’s Journey.” But maybe the doors are there and my workaday eyes just can’t see them.

The steam tunnels are fairly light on monsters, but Tom Hanks does cower and cover his ears when he hears a train going past. He decides that the noise must be the passing of the “Giant Dragon.”

Bestiary
Dragon: The Dragon breathes fire on his foes.
Giant Dragon: The Giant Dragon’s roar is a Sonic attack that deafens all who hear it.

Next, Tom Hanks meets a crazy moleman (a friendly NPC) and pumps him for information.

Not everyone you meet in a Maze will be hostile. You may encounter other adventurers, wise guides, or peasants scraping out a living among the maze’s many perils. Make sure to ask for aid and information, for foreknowledge of the dangers ahead may spell the difference between victory and death!

“Can you tell me of the Giant Dragon?” Tom asks the puzzled moleman. “Does he stand guard over the treasure?”

Clever, Tom Hanks! Do your legwork before you fight the dragon. It’s investigative chops like that that will land you your role in Dragnet.

The Giant Dragon is a Boss monster, worthy to stand guard over the maze’s treasure.

Note to the Maze Controller: Not every Boss monster guards the maze’s treasure. A Maze may contain a second Boss monster, whose purpose is to decoy rash players into unnecessary danger. Players should make sure that powerful creatures guard a treasure before they run such a risk as to offer battle.

Similarly, a treasure may be hidden with no Boss monster to mark its location. In such a case, you may be sure it will be cleverly hidden and guarded by many cunning Traps!

Next Monday, the LAST RECAP OF MAZES AND MONSTERS, complete with lots of creepy footage of the Twin Towers, and a magificent closing monologue from Tom Hanks that will cement his place in history as America’s Foremost Actor. Don’t miss it!

separate combat and noncombat abilities

Tuesday, November 2nd, 2010

I was one of those who obsessively read previews and developer blogs in the leadup to 4e. There was one post – I wish I could find it now – about how, in 3e and previous editions, utility spells and combat spells were mixed together, which meant that utility spells got the shaft. For instance, if you have a choice between memorizing Detect Secret Doors and Magic Missile, you’re probably going to choose Magic Missile – the one useful in combat. In 4e, they made a distinction between attack powers and utility powers. I think this was a great idea – as far as it went.

A suggestion for Fifth Edition, guys! A distinction between combat and utility/noncombat is direly needed in feats. The Linguist feat is notoriously untakeable, because there’s always something you could take instead that would improve your combat build. Sure, you can always choose to make a substandard combat build in pursuit of your character concept, but I don’t think you should have to make that choice.

D&D is focused on combat. Combat is where the rules complexity is. (Skill challenges are the first attempt ever at adding rules complexity and structure to noncombat scenes, and it’s still nowhere near the complexity and structure of combat.) Combat is where the real potential for failure and death is. (Failure in a skill challenge, we are told repeatedly, does not stop the adventure: it adds complication, often in the form of extra combat.) Combat is where we get competition and high stakes – the “us vs the DM” part of the game – in other words, the game part of the game.

Combat is both where players have the most actual power over the outcome, and where the stakes are highest. A party can win or lose a combat. A single combat ability or feat can make the difference between an enemy dead or alive, resources spent or kept, and victory and TPK.

Outside of combat, PC abilities – even noncombat abilities – are less important. In railroad-style adventures (a perfectly legitimate and a very common adventure structure), the PCs can do something if the DM wants them to do it, and can’t if the DM doesn’t. There may be some skill checks as window dressing, but it’s mostly for show. In sandbox or player-directed campaigns, the dice are often put aside for long stretches and the DM makes a lot of judgment calls based on the logic of the situation. Rarely do player abilities – their overland travel speed, say, or their History checks – visibly tip the balance between failure and success in the adventure. (But a good DM tries to give the impression that they do.)

Therefore, asking players to choose a noncombat feat over a combat feat is unfair. You’re asking them to give up a concrete benefit in the heavily structured part of the game in exchange for a benefit of uncertain value in the freeform part of the game, which often comes down to little more than character flavor. It’s a choice between roll-play and role-play, which is (or should be) a false dichotomy.

A lot of 4e feats try to offer a balance: they give you a noncombat ability, and because they know that noncombat isn’t enticing enough, they sweeten the deal with a small combat bonus.

Some examples:

  • Light Step, which increases your overland travel speed and the difficulty for opponents to follow you – cool stuff you could probably use in a skill challenge – and you get 2 points added to skills. Prerequisite: elf. Compare it to Skill Focus, which gives you +3 to skills.
  • Wild Senses, which gives you a large bonus for tracking creatures, and +3 to initiative. Prerequisite: shifter. Compare to Improved Initiative, which is +4 to initiative.
  • Animal Empathy: Bonus to Insight checks against natural beasts, and +2 to Nature skill. Prerequisite: Trained in Nature. Compare to Skill Focus: Nature, which is +3 Nature.

    You aren’t giving up much combat ability by taking these feats, but you are giving up some. In my opinion, you shouldn’t have to give up any. By creating the Light Step feat, you are saying that a bonus to tracking and overland movement is worth +1 Initiative. You shouldn’t ever have to compare these – they are in different spheres.

    I have two possible fixes:

    Solution 1: Feats That Do Two Things

    Make good combat feats – not watered-down feats, but feats just as good as combat-only feats – that also provide a noncombat ability. For instance, make the Wild Senses Initiative bonus just as good as Improved Initiative.

    You could actually have several feats, each of which provided +4 feat bonus to Initiative, and gave different noncombat bonuses. Players could choose whichever one fit best with their conception of their character.

    Or, if you don’t want to totally eliminate Improved Initiative, you could do what all the feats I mentioned above did: have a prerequisite. All of the cool noncombat-ability versions of Improved Initiative could require a certain race, attribute, or skill training. If you don’t qualify for any, you can always take Improved Initiative.

    It’s not always easy to see how to combine combat and noncombat abilities. What combat advantage would you tie with Linguist?

    Solution 2: Combat and Utility Feats

    Divide feats into combat and utility feats. At some levels, you get one, and at some, the other. As with powers, combat feats would predominate.

    It might be hard to police this. Someone would always find some wacky ability that lets your Intuition check be used as an attack roll, or something, and then a bunch of supposedly-noncombat feats would become combat-useful. Still, I think it would be a reasonable approach.

  • jewels in The Jewel of Seven Stars

    Saturday, October 30th, 2010

    The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker


    The stone, of one piece of which it was wrought, was such as I had never seen before. At the base it was of a full green, the colour of emerald without, of course, its gleam. It was not by any means dull, however, either in colour or substance, and was of infinite hardness and fineness of texture. The surface was almost that of a jewel. The colour grew lighter as it rose, with gradation so fine as to be imperceptible, changing to a fine yellow almost of the colour of “mandarin” china. It was quite unlike anything I had ever seen, and did not resemble any stone or gem that I knew.

    Here’s a peculiar treasure: a beautiful stone of rare appearance. It has absolutely no magical qualities. What do the PCs do with it? Well, if they give it to a sculptor, they will be able to commission one small statue of surpassing quality and loveliness – that sculptor’s master work.

    What will they do with the stone? Will a PC commission something personally meaningful? Will they give it to a patron NPC to curry favor? Will they commission something stupid? or will they let it sit unclaimed on someone’s character sheet?

    I have a feeling that a lot of groups will take such a stone as a challenge to come up with something cool, and that will increase their investment in the game world.

    the mummy’s curse in fiction

    Wednesday, October 27th, 2010

    Monster Manuals have never dealt with the classic “mummy’s curse”. Monster Manual mummies give you “mummy rot”, a disease which has slightly different effects across the editions, but it’s always just a workplace hazard for mummy killers. When you come out of the temple, you head to the cleric to get your disease removed, and that’s the end of it.

    The mummy’s curse superstition seems to have something to do with a lingering doom that hangs over the heads of those who disturb mummies,and is something like, “100 years after the tomb was opened, NOT ONE of the excavators remained alive!” Inasmuch as it makes any sense at all, it’s about death under mysterious circumstances, some time after the adventure, of seemingly healthy people. DON’T VIOLATE MUMMY TOMBS, or you’ll get approximately the same kind of bad luck you get by breaking a chain letter, or not being on that one flight.

    Could we actually come up with game rules for the mummy’s curse? The 4e Unearthed Arcana “Curses!” article might be a place to start. What I’d like to see, though, is official rules text like

    Any PC who disturbs the sarcophagus is subject to THE MUMMY’S CURSE. THE MUMMY’S CURSE cannot be removed by Remove Curse, Remove Disease or any other means short of Limited Wish or Wish. THE MUMMY’S CURSE has no immediate effects. However, the PC should note it on his or her character sheet.

    The actual effects of the Mummy’s Curse should be SO HORRIBLE that, lest PCs discover countermeasures, they are NEVER PUBLISHED IN ANY BOOK. Heck, maybe the effects of the curse are determined retroactively. Like, when the PCs are finally eaten by gnolls, the DM leans over and taps the character sheet. “MUMMY’S CURSE,” he says.

    the curse of the mummy’s curse

    Tuesday, October 26th, 2010

    In honor of Halloween, it’s mummy week at blogofholding! All mummies, all week!

    Mummies have had a rough ride. They’re the afterthought of the undead, in D&D as in pop culture.

    It’s easy to drop a vampire in to an adventure because they’re generic; sure, Count Dracula is Transylvanian, but it’s easy to imagine a vampire from elsewhere. Mummies, on the other hand, are tied to a specific Earthly time and place. Just as you can’t have the party fight Franklin Delano Roosevelt without explaining how he got from 1930s USA, it’s hard to drop a mummy into an adventure without dropping in Egypt too. If you include a mummy, do you include heiroglyphics? Pyramids? A stripy King Tut beard?

    There are 3 ways you can go with mummies:

    Crazy Funhouse Dungeon Land. You roll on Wandering Monster table VII and get a mummy. You look up the mummy description: you see that the “No. Appearing” column says 2-8, so you roll the dice and the party fights 6 mummies. That’s just how it goes in Crazy Funhouse Dungeon.

    Egypt Land. You put an Egypt-flavored ancient civilization in your campaign world. In a RPG that revolves around robbing tombs, that’s not terribly hard to work in. You probably throw the mummy into a trapped tomb into a desert; you might include a sphinx as well. Pyramids are optional, but maybe a little too much?

    The problem with this approach (if it is a problem) is that this adventure will feel very Egyptian, and not very, say, Greyhawk.

    Mummy in a Strange Land. You reflavor the mummy with a bizarre new origin, sufficiently different that it doesn’t read as an Egypt analogue. For instance, mummies are the keepers of a vast extradimensional library. When a librarian dies, he is swathed in book pages related to his area of expertise. He is then brought to unlife as a mummy so that he can continue his librarian duties, but as a mummy, he knows only what is written on the pages of his wrappings. Mummies are often encountered in dungeons searching for ancient books to add to their mummy wrappings. (Am I vaguely remembering this from something I read, or did I make this up?)

    Reflavoring the mummy is an uphill struggle, because the Egypt mummy story is so well-established that it will take a pretty strong flavor to overpower it.

    Circumnavigate the D&D globe!

    Friday, October 22nd, 2010

    In a comparison of the east and west coasts of Africa, the book mentioned that prevailing winds are southern on the west African coast. Until improved ship designs in the 15th century, ships could sail down the coast of Africa, but they could not sail back!

    African Civilizations by Graham Connah

    African Civilizations by Graham Connah

    It must have sucked figuring that out. If you went south too far in a medieval ship, you’d probably never get home. You might try to land and walk back home, but good luck crossing the Sahara Desert.

    D&D ships are probably of medieval design, and it is quite possible that, as in the real world, there may be one-way journeys for D&D ships. Here’s a natural way to impose the same kind of walls and one-way doors on the campaign map that exist in the dungeon.

    Imagine the easternmost continent of a campaign world has a prevailing easterly wind along its deadly southern coast. Once you go too far, it’s impossible to sail back to the known world. Let’s say that there’s a tempting ruin right on the edge of the point of no return. Getting there requires a ship-based skill challenge. Success means that the PCs get to the ruin. Failure means that the PCs’ ship is caught in the current/prevailing wind and has no way of getting home except by circumnavigating the globe, which will take a year or more. Here is a skill challenge with major consequences for failure! Failing the challenge would change the nature of the campaign, potentially for many game sessions, into a ship-based Odyssey campaign. Failure in this case might be much more interesting than success.
    (more…)

    blind decisions

    Tuesday, October 19th, 2010

    I remember once, DMing a dungeon crawl, saying something like “The path forks. Will you go left or right?” The players looked at me blankly for a few seconds before someone said, “Uhhh, we’ll go right.” I realized I had just presented the players with an uninteresting decision. The players had zero information, so they chose randomly.

    I don’t remember what was to the left or right in that situation, but let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I had said, instead, “The path forks. The left fork leads to a dead end, and the right fork leads to an encounter with a troll.” This would also have been an uninteresting decision. No party would ever choose the dead end.
    (more…)

    antics

    Tuesday, October 5th, 2010

    Read Jeff Rients’ hilarious description of one of his best D&D sessions ever. You’ll notice it involves the PCs DECIDING, FOR NO GOOD REASON, THAT THEY NEED TO BE IN A PARADE.

    Let me tell you about two of my best D&D sessions ever.

    THE RATLING PLAY

    I occasionally run a one-shot “ratling game”, where everyone plays anthropomorphic rats. By unspoken consent, everyone always makes wisdom their dump stat (or plays like it). It always devolves into lunacy.

    On one occasion, the ratlings discovered that their home city did not pay proper reverence to Smidanoonan, the Rat God. Smidanoonan’s statue was (pointedly, they felt) absent from the row of statues on Godsbridge.

    The ratlings decided they needed to construct a Rat God statue and stick it to the bridge with a dot of Sovereign Glue. For some reason they decided that they needed to do this WHILE PUTTING ON A PLAY. I think the play was part of a previous plan that was abandoned, but by then they’d already printed up the posters.

    The session culminated with the performance of the play. The capstone of the entertainment was the raising of the statue to the bridge: the statue was too heavy for the ratlings to lift, so they decided they’d tie one end of a rope to the statue, the other end to a horse, and then get the horse to jump off the bridge.

    I, the DM, was privately sure they would not be able to get the horse to jump off the bridge. I didn’t have enough faith in my players. At the critical moment of the play, one of the ratlings used a fear-based attack to spook the horse; another, a Beguiler, created an illusion of a green field off the side of the bridge. The horse jumped over the bridge’s rail and fell into the river, raising the statue of Smidanoonan to amaze and horrify the assembled human audience.

    Not only did this game session involve no combat encounters, it involved almost no DM work at all. The magic was all due to the players taking the bit between their teeth and doing whatever the hell they wanted to do: I just handled some light adjudication.

    THE GOD MACHINE

    I was involved in another D&D play, this time as a PC. A troop of hobgoblins had captured the children of the village. When we tracked the hobgoblins to their lair, we discovered that the children actually liked the hobgoblins better than the villagers and didn’t want to go back! We DECIDED, FOR NO GOOD REASON, TO PUT ON A PLAY to win back the children.

    I believe the hobgoblins put on a rival play, but I don’t remember it. I do remember that, as the wizard, I provided special effects and lighting. The rogue and paladin performed some impressive stagefighting: the play was a morality play about the battle between good and evil, and the outcome was decided by an actual combat between the players. (I think evil won.) Meanwhile, the dwarf, again FOR NO GOOD REASON, had built a device meant to shoot fireballs. (Maybe it was a stage set for Hell?) A few natural 1s on skill checks caused the device to backfire and incinerate the dwarf and several nearby PCs. I think that actually helped us win the play contest.

    All these sessions – Jeff’s parade floats, and the two games I described – involve what can only be categorized as “antics”. Here’s what they all have in common:

    • The players chose the goal.
    • It was a bad goal (something not worth doing in the first place).
    • Neither the DM nor the players had any plan beforehand: everything was improvised.
    • Every game involved public performance by the PCs.
    • Every game involved construction by the PCs.
    • Every game ended in chaos and mayhem.

    The above list is not necessarily a formula for how you should run every D&D session*, but it might be a reminder, for both DMs and players, that the DM doesn’t always need to lead. When the PCs decide they want to go off-course, they can lead the way to a Best Session Ever.

    The horse passed his Swim check, by the way.

    * Unless it is!