Posts Tagged ‘equipment’

everlasting provisions, leveled

Monday, July 18th, 2011
This entry is part 1 of 13 in the series wondrous items, leveled

My old houserules for leveling magic items mean that every piece of magical treasure has the potential to gain power in ways that the players can’t predict. Furthermore, WOTC recently invented the concept of the “rare magic item,” but haven’t given us lots of examples.

While some items may get mechanically better (for instance, a +1 sword becomes a +2 sword), it’s more challenging to improve items that don’t have numeric bonuses. I thought I’d go through the Wondrous Items in the 4e Player’s Handbook and give examples of how each could gain powers that reflect their history.

Everlasting Provisions

This item is provided solely to give PCs a rationale for ignoring food logistics (which they do anyway). Still, even a magic picnic can have a personality of its own.

1. The Guildmaster’s Everlasting Provisions of Coercion
Among the daily items in these Everlasting Provisions is a bottle of fine wine. When the food is created, the user can cause the bottle to either be normal wine, a wine that infects its drinker with Cackle Fever, or a wine that provides a Cackle Fever antidote. The difference between these wines may not be determined by nonmagical means.

The Guildmaster used the diseased wine, and the promise of an antidote, to persuade many people to do her favors who might not otherwise have done so.

2. Chef Aron’s Everlasting Provisions of Inconsistent Quality
Besides the normal, filling meals, every day’s provisions come with beautiful pastries. Each day, the pastries have different effects on all consumers (roll d6):
1: Illness. After an hour, the eaters become sick. Unless they make a DC 17 Endurance check, they lose a healing surge and are Weakened for an hour. On a failure, the check and consequences are repeated every hour until they either succeed on the Endurance check or take an extended rest.
2: Addiction. The consumer can’t stop thinking about the desserts. The next day, the consumer will be Weakened until they eat one of the pastries again or take an extended rest.
3: Normal. The pastries are delicious.
4: Extra healing. The first healing surge spent before the end of the day heals additional hit points equal to the consumer’s Healing Surge.
5: Extra energy. If the consumer has less than two Action Points, they gain an Action Point.
6: Glittering Prizecake of Wonder. Each consumer finds a magical trinket baked into their pastry: it may be equipped into an empty ring, neck, or head slot. While equipped, all skills gain a +2 item bonus. The trinket disappears at the next extended rest.

Chef Aron had no natural gift for cooking, but after doing a favor for a fey lord his banquets would occasionally lead to surprising results.

3. Jeks’ Everlasting Provisions of Shared Understanding
Until the next extended rest, everyone who shares the glasses of whiskey that accompany this meal gets +5 bonuses to Diplomacy and Bluff and -5 penalties to Insight.

Behold the magical tablecloth of Jeks, a diplomat whose conferences usually led to quick agreements, although not always ones of great wisdom.

where did Iron Rations come from?

Thursday, June 9th, 2011

Old school D&D players resonate to the term “Iron Rations”, but where the heck did it come from? Is it even a thing?

1983 Basic equipment list.

1983 Basic equipment list.

From Wikipedia:

“Iron Ration”

The first attempt to make an individual ration for issue to soldiers in the field was the “iron ration”, first introduced in 1907. It consisted of three 3-ounce cakes (made from a concoction of beef bouillon powder and parched and cooked wheat), three 1-ounce bars of sweetened chocolate, and packets of salt and pepper that was issued in a sealed tin packet that weighed one pound. It was designed for emergency use when the troops were unable to be supplied with food. It was later discontinued by the adoption of the “Reserve Ration” but its findings went into the development of the emergency D-ration.

Apparently iron rations were based on World War I-era rations, something Gygax and his historical-war buffs friends would have been familiar with. I’d always assumed that the D&D iron ration was like a badass trail mix, or maybe a granola bar. The actual World War I iron ration sounds solidly less delicious than that. The chocolate bar sounds OK though.

I do remember reading a few adventure books from the World War I era where action-hero types ate chocolate in order to power up. Nutritionists must have recently discovered its energy-boosting properties. One instance I remember is in the Richard Hannay books (spy adventures by John Buchan, including The 39 Steps, later made into a Hitchcock movie). Richard Hannay is ALWAYS talking about chocolate; it is part of his standard adventuring kit, very much the way iron rations would be for a D&D character.

I just did a quick search on Google Books: in the four Richard Hannay novels, chocolate is mentioned 18 times. Usually it’s part of travelling food: “I have some food in my rucksack – biscuits and ham and chocolate”, “sitting on a rock munching chocolate and biscuts”, but it’s also used as a poor man’s stimulant: “I rubbed his arms and legs and made him swallow some chocolate.”

I wonder if this means that chocolate is canonically in the D&D universe now, the way it is in the Star Wars universe?

torches and lanterns

Wednesday, June 1st, 2011

There’s something I don’t like about 4e’s sunrods. They’re very practical, and my group uses them all the time:

1983 Basic equipment list.

1983 Basic equipment list.

DM: Who has low-light vision?
PC: I’m the only human, so I guess I don’t. I pop a sunrod and tie it to my hat.
DM: Problem solved forever!

Somehow, though, my memories of old school dungeoneering are lit by torchlight. The inconvenient micromanagement of who had the torch, and in what hand, brought the torch to players’ minds, and made me picture dungeon explorations in a flickering circle of light. Or is that just the flickering light of nostalgia? I can’t tell: I may have a tendency to mistake unnecessary busywork, like illumination and encumbrance calculation, for fun-enhancing realism.

Torches

Torches were also fun because in a pinch you could use one as a weapon. In some edition – first? – they did 1d6 damage, the same as a shortsword.

Lanterns

Price point aside, lanterns have some advantages over torches. D&D lanterns can be covered, so you can stay stealthy without totally extinguishing your light source. Also, you can presumably put down a lantern while you’re fighting, while I’m not sure that a dropped torch will stay burning. (I’m not sure if that’s covered in the rules either way.)

Tinderboxes

A tinderbox is an odd little item – it doesn’t really do anything, but it’s necessary to make your torches and lanterns work. Surprisingly, tinderboxes – or flint and steel – have survived, even in 4e. You’d think they would have been abstracted into the purchase of torches and lanterns at some point, since players so rarely think about them once they’re done their initial shopping trip.

buying a 10 foot pole

Wednesday, May 25th, 2011

It’s always struck me as kind of weird that a 10-foot pole was something you bought at a store. What kind of store sold it? A carpetry supplies store? An adventurer store, sold specifically for the purpose of tapping suspicious flagstones in ruins? Speaking of flagstones, could the 10′ pole possibly have been sold as a flagstaff?

1983 Basic equipment list.

1983 Basic equipment list.

The pricing of the 10′ pole has led to much mirth. The 10′ pole, unbelievably, made it as far as edition 3.5, where it sold for 2 silver pieces. A 10′ ladder sold for 5 copper pieces. The joke was always that for the price of a 10′ pole, you could buy 4 10′ ladders, remove the rungs, and end up with 2 10′ poles, which you could sell for a profit. Classic D&D economics.

The 10′ pole is also a classic disappears-while-not-in-use item, like a wizard’s familiar. My mind’s eye picture of a 10′ pole is of a guy probing the floor with a stick that is clearly 5 or 6 feet long. 10 feet is about twice as tall as a person! Someone carrying one around would really have to have it in one of their hands, meaning they couldn’t have a shield or torch in their offhand. How else would you carry it? Strap it to your back? Horizontally? You’d have to turn sideways to go through doors. Vertically? You’d have to duck or bow. It would totally prevent you from crawling through any network of twisty little tunnels, all alike.

holy water in Basic D&D

Wednesday, May 18th, 2011

In Basic D&D, Holy water is actually a much worse deal than flaming oil. I don’t know why I ever got it.

1983 Basic equipment list.

1983 Basic equipment list.

Holy water does 1d8 damage to undead creatures. Not too bad: in Basic, only a fighter could reliably do more than 1d6 damage with an attack, and only if you were using the variable weapon damage optional rules. Holy water is still potentially a good choice for a rogue or a magic-user faced with undead.

Flaming oil, on the other hand, did 1d8 the first round and 1d8 the second – twice the damage. Furthermore, it hurt nearly every creature, including undead.

Not only was holy water half the damage and more situational, it also cost 25 gp per vial, compared to oil’s 2 gp.

If I were to play Basic again, I think I’d at least double holy water’s damage.

flaming oil through the editions

Wednesday, May 11th, 2011

I just looked up flaming oil in my Basic D&D book. It did 1d8 damage on the first round and 1d8 in the second. Of course, it was more complicated than its watered-down 4e equivalent, Alchemist’s Fire: with Flaming Oil, you had to douse a guy with oil and then make an easy attack roll to set the enemy on fire.

1983 Basic equipment list.

1983 Basic equipment list.

Still, 2d8 was a lot of damage in Basic D&D. Keep in mind that all weapons do 1d6: variable weapon damage is still listed an optional rule in my 1983 Basic set. Even with the optional rule, oil’s average of 9 damage is the same average as a fighter with 18 strength and a +2 longsword. It’s enough, on average, to kill a 2-hit dice creature in one shot. It’s hard to compare, but in 4e, to kill a 2nd level creature in one hit would take about 40 damage.

There wasn’t much monetary inflation between Basic and 4e – a Basic sword costs 10gp and a 4e sword costs 15 gp – but Basic flaming oil costs 2gp. That’s a tenth of its cost in 4e. Cheaper and more effective.

By the way, I notice that the new 4e alchemist theme allows you to use a free alchemical item as an encounter power. That improves alchemy considerably.

burning through your flaming oil

Wednesday, May 4th, 2011

I’m reconsidering last week’s post about making alchemical items into encounter powers. Maybe part of the charm and flavor of flaming oil, holy water, and the rest are that they are expendable resources, like potions – part of the long-term resource management aspect of the game. In old school D&D, you’re like, “I have some money… I’ll get some chain mail, and some iron rations, and… let’s say 3 flasks of oil.” I dunno. Is the expendability an integral or nonessential property of a flask of oil?

What’s more fun:
a) “Holy crap, this is a dire situation! I’ll use my flask of oil to set these guys on fire.”
or
b) “It’s round 4 of combat and I’ve used my encounter powers. I’ll use my flask of oil to set these guys on fire.”

Keep in mind that in situation b) you get to set a lot more guys on fire.

If you want to run an alchemist character, you probably want to roll on random tables

Thursday, April 28th, 2011

Yesterday I proved (to my own satisfaction) that 4e alchemy doesn’t work, and suggested using Gamma World ammo rules as a fix. Today, let’s tackle problem 2: that 4e alchemy is not enough fun for the type of people who want to be alchemists.

There are two reasons to use alchemical items:
1) to fill out your party’s abilities with a few situational attacks, for instance burst attacks or attacks with a certain damage type
2) because you want to play a giggling experimenter, like Dragonlance gnomes or Warcraft goblins

The first group is pretty well served by the existing alchemy rules, which basically provide wizard-like powers to anyone who can throw a vial.

The second group is going to be disappointed by alchemy. It’s a predictable power level? I don’t mix anything? I won’t accidentally cause an explosion, from which I will emerge, comically sooty, and pronounce “IT WORKS!”? What kind of alchemy is this, anyway?

If ever there’s a character archetype who needs random charts to roll on, it’s the alchemist.

Let’s try this:

People with the Alchemy feat get access to a new encounter minor action called “Tinker”.
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alchemy makes you go bankrupt

Wednesday, April 27th, 2011

In this post, I set out to

  • propose that the 4e alchemy system is overpriced for its power;
  • prove it; and
  • offer a solution.

    Alchemy is not used

    I remember that in earlier editions, my D&D groups relished tossing holy water, and, even better, dousing enemies with oil and lighting them on fire. However, in my current group, no one seems very excited about the alchemy rules.

    Furthermore, I don’t think there have been a lot of message board posts, Dragon articles, or gamebook support of alchemy after its introduction in Adventurer’s Vault in 2008. People don’t seem very interested in the 4e alchemy implementation.

    My first intuition is that alchemy is overpriced: the cost for making a one-shot level 1 alchemical item is 20 gp! That’s a big chunk of change for a level 1 character, comparing unfavorably with “free” for at-will, encounter, and daily powers, so they’d better deliver. I decided to crunch the numbers and compare alchemical items against at-will attacks.

    CRUNCHING NUMBERS

    STEP 1: How much damage do alchemical items do?

    I’ll look at 3 representative items: holy water, alchemical acid, and alchemical fire. I’ll assume level 1 characters using level 1 alchemical items vs level 1 monsters. All these items attack Reflex with a +4 bonus, which is comparable to level 1 characters’ other attacks, and hits the average level 1 monster’s Reflex defense around 60% of the time. Damage expectation will be based on 60% of the damage scored on a hit plus 40% of the damage scored on a miss.
    (more…)

  • How much for a pitcher of ale?

    Monday, February 28th, 2011

    It occasionally becomes necessary to determine the price of daily goods. How much for a pitcher of ale? How much do you pay laborers to excavate a dungeon entrance? Whenever this comes up, it’s best not to think about it too hard, because D&D economy has never made sense. The best thing to do is to hand-wave the economy and move to the killing as quickly as possible.

    Ever since 1e, there has been a tension between “realistic”, Earth-modelled prices for goods and the need to give players vast hoards of gold. No one wants to kill a dragon and get nothing but a bag of silver, but in medieval Europe, a dragon-sized bed of gold (even split five ways) would make all the PCs rich to the point where money was never an object again.

    First edition gave us the huge piles of gold we wanted, and comparably high consumer prices. A longsword cost 15 GP. That’s one and a half pounds of gold! (A longsword weighs 6 pounds, so it’s 1/4 as valuable as gold.) The reasoning was that the campaign area was assumed to be suffering massive inflation due to new gold unearthed by dungeoneering adventurers. What’s more, many pages of the DMG was devoted to giving the DM advice on how to steal money from the PCs so they’d be hungry for adventure again.

    3rd edition tried to introduce a little realism, while keeping adventurer’s gear expensive. This led to some economic absurdities if you tried to use d&d to model peasant life – forgivable in a game that’s meant to model awesome-hero life. A laborer earned 1 sp per day, which is not actually unreasonable for medieval England if you assume 1gp = 1 pound. However, “poor meal (per day)” costs 1sp, leaving nothing left for other expenses. Just a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese cost 12 cp. Every day, a plowman would spend more than he made, just on his plowman’s lunch.

    The fact is, prices for adventurers don’t work for peasants. But this need not break our game. We don’t even have to hand-wave it.
    (more…)