Random Encounters II

Or are there dungeons in your dungeons and dragons?

I thought I might go ahead and follow up my initial foray into random encounter design with some thoughts on dungeon encounters, and how you might go about stocking the dungeon and creating some factions. Let's imagine that the map the bandit leader had in my earlier example leads to a collapsed temple, and inside the temple are several tribes of goblins, loosely allied, engaged in a genocidal war with several tribes of allied squirrel men.

This is going to give my players a bit of a peak behind the curtain and they definitely should ignore the man behind it, or else! But, squirrel men are just goblins. Well, statistically they're goblins, with two added abilities: they can climb just about anything that isn't a shear surface using normal movement, and they can glide short distances with their patagia. And they're less likely to use metal weapons (they can't make them). The gliding bit may never come up - it didn't when my players encountered them, and the reptiloids they allied with helped the group turn the squirrel men in squirrel pelts, so those particular squirrel men's gliding days are over. But, let's take a look at the Goblin entry from the Rules Cyclopedia:

Goblins. Can't live with 'em, but you can kill 'em and take their stuff.

Under the statistic 'No. Appearing' it has two values: 2d8 (6d10). The dice outside the parentheses indicates the average number for dungeon rooms, and the other is for when encountering a party in the wilderness. So, using an average of 4.5 for a d8, the average number of goblins encountered in a given room in a dungeon is 9, and the average war party encountered in the wilderness (using 5.5 for d10s) is 33. This then, is an excellent starting point for determining the size of our goblin tribes, and when we make our random encounter table, we already know how large a patrol might be. You could instead use the AD&D 1e numbers, but it ranges from 40-400 for wilderness encounters, which I think is perhaps a tad large. There aren't guidelines in the 1e Monster Manual for stocking dungeons, so my advice is stick with 40, since there's clear guidelines for what the goblins will have for every 40 members.

I also happen to have B/X Essentials, a retroclone meant to clearly and concisely replicate Moldvay & Cook's version of Basic and Expert, in which the numbers are 2d4 and 6d10. This makes the patrols smaller, being on average 5 strong rather than 9.

Either way, let's stick to the RC goblins.

I'm going to set our factions to two allied tribes for each side, plus a group of hobgoblins who could be convinced (or coerced) to either side. Using an online dice roller of dubious merit, I've rolled 42, 34, 42, and 27. For the hobgoblin mercenaries hiding out from the authorities, there are 11 (from 4d6).

Just to give our example here some spice, I'll lay out some areas for our imaginary ruined temple:

• The two goblin tribes are the Smackjaw and Yellow Spot clans and they have encamped in what was a temple wardrobe (the cultists were a tad theatrical). They've recently cemented an alliance between their two tribes by marrying the Yellow Spot tribe's "princess" to the Smackjaw tribe's "king". The Smackjaw's have 42 warriors (not including the king and his bodyguards), and the Yellow Spot's have 34. They don't exactly fight well together, as their chains of command have not yet synchronized, so their morale is 1 lower than normal.
• The Grey Pelt squirrel men have taken over the altar room, which has high ceilings. They live among the rafters and climb up and glide down as the need or whim takes them. They're in a looser alliance with the other tribe, and do not as yet fight or train together, but each will aid the other if attacked. Both tribes of squirrel men ride large saber toothed squirrels into battle (use the same statistics as the "large wolves" that the goblins ride, but make allowances for climbing). The Grey Pelt are least numerous of the two tribes (27 warriors).
• The Streaked Pelt tribe lives in the sunken store rooms. They've knocked out the floors and built platforms from discarded wood and ropes they've made themselves. The Streaked Pelt tribe has an especial hatred of the goblins, since the tribe matriarch's children were ambushed and then skinned to make the bridal furs. The Streaked Pelt tribe boasts 42 warriors.
• The hobgoblins are the Iron Hounds, a once numerous mercenary band reduced to eleven. They are led by a thoul (a special type of hobgoblin that has regeneration and a paralyzing touch) named Castrahza. Castrahza is feared and respected in a large part due to her resiliency and supernatural powers, but she isn't a fool either, and that counts for a lot. The Iron Hounds can be hired by the PCs (their asking price is 1,000 gp, but they may work for less if the PCs know they're on the run, or if offered shares of treasure - they will work for plunder as well, but the referee should note that in this case, they strip anything they find from the lair of the faction they're sicced on, and won't give up their booty short of battle). The mercenaries have secured the armory that once served the temple guards.
• The temple is filled with idols and bas reliefs showing a golden beetle with three scythe like horns and large mandibles. Inscriptions in a dead language (if using the Lamentations of the Flame Princess system for languages, it would be -2 on 1d6) call it the World Maker, and also the Horned Destroyer. The reliefs showing the Horned Destroyer aspect typically include tiny human figures fleeing from the beast as it blasts walled towns to smithereens with some kind of ray from the posterior of its carapace.

On to our encounter table. Let's make just 12 entries, with a mix of encounters between our factions and some other wandering monsters that may be lurking in the temple:

1. The temple shifts or trembles, dust and small debris falling from the ceiling. Roll 1d4 each time this result comes up. 1-3, nothing untoward occurs. On a result of 4, debris from above falls on the PCs, doing 1d6 points of damage to all who fail a save vs. paralysis. Successful saves halve the damage (anyone wearing a helmet automatically saves).
2. 1d6 fire beetles
3. 1d6 orcs (these orcs do not have a faction per se, but are coming into the temple from a cave system deeper in the earth - the referee could follow up this adventure with some spelunking, if desired)
4. Patrol of 2d8 Yellow Spot goblins. They are armed with spears, short bows, and wear leather armor. If the referee needs to invent a name for individual goblins (because the reaction roll indicates friendliness, or some other reason), Yellow Spot goblins have names like Yeek, Mreek, Kreek, etc.
5. Patrol of 2d8 Smackjaw goblins. They are armed with swords, light crossbows, and wear chain. Should the referee need to invent a name for individual goblins, Smackjaw goblins have names like Brob, Lob, Nob, etc.
6. Battle
7. Battle
8. A patrol of 2d8 Grey Pelt squirrel men. They are armed with clubs and slings. If occasion warrants, Grey Pelt tribal names resemble Nyahtoo, Toothut, Weetee, etc.
9. A patrol of 2d8 Streaked Pelt squirrel men. They are armed with spears and javelins (one javelin each). If the situation deems it necessary, Streaked Pelt names are similar to Lofteb, Kafohd, Gufflot, etc.
10. 1d6 bandits (these outlaws have come into the temple from outside, intent on plundering the ruin - the referee can decide if they are aligned with the outlaws in hex 1x1; note, they may be a source of replacement PCs and/or hirelings)
11. 1d3 zombies wearing the tattered remains of cult vestments; some may have golden beetle necklaces worth 10 gp (2 in 6 chance)
12. An echoing sound like many legs and the scraping of something hard against stone. Do not read the following:  A creature from the depths beneath the temple stirs, and is in search of prey. Make note of this each time it comes up, and mention that the sound seems louder each time. After the 3rd time it is rolled, the players will encounter a battlefield strewn with dead goblins and dead squirrel men - many of them sliced in half (none of the bodies are whole, and the amount of blood implies that there were many more). On the 5th result, they see a green glowing apparition undulating toward them. Once in range of the party's light, they will see a pale, many legged beast whose golden head is armed with scything mandibles of a slightly darker hue. It fills the passage way (it can squeeze itself into tunnels 10' wide but not below this), and has a combat speed of 100'. It is impervious to non-magical weapons, has 10 hit dice, deals 2d6 points of damage with its mandibles (its only weapon), and regenerates 3 hp per round (it cannot die, even if reduced to zero hp or below unless the referee rules otherwise. Under normal circumstances, if reduced to 0 hp or below, the creature ceases activity for 24 hours as it regenerates its damaged body).*

 *As a side note, the referee may want to decide how many HD it has consumed. The simplest way is to roll d%-6. Once the beast has consumed 100 hit dice, it will pupate, a process lasting for one month. Afterward, it burrows its way out of the sunken temple and emerges as a gigantic golden beetle (you may invent the statistics, or use the Tarrasque as a blueprint - instead of fire breath it blasts foes with chemical artillery from a chamber at the aft end of its abdomen, this has a 180 degree field of fire). It also has a fly speed of 30 miles per hour (3 miles per turn, 2,640 ft. per round).

If the referee really wants to be sadistic, the Horned Destroyer can make a terrible cacophony through stridulation (rubbing parts of its carapace together). Anyone within 10 miles of the horrid thing is stricken permanently deaf. Those within 100 miles are effectively deaf (no other sounds can be made out over the noise), and the sound can be heard from as far away as 1,000 miles. It does this to attract a mate. And will do so until it either successfully finds a partner, or is slain. If it successfully mates, both Horned Destroyers die in 1d4 days - but not before the female lays a clutch of a dozen cow-sized eggs somewhere in the campaign world, beginning the cycle over again.

Now that we have our encounter table, we can see that its got a mix of possible friendly and possible hostile encounters, a slower burning threat (with an apocalyptic payoff), and a nuisance. I could perhaps spice up the other encounters, but I think I'll leave them as is, since occasionally, it's nice to make something up on the fly (the orcs could be friendly, or they could be blind albino cannibals like the cave dwellers in The Descent).

Something else to consider: Most dungeons are going to have multiple levels (as imagined, this one would), and each level likely needs its own encounter table. In general, dungeon depth is proportional to the threats on the encounter tables, but this doesn't always have to be so. Personally, if I were actually making the temple as a dungeon, I would probably  take the larva off the table and make it trigger off of something the PCs messed with. I just wanted to throw something cool on the table, since we're using it as an example. Encounter tables should have a mix of tougher and weaker monsters. It's okay to have a stronger monster be on the encounter table for a "shallower" level, so long as you make it less likely than the weaker encounters; in the other direction, it's also okay to put weaker monsters on the "deeper" level encounter tables. Not every fight has to be a challenge.

Importantly, our example encounter table takes into account our factions, which leads toward generating the much vaunted and often misapplied story I hear so many RPG blogs, sites, and forum posters talk about. Factions are integral to providing something for players to get involved in (or not) and provides consequence to the player's choices.

I'll save this tangent for another post down the road, but what most call "story" Carlos and I call plot. Story is what happens to the characters as a result of their interactions with the game world (via the exploration, encounter, and reaction mechanics, but most importantly, from player choices). Plot is what happens when the players cooperate and follow the rails that the referee has laid out. I'm not saying plot is bad necessarily, and plot and story can happen in the same game, but there's a level of nuance that is seriously misunderstood. As I said, I'll come back to this.

Hopefully this example will be helpful. I don't claim to have all the answers where encounter tables are concerned, and I definitely think that this one is a good starting point, but it's not the end-all be-all example I would have preferred. I've been trying to write this blog post for three evenings running after work, and I just can't bring myself to pour any more into it than I already have. As with all writing, you reach a point where you have to stop, else you'll never finish it because there's some detail to tweak, or a better phrase, or a position you want to elaborate on, etc. So, I'm done. Make a dungeon. Put it in a wilderness. Let your players loose on the world, and hope they aren't devoured by something primordial.

Surprise Mid-week Post

I realize it has been some time since I updated. Over the last year or so, I've been working a lot and I've either found myself exhausted and feeling a distinct lack of creativity, or distracted by other obligations. So, I'm taking a free moment to update the blog and address a request from Ezekiel regarding one of the essential mechanics of OSR based games.

Random Encounters

There are three pillars to the way in which B/X D&D (and OSR games based on that framework) is meant to be played: Exploration, combat, and roleplaying. Random encounters interact with all three pillars through a number of mechanics. On the exploration side of things, random encounters are a part of the risk inherent in seeking out the reward (i.e. treasure), since random encounters can (and often do) lead into sticky combat situations where characters and, occasionally, entire parties end up perishing. Such as what happened when we set fire to an altar room to keep warrior women from murdering us through a secret passage - after having spiked the main door shut to keep them from coming in that way. We were not successful in putting out the fire, which spread, predictably, and we could not find the mechanism that operated the secret door in time before we succumbed to the smoke and flame.

It wasn't our best day.

Combat is a deterrent, when you get right down to it. If there aren't safe resting locations, and there isn't sufficient magic to keep restoring hit points, then you've got a rapidly depleting resource, and you really don't want to get into fights if you can avoid it. Fights don't have to be immediately deadly either, just enough to whittle the HP of the party down to the point where any more fights start to look downright unpleasant.

There's a brilliant mechanic that often gets forgotten (especially when someone drags out the "D&D is just a combat game" straw man) that potentially bypasses combat altogether, and leads straight into the roleplaying that characterizes the entire genre. I think reaction rolls might be my favorite part of older versions of D&D, and B/X in particular. It's the missing piece of encounters, random or otherwise, that is lacking from 3rd edition and beyond. See, in 3rd edition, there's no assumption that the reaction roll will happen, it has been relegated to either Charisma checks (in 3.0) or to the Diplomacy skill (in 3.5/PF/Whatever the hell else they're doing now). Charisma checks and Diplomacy are not automatically called for at the outset of an encounter, and thus, encounters are automatically hostile unless the referee says otherwise or the players take it upon themselves to avoid fighting, which, if they're playing as intended, likely won't, because slain monsters = XP.

Reaction rolls are fantastic because they provide an opportunity to shape the way in which the story will go, and the referee can be as surprised as the other players. Peaceful or even neutral encounters can be opportunities to trade, make allies, gain valuable information, and possibly deceive, steal, double-cross, or ambush NPCs. If you're using factions in your dungeons (highly recommended!), then it gives the players an ability to upset the dungeon's status quo, and be caught up in the intrigues between said factions. The best part, is that survivors of the PC's rampages can become allies and enemies in the future, and while in the dungeon, there is a population that can serve as hirelings, retainers and replacement characters.

So, the question is, how to design random encounters? I'm going to admit my own experience is somewhat limited due to the fact that I have mostly been running pre-made adventures for the Basic Fantasy Roleplaying Game and re-skinning them to suit my bizarre tastes. You can find them here, and best of all, they're free. Chris Gonnerman is a saint. Additionally, the print versions are at or very near cost, so they can be a fiscally responsible point of entry. But, because I've been cribbing from other referee's works, I haven't been flexing that particular muscle, and it doesn't help that I've been pretty fatigued by my day job.

But, as always, I have some thoughts based on the modules I do have.

Encounter Tables & Their Kin

My first suggestion, for anyone who is new to making encounter tables, is that they should have a plan in mind. And we'll outline the things you ought to consider here:

• Location. Is this an encounter table for wilderness areas? A dungeon? An urban area? Frontier? Etc. Consider the space. Urban areas will likely feature humans and demihumans more often than it will feature straight up monsters, but it can depend on what you're going for. A frontier might also feature human encounters, but fewer of them, to reflect that there are fewer people, and animals and monsters will make up the bulk of encounters. Wilderness should feature even fewer humans, if any, and many more monsters.
• Proportion. Not all encounters need be combats, but since the reaction roll already exists to provide an opportunity to forestall the possibility that all encounters will turn violent, you may consider making one or two encounters non-combative by default, such as a trapper who might be willing to trade supplies or information, guide the PCs, or just share his camp site. Urban encounters are trickier. You could make a bunch of non-combat encounters, or just make potentially hostile encounters less likely. You can do either, or both, as you choose.
• Substance. Encounters with beings abstractly represent a population that exists in the space that the encounter table is describing. So, if you have wilderness area that your players are exploring, you may want to have thought about the orc tribes in the hills that are supplying the orc warbands roaming the map (and who may or may not be raiding the outlying settlements in the frontier area to the West). These same bands should have a relationship, which can range the gamut from allied to at war. Something that is important to consider though, is how many warbands they can supply, so how many times can the PCs encounter the Black Tooth tribe's warbands before their forces are depleted into irrelevance?
• Escalation. It isn't necessary for an encounter to immediately begin with opposing parties surprising one another, making reaction rolls, and then either making truce or fighting it out. An encounter can initially be a sighting. The first result could be a glimpse of a Black Tooth warband marching through the forest paths, either returning from a raid or embarking on one. The second result could simply be (depending on the numbers of the band) the orcs jeering and insulting the PCs, possibly throwing things in their general direction. Or, the orcs might try to discover what they want, and what will make the PCs go away as quickly as possible. If the PCs keep encroaching on their territory, or talks break down, the next encounter can turn nastily violent. The same technique can be employed with, say, a dragon. The first encounter could be seeing it flying above the hills to the North. The second encounter, it has a cow or similar large prey animal in its talons and is flying back the other way. The third encounter could feature the mighty beast casually slaying one of the orc warbands. You don't even have to present an opportunity for the PCs to fight the dragon, just dangle the wyrm in front of them and see if they seek it out.

That's all well and good, but what about the nuts and bolts? To start with, don't make a 100 encounter list. It's probably more work than it's worth, and you'll exhaust yourself trying to fill it. There's nothing preventing you from adding new entries to an existing encounter table, or modifying it to suit a new situation or location. I don't think you should make generic tables either, since you can always take a specific table, and scratch out details that don't fit. The best tables are focused and short, with enough detail that they say something about the space they're meant to represent. So, how many entries? My personal leanings are 12 or 20. That way you can quickly roll using either of those two dice and get things resolved. Subtables are fine, but don't make too much more work for yourself if you don't have to.

To that end, let's make an encounter table for the White Drake Hills, a wilderness region with a human frontier to its western edge. Let's say that it spans 6x6 six-mile hexes, and that the western side is "frontier" and the rest is "wilderness". So, the table will reflect that mix, as people are pushing into the wilderness and beginning to tame it. Let's make it a 12 entry table, just to make things easy on me. There are hills to the North, and a scattering of hills, grassland, and forest in the rest of the region. We aren't going to try to "balance" this list against a given level of PCs. It will be up to the PCs to decide whether or not to engage or retreat. Hex locations are length x width of the region, 1x1 being the Northwest most corner and 6x6 being the Southeast most corner.

1. A green dragon can be seen flying South. It is little more than an emerald glint against the sky, but its silhouette is unmistakable. A second result will feature the dragon flying North, a kicking moose dangling from the beast's raking talons. A third result finds the dragon on the ground, slaughtering one of the orc warbands in the area.
2. An orc crashes through the underbrush and stumbles into the party's path. The orc is a survivor from the Cloud Face tribe, annihilated in a recent war, and is wounded, possibly feverish, and starving. Assuming the PCs don't kill the orc on sight, roll reaction. Even if hostile, the orc does not try to fight the PCs, but does distrust them. The survivor speaks both the common tongue and the languages of the region's orc tribes. If the PCs decide to be friendly, the orc can act as a guide and interpreter. The orc can be male or female, as the referee chooses, and any age that is appropriate. An aged orc shaman might be an interesting and fearsome guide, but the referee may want to design the orc with an eye toward being a possible PC replacement.
3. In a forest clearing, there is a lone bull woolly rhinoceros cropping the new spring grass. If he spots the PCs, he will charge at them until they leave, or he loses 1/3 of his hit points (at which point, he quits the field unless pursued).
4. On the initial result, the PCs spot a warband of 5d6 Black Tooth orcs marching (1-3) West or (4-6) East at some distance. On the second result, another warband spots the PCs and approaches. They send a small group forward under a flag of truce, and try to ascertain what the PCs want in their broken common, using gesture where vocabulary fails them. If the PCs desire free passage, they will need to give the orcs tribute of 500 gp. In return, the orcs will give them a filthy orange banner with an emblem meant to be blackened teeth. If the PCs do not want to pay it, the orcs warn them to leave. Further results: Roll reaction. If neutral or friendly, proceed as above, but keep track. After two more encounters, relations sour and further encounters are hostile. The Black Tooth tribe has 10 warbands of warriors operating in the region (to determine their maximum number of combat forces, roll 5d6 and multiply by ten, removing warbands from that total as the PCs encounter and defeat them).
5. An amorous pair of hill giants (one male, one female). They are young adults, sneaking away from their tribe (or tribes?) to the South to tryst in the hills and woodlands in the region. They can be variously encountered: 1-4 on 1d6 (In Hills) Laughing and frolicking among the wildflowers adorning the hilltops; (In Forest) Hunting game with their throwing clubs; (In Grassland) Playing games hurling stones as close as they can to a thick post; 5 on 1d6, as above, but having abandoned the previous activity for a loud and vigorous intimacy; 6 on 1d6, both giants are splashing and playing in a large pond, nude, as a prelude to romantic athletics. In any case, the giants, once they spot the PCs, will throw stones and large branches at the PCs until the PCs give them privacy, or, if the PCs persist, the two giants will inflict their frustration on the PCs with clubs and fists.
6. A trapper and his mule. He is friendly, and has furs to trade for supplies, if the PCs choose. If the PCs are cordial and companionable he will invite them to his camp in hex 3x2, which is a safe place to rest. He gives his name as Eustace, but it may be an alias (the referee is free to rename the trapper). There is fresh water at this location from a natural spring. If this encounter comes up again, ignore it twice. Every third result brings the PCs back into contact with Eustace, and he may be checking his traps, hunting, or have news from the frontier areas.
7. A band of human and demihuman outlaws 3d6 strong. Roll for surprise. If they get the drop on the PCs, they attack immediately. If surprised by the PCs, the outlaws are encamped and playing at dice. If neither side is surprised, the outlaws approach brazenly. Either way, roll reaction. If friendly, the outlaws will make polite demands for the party to pay their toll of 100 silver. If neutral, the outlaws make the demand for 200 silver at arrow point. If hostile, the outlaws simply demand "Your money or your life!" Defeat sends the survivors fleeing to hex 1x1, where their hideout is located. If the outlaws are encamped when they are encountered, they will instead invite the PCs to play dice, and when the PCs tire of it, follow them and attempt to murder and rob them in the night. There are sixty outlaws living in a crumbling fortress, along with their women and children. The leader is a 3rd level Thief with a map detailing the entrance to a dungeon in hex 5x4. Further encounters deplete the outlaw reserves until they dwindle to half. The next encounter after that results in a band with the leader in command. He offers peace to the PCs, since the outlaws are his responsibility. If the PCs accept, he may offer the map as a goodwill gesture. If they desire, the PCs may resupply at the outlaw hideout, though they may not receive warm welcomes (they have, after all, killed approximately half the men).
8. A cougar stalks the PCs, surprising on a 1-5 on 1d6. If spotted, it retires. If not, after one hex of travel, it strikes, pouncing on the smallest party member or the last party member in marching order if PCs are of similar size. It then attempts to drag the PC into the forest to kill and eat at its leisure. It fights to keep its prey until it breaks morale (let morale determine how... hungry it is). Further results can be ignored, or non-predatory wildlife at the referee's discretion.
9. As 4 above with the Black Tooth tribe, except that it is the Thunder Foot tribe instead. The banner they offer is maroon with a green foot and yellow lightning bolts flying from the heel. The Black Tooth and Thunder Foot tribes are mortal enemies, and if the PCs are found to be carrying the other tribe's banner, violence ensues.
10. A large shadow passes over the party. Searching the sky reveals only a lone eagle riding the thermals. A second result is much the same, but the eagle appears closer, and something seems off about its size. The third result may be a strike if it occurs in either the hills or grasslands hexes - but not the forest hexes, as the giant eagle cannot maneuver in the trees and risks injuring itself. If a strike, the giant eagle attempts to carry off a random PC. If it misses, or the PC frees themselves before they get too high, the eagle will make a second attempt, but will cut its losses if it cannot snatch a PC. Alternatively, if the PCs have pack animals or mounts, the referee may have the giant eagle try for such a target.
11. A band of bugbear slavers 3d6 strong with 2d4 slaves (human and demihuman) in tow. If friendly, they will offer to buy any captives the PCs might wish to sell, and may sell their slaves to the PCs for a fair price. If neutral, the bugbears will attempt diplomacy, potentially leading to the offer to buy captives, and sell slaves. If hostile, the bugbears will attempt to capture and enslave the PCs. The bugbears have a fortress/trading post at hex 3x6. Their leader is a 5th level Magic-User.
12. A great roaring sound and lines of red and green fire arc between two silvery darts in the sky. After a furious assault lasting a quarter of an hour, one of the darts veers drunkenly toward the ground, leaking flames. It crashes with thunderous noise in hex 6x3. Ignore the next 10 results of 12. The 11th time it comes up, the PCs encounter a band of Grey Men in silver ship suits with various injuries. They are armed with directed energy weapons, but are in bad need of supplies, and will want to talk rather than fight. Their leader, a 2nd level Fighter, has a handheld translation device. It is possible that the PCs will never encounter the survivors, or they may explore the smoking ruins of the craft and encounter them there.

Unfortunately, I have to cut this a little short. I wanted to elaborate on a few things, but I'll have to save them for a follow up post (no promises for how soon that might be). I hope that this gives Ezekiel some direction (more than I gave him in that email a while back, anyway), and I hope any others who find their way to my neglected blog find some use for it. For now, adieu.

Spies and Pirates, Part V

In the wake of the Elf's death, the Dwarf and Specialist tended to the Crusader's wounds. He would make it, if they could get him back to Aldentown. The Dwarf explored the cavern where they had first encountered the goblins. He examined the mining automaton, and noted the extensive damage its right arm had received. Leery of reactivating it, he continued his searches until he discovered a bit of stonework that didn't look quite right.

The stonework turned out to be a facade, and behind that facade was a small workshop meant for repairing the mining automatons. Most of the tools and spare parts were gone, but there was a spare right arm. The Dwarf and Specialist set to work repairing the machine. After accomplishing their goal and reactivating the machine, the Dwarf set to work on an unpleasant task.

He searched through the rubble and bodies caused by the Elf's explosive end, looking for their letter of authority and the sword that the Crusader had hidden it in. With some very messy effort, he found it. Unfortunately, it was now mangled, and the force of the explosion had cracked the hilt where the papers were stored. Blood had soaked them into illegibility.

While he toiled, a goblin woman came forward bearing a ring, speaking in broken dwarven. She made placative gestures and and said the dwarf word for "surrender". The Dwarf's angry shouts and hostile body language sent her fleeing, but not before she dropped the ring*. Troubled by the heroic death of the Elf, the Dwarf used the rest of the gunpowder the party had to make demolition points in the unexplored tunnel. When he was done, the explosions collapsed the tunnels, possibly forever.

And with that, the Specialist and Dwarf, carrying the Crusader in a makeshift travois and the automaton stomping behind, made their way back toward Aldentown, and were joined by Ebrulf.

When they arrived, the townsfolk were saddened to hear of the death of the Elf, and they were very concerned for the Crusader. The Dwarf and Specialist let the villagers take the Crusader away to the Moosefoot so that he could be tended by whatever alchemists, witches, or healers existed in the place. As for the automaton, the Dwarf chose to hide it in an abandoned barn. He made the risky choice to deactivate the great old machine, not knowing for sure if it would ever roar to life again.

It was many days before the Crusader was well, but he was also wounded in spirit. He had lost his holy symbol along with his sword, and felt keenly bereft. The healer who had tended his wounds relayed his hurt to the village's goldsmith, and they fashioned him a new one, though the church fathers would likely have despised it for its pagan imagery. The Crusader though was gladdened however, and felt the kindness and generosity of the villagers of Aldentown was a worthy reason to keep it.

And this is unfortunately, the last part of the tale, because Carlos has yet to make a replacement for his Elf. But that's okay. Because we've also played a few other games, notably, one involving ray guns and aliens.

*The ring was a ring of protection +1.

Robbing Your Players of Meaning

This post is probably going to ruffle some GM's feathers somewhere, but frankly, they're part of the problem, so I don't really care.

What am I talking about? I'm talking about fudging. Fudging is often called necessary cheating, and many GMs (and some game devs) think that it's something you just have to do whenever the dice go the wrong way and ruin the story/game.

Obviously, I disagree rather strongly. And I disagree with such vehemence because I used to be on their side of the fence. You see, for a decade and a half I ran games where I fudged on a whim. I fudged to protect my players from bad outcomes that were "unfun". This fed into an attitude where they pushed the boundaries of what was safe or sensible in the game world, because no one ever died or had terrible consequences happen.

Negative effects that could cripple or kill PCs was not something one did because it was "not sporting" - but it was perfectly fine for players to use any dirty trick they could get their mitts on, and against all reasonable sense, there was an "anything goes" attitude around our table.

Granted, I was part of the problem. I let them do this. I, because I was occasionally a player and wanted to use these toys too, encouraged my players to use them in the off chance I might get to play with them (considering how rarely I got to play in those days, I really should have just put my foot down and resigned myself to being the forever DM and at least had a good time doing that).

To the point, fudging rolls in favor of the players gave them a sense that they couldn't fail. It gave them a sense that their actions didn't have weight in the game world, because not only would nothing truly bad happen, but also they didn't have to examine any situation closely because the solution would present itself. Made the mistake of hinging the solution to a puzzle on an Intelligence roll and the PCs flubbed it? Well, let them re-roll or maybe tweak the difficulty behind the scenes if it was close.

PC should be dead because they were down to a handful of HP and refused against all reason to use healing items, and an enemy dropped them below -10? That's okay. They didn't do that much damage.

On occasion I even fudged in favor of enemies, because my players would run roughshod over them, and it was no fun to have an encounter I spent hours on be trampled in a few minutes. There's lots and lots of justifications - and they're generally all bad in one form or another.

The Role of the GM

Perhaps the GMs most important duty is to cultivate an appearance of impartiality. I say "appearance" because that's what most GMing sections/GMing books will tell you to do, and then on the other hand say "fudge when the players aren't looking". To be sure, appearing to be impartial is certainly healthy for the game. Players won't question your rulings as often if they think you're doing a good job.

But, things get ugly when they catch on that you've been fudging. Most players will never challenge you on fudging in their favor - they know it is in their "best interest" to let you keep doing that. Instead, they'll try to push for more and more latitude, trying to see how much they can get away with. Whether it's this extra cool class, or special race, or arguing with you about how a situation "should have gone" until you relent (relenting is something you should not do unless you've clearly made a mistake. Coming clean on mistakes is both healthy and necessary for the game to run smoothly, and it helps that impartiality by showing that you're a human being who makes mistakes, but is self-aware enough to admit it).

Eventually you find yourself in a situation where the PCs always win, and if you try to salvage the game and your impartiality by standing by the dice and actually being impartial rather than just appearing to be, you'll likely have your players in revolt because you've just changed fundamental expectations for how the game is to be played. And this revolt is your fault. It's your fault because you defined "fun" to mean "never fails" and the possibility of failure is a fundamental necessity in a game that tells stories through player agency. It's your fault because all of this could have been avoided by choosing not to fudge, and instead let the dice inform your player's expectations for how the game world works, and what they can and cannot do successfully. It's your fault for allowing them to roll in the first place if you were just going to let them succeed anyway.

If you have some complex plot that needs the PCs to survive so you can keep telling it, you've probably made a serious mistake as a GM. First of all, the "plot" shouldn't be something the PCs have to follow, and the story in a roleplaying game should be organically told through players interacting with the game world. If all you've got for them is a railroad, then don't be surprised when they think it'll be more interesting to be train robbers, or to blow the rails up, or to become rail barons. Even the best concealed and best told railroady plot is going to produce a feeling of dissatisfaction from players because they know deep down that their actions have been curtailed, and their actions (through which they exercise agency) are all the control they actually have over the game.

The dice are not control. The dice are an illusion of control. And the dice can just as easily be fickle. When a player rolls dice, the outcome should be uncertain. They are trusting to chance and some small amount of skill at affecting that chance, and when they fail, they need to feel the consequences of that failure as keenly as they do the successes. Otherwise, success becomes less special, and failure is a minor inconvenience. If a player is demanding a roll because they know they'll succeed by rolling, both you as the GM, and the game system has failed categorically.

If that smarts, it's because you know it is true. And I have to confess I'm not innocent of this.

Fudging against the players is against the spirit of the game, cheapens the entire experience, creates the potential of a player/GM fallout, and ultimately reflects poorly on the GM in question because they already have greater power than the PCs, and the GM is effectively taking their power away when he does this. It's like playing a god and then using cheat codes because that wasn't powerful enough for you.

I too am guilty of this.

An Act of Will

Fudging is a choice. It is a conscious decision to cheat in order to nudge the game into the outcome you think it should have. You think the game will be more fun if the players succeed. You think the game will be more fun if the enemies manage to ambush the PCs rather than being spotted like the dice said. You think the story will be improved if the PCs fail to catch the villain.

Be strong instead. Let the dice determine what happens, and let the story be shaped by the player's successes and failures. Let it stand on their choices, both foolish and sensible, brave and cowardly. Even if this means someone (or everyone) dies. At least they'll die because of a choice they made, rather than a choice that was made for them by you. By encouraging this mindset, players will not only take less foolhardy risks, but they'll also be willing to take responsibility for their own failures in the game when they do happen.

Throwing Bones

On dice and rolling in particular, I have this advice to give: Never, ever make players roll for something that should succeed. Not even to see "how well" they succeed. The main reason for this is that success for routine tasks speeds up play, keeps players focused on the actual interesting dice rolls (rather than seeing how well they succeed at starting their car), and it encourages them to manage their actions by taking up an in-game resource, which is time. Time is super important for OSR games, but all games in general to a lesser extent.

I'd almost make the argument you shouldn't make players roll if failure is assured either. However, in this case, you may not wish for the players to know that failure is the only outcome. I'm not completely on board with disguising assured failure, because it can feel like you've tricked a player into a bad situation by letting them roll and telling them they failed. It's too close to fudging, and it smacks of the player vs. GM mentality that 3rd edition was a reaction against. But then again, telling a player that failure is the only outcome can also feel a lot like GM fiat.

To illustrate this, I had a player in a d20 Call of Cthulhu (yes, I know, d20, ew) game get quite angry with me because when he tried to use a lorry that had brought them to a megalithic structure they were now attempting to escape, I told him the engine wouldn't start. He demanded that he be allowed to roll his Drive skill. I said no, that it would be pointless, rolling the die wouldn't change anything. The lorry wouldn't start.

Frustrated and angry, he fumed the entire game until its conclusion. He argued that I should have let him roll because it let players feel in control, and I explained that it would have been a waste of the group's time to roll, because he would have failed anyway. I explained that the cultists he had been trying to run from had disconnected the lorry's battery while the group had been away from it and he could have rolled 100 or 1,000 on his Drive skill and still failed. Cars do not start if they don't have a battery, or if they have a dead battery.

Had he examined the lorry's engine, it would have been immediately obvious why it wouldn't start, and he could have reconnected the battery, started it, and drove away. And I'd have let him. But that isn't what happened.

In his opinion, I should have let him roll and then told him what was wrong, then let him roll again (Repair skill this time) to fix the problem. Which to me, seems like a rather daft way to play a roleplaying game. Having every in-game interaction be determined by a die roll not only seems incredibly boring, but it also removes any possibility of player cleverness being the deciding factor. Which I suppose, flows neatly into the argument for and against player knowledge and skill vs. character knowledge and skill - an argument for another day, and one I've already briefly covered in my opinion on skills in OSR.

Meaning, and Being Robbed of It

When the GM fudges, he fosters mistrust.  But the greater crime is that it takes away player agency, and renders their actions and choices meaningless. Say you were playing a tabletop board game involving fighter planes, and you could be sent into an uncontrollable spin that required a Pilot skill check to avoid an unpleasant and potentially fatal outcome (like a crash). Let's say this game is based on World War I fighter planes, and one of your pilots is flying the Fokker Eindecker I, a plane notorious for a mechanical flaw.

This mechanical flaw was that the synchronization of the propeller and the machine guns mounted behind it was off. The way it was supposed to work was that when you fired the guns, the bullets would travel in between the propeller blades, and that the guns could not fire if a blade was in the way.

However, the Eindecker was the first airplane to mount synchronized machine guns (and was in fact, the very first fighter plane built by a government), and her synchronization wasn't perfect. Occasionally she would blow her own propeller off and she would crash. This is one of the possible ways German Ace Max Immelmann died (the other two are friendly anti-aircraft fire, which was the official story, or possibly his propeller was hit during the dogfight by the British).

So, let's say you chose to put one of your pilots in an Eindecker I, knowing full well they have synchronization problems, but it's a small chance (say, 1% for the game's purpose), and the lower point cost means you can have it be flown by an ace pilot. But, then the unthinkable happens! You rolled a 100 for your attack, and the Eindecker has blown one of the blades of its propeller clean off, and now you must make a Pilot roll to avoid crashing (Immelmann had blown two of his propeller's blades off before the crash that killed him and made it back to base through some confluence of miracle and tenacity).

You roll, and fail. All is lost. Your ace has crashed, and in an era without parachutes, is very unlikely to have survived. But the referee decides that you succeed at the last moment, and don't crash.

Are you happy with this? Do you like having all of your choices rendered meaningless because the supposedly impartial referee is letting you off the hook consequence free? What's the point of taking the risk of failed synchronization if the Eindecker I can just have that consequence ignored? Why should you get the extra points for taking the flawed Eindecker if there's no possibility that it will ever come up in play?

If you had gambled and won, you'd feel great, like you'd taken on the odds and beaten them in your winged death trap. But, if you won simply because the referee had let you survive the consequences by ignoring them, then your victory is a hollow thing, dependent on the whim of someone else. The victory isn't yours at all.The referee stole both victory and defeat from you, infringed on your agency.

And that's what makes roleplaying games worthwhile, ultimately. Is that ability to make a choice that has meaning within the context of the game world and the rules. To let your successes and failures determine the story of the game.

A year and a half ago we were playing a module that allowed us to be lords and rule over a once lawless place we'd been exploring. One of our players, Anne, had asked the question "What if we lose? What if we're overthrown because we're bad rulers?" to which I replied "Then our story becomes one where we are fleeing our overthrow, and we are lords in exile - failure doesn't have to be the end of the story. It can also be a beginning."

Getting Filthy Dirty

Despite the fact that my mind instantly dives into the gutter, I'm not actually talking about anything suggestive or lewd - no, what I'm about to discuss is effectively another resource subsystem to track in OSR games. But, since I didn't think up the idea entirely on my own, I don't want to claim that the idea for tracking cleanliness was my sole idea. The methods for tracking it are, but the inspiration lay in the /osrg/ thread some months ago.

Filth

Adventurers are not in the cleanest of professions. These are people, who, against all reason or sense, delve into crumbling ruins filled with monsters, disease, molds, and traps on the slim hope that they might retrieve an ancient treasure that will keep them and theirs in the good life for an unknown span of future time. And when that money runs out, they'll do it all over again, risking injury, sickness, and death.

There are extensive rules for tracking heat and cold in the Wilderness Survival Guide for 1e AD&D, and while not everyone's cup of tea, it certainly will aid any DM looking to replicate the man vs. nature style storytelling of greats like Jack London. The 1e AD&D Dungeon Master's Guide also contains various bits of useful rules - of particular interest for our discussion is the disease rules.

The Rules

Player characters gain Filth Points any time they engage in an action that can be considered excessively dirty. A few suggested scenarios are outlined below:

1. Combat with close-range melee weapons (swords, axes, maces, daggers, hammers, etc.).
2. Searching a dead body, particularly ones that can no longer be considered "fresh", or bodies that have been savagely wounded.
3. Handle moldy, dirty, or rotting material (such as sacks in a dungeon).
4. Trudge through a swamp, bog, sewer, etc.
5. Mutilate a dead body.
6. Consume the flesh of a dead body (cannibalism).
7. Engage in sexual intercourse with a dead body (necrophilia).

Filth Points accumulate. Each act described above would warrant at least a single Filth Point, to a soft maximum of 5. Each time a PC engages in an act that would grant a Filth Point, they gain between 1 and 3 Filth Points depending on the environs or the severity of the act. Each Filth Point is a penalty to NPC reaction rolls due to the player character's excessively dirty appearance and vile smell.

Each Filth Point adjusts the base chance of disease by 1% (and even a single Filth Point should prompt the weekly check for disease). Filth Points beyond 5 should be recorded, but they do not further penalize reaction rolls, though they continue to modify the base disease chance. A particularly Filthy person (3+ Filth Points) should also prompt disease checks from their party members, as they are likely to render their clothing, bedding, and anything they touch unsanitary.

Removing Filth requires access to satisfactory bathing conditions (clean water, soap, and an object to scrub with). Each point of Filth requires 10 minutes (1 turn) to remove, and a standard sized bath tub of water can only handle two points of Filth before becoming so dirty that the water is rendered useless for further bathing and must be changed. Excess Filth beyond the "soft" maximum of 5 is not counted for this purpose. Moreover, removing even a single point of Filth should negate all excess Filth.

The main intent of the Filth rules is to provide a small subsystem that can be easily kept track of, and fits in with the existing AD&D 1e DMG disease rules. If too complicated, consider making 5 a hard maximum, and having each point of Filth modify the base disease chance by 2% instead of 1%.

Even More Thoughts on 3rd Edition, Skills, and OSR

I swore I had more to say, so here it goes. More bellyaching about 3rd edition, but this time my focus is on skills.

Skills are Good

By the time I'm done, you'll likely have this idea that I'm the kind of DM who tells people they're having badwrongfun and should stop. But, that's only partially true. I think skills are necessary in certain types of games, and I also think that certain types of games only need them in extremely narrow cases, or, at worst, in a very broad hand-wavy sense.

Classless systems, as an example, need skill lists in order to differentiate characters from one another. They form the core of "what the character does", their role or identity within the rule structure that gives the game world its form.

B/X derivative games (my favorite flavor of OSR) don't particularly need skills, since they (usually) assume a general level of competence in player characters. They know how to use ropes and climbing gear. They know how to ride horses and stow gear on pack animals. They know how to hunt, treat wounds, and find true north. And for the record, I do in fact take issue with B/X derivative games that use secondary skills and non-weapon proficiencies to track player character knowledge. But I'll get to that.

In most cases, if a player wants their character to know how to cook decent meals from camp food and play a musical instrument, it's completely allowable for them to have this bit of character. There aren't rules for it because B/X derivative games don't need complex crafting rules for food prep or detailed rules for improvising music from woodwind instruments. They do need exploration rules, and rules for sighting distances and for looting, tinkering with stuff, and fighting.

With B/X derivative games, the less you have to keep track of, the better.

I personally prefer to allow freeform skills you can fit into a 3-5 sentence paragraph. Any more than that is probably pushing it, and any less is just a list or just disconnected words. And yes, I know I'm a dirty heretic for even breathing the word freeform. How dare I use that narrativist garbage. The nerve!

Ideally, the skills you need rules for are the ones the game is actually going to be checking a lot, skills that should produce interesting and unexpected developments without bogging the game down with a ton of rolls.

Skills are Bad

There are however, four skills I never ever want to see in any game, B/X derivative or otherwise. And those are:

1. Craft,
2. Diplomacy,
3. Knowledge, and
4. Profession

 Why exactly do I have a hate boner for these four skills? Because they make the game less interesting, and generally, they serve to allow another "build" option for a character rather than straight magic or straight might. Which should be a good thing, but typically isn't on a second examination.

Craft

There is zero reason to have the skill in any RPG, let alone one in the vein of B/X derivatives. In 3rd edition, it serves only to reinforce the nonsense world that the rules create, where crafting time is dependent on gold piece value (meaning it takes longer to make a gold candelabra than it does to make a set of leather armor - despite the fact that gold can be melted rather easily and poured into a mold). More to the point, in B/X derivative games, it's assumed that adventurer types know basically how to maintain their gear, and if they have the equipment, should be able to repair minor bends, knicks, cuts, dents, and so on without needing to have apprenticed to some legendary smith.

In B/X derivative games, it's fine if a fighter or other character writes their freeform backstory to include being a swordsmith, and to allow them to make swords at a reduced cost (whatever is reasonable, really) if they want to. It takes a day or two start to finish to make an Ulfbehrt sword from crucible steel, assuming you have someone competent helping you and you work together. I'm sure a little searching on this newfangled interwebs thingy will allow one to find the time needed to make all sorts of things from antiquity to the early modern period. It really doesn't matter - and adventurers who would rather make swords than go dungeon delving probably should be retired from the game.

Legendary smiths being found and hired by the PCs and such should be rewards for adventuring or for managing their domains wisely (if you like that sort of thing). The PCs should not be the legendary smith, just as they should not be the wise sage. They're adventurers, not homebodies.

Diplomacy

Ah Diplomacy, and by some extension Bluff in 3rd edition. What a sack of shit. Especially with the epic rules tacked on, which many 3rd edition rules lawyers will say is "core" - a claim I find both misinformed and genuinely disgusting, particularly if they're one of those players who also supports throwing out the PHB in favor of later supplements which supposedly "fix" the balance issues. First off, the epic rules are optional, and not every DM is required to use them. The same goes for prestige classes, but that's a post for another day. It's like saying a DM has to allow you to use an optional variant rule just because its in the three "core" rulebooks (and Core, by the way, are the DMG, PHB, and MM - and they're the only ones that say Core Rulebook I-III on them).

My disgust toward those who are in favor of tossing out the PHB classes but insist that epic skills are "core" is because it allows you to (if you stack enough bonuses) create permanent zealots who will do anything you tell them to do, up to and including suicidal actions. It's the worst sort of munchkiny behavior with a side dose of making social encounters effectively moot because Rules As Written (a particular form of moral bankruptcy), anyone who is Helpful or Fanatic is conveniently interpreted by RAW aficionados to mean that NPCs behave in whatever way is most beneficial to the players, and thus they can no longer act in self-interest or even lift a finger to oppose the PCs without breaking the rules. This can include hostile NPCs who hate the PCs for various reasons if one takes a literal reading of the rules, since after all, you can make a Diplomacy check in combat as a full round action if you take a -10 penalty. A complete non-issue for the properly prepared munchkin.

Never mind that this interpretation is wrong and contravenes common sense. People don't suddenly act out of character because someone spent five to ten minutes talking to them. At least, not without magic, anyway.

Diplomacy and Bluff (and also Sense Motive) effectively reduce social encounters to rolling dice to determine if NPCs are friendly, or deceived, or are telling the truth, rather than talking to them, trying to convince them with arguments and evidence, or trapping them in lies with pointed questions. And here, the "no freeform skills!" people are going to spit and shout that if you don't allow people to roll, then you're penalizing the less eloquent speakers and unfairly favoring the roleplayers, the dirty well-spoken bastards - and if you're going to do that, you should allow the strong or quick or tough players get bonuses to in-character strength checks, dodging, or shrugging off fatigue.

And the counter-argument to this slippery slope, as Carlos often says, is that if that's the case, then we should start rolling to see how well you walk, whether or not you turn the door handle or fail to grasp it, or whether or not you start the car. Everything should be reduced down to a roll because it's not your skill, it's your character's skill; after all, you shouldn't be able to dive for cover just because you declare it, nope! Better roll that Agility to see whether or not you flub it and jump in front of the enemy's guns!

But I'm not proposing bonuses, or XP gained for roleplaying. At some level, RPGs involve player skill, and a person doesn't have to be eloquent to outline a basic argument, and say:

"Volagyrr is a very persuasive man, and he argues that the Nords should support the Imperials instead of the Stormcloaks because it's clear that the rebellion is weakening the Empire and splitting its attention, and worse, the Thalmor didn't and couldn't enforce their treaty so long as no one openly worshiped Talos - something Ulfric disrupted when he made it a point to re-establish open Talos worship in Markarth after he deposed the Reachmen."

The player doesn't need to make a flowery speech. A reasonable DM would take into account Volagyrr's arguments, and decide whether or not it persuaded the fence sitters of Volagyrr's position. There's no need to even have this down to dice, because a good roll isn't going to convince hardline Stormcloaks, just like Volagyrr's points above won't convince Skyrim players who think Skyrim is for the Nords that the Empire is worth fighting for. A bad roll might mean not convincing the fence sitters, but it certainly won't make hardline pro-Imperials to suddenly shirk their duty and abandon the Legions for Ulfric's cause.

Individuals might change their mind based on events or circumstances that cause them to reevaluate their choices, but it's unlikely Volagyrr's stirring speech will do so.

But under the 3.5 rules, everyone who hears Volagyrr has a chance to become fanatically pro-Imperial with a single well-modified d20 roll. Heck, Volagyrr might take a 20 and make it a really long and especially flowery speech just to ensure he can overcome that high DC for those potentially hostile Stormcloaks in the crowd.

Obviously, I take issue with this.

"But Fabian," say the pro-RAW, pro-dice rolling players "what about stupid players trying to play intelligent characters? Shouldn't they be allowed to roll intelligence to know that they're about to do a stupid thing?"

Nay, I say. Let stupid players suffer the consequences of their actions, and may the dice fall where they will.

Knowledge

This may actually be the worst offender of the lot, because knowledge skills are absolutely ridiculous. You should not be rolling to see if you know something. You either do or you don't, and if you do, it might be forgotten or misremembered, but  it's still rattling around in there somewhere. They're also stupid, in 3.5 at least. Did you know that it's possible for a person (according to a RAW reading of the rules) who has lived all his life in a land with elephants to not be able to identify them because their hit dice are so high that it would be impossible for him to make the Knowledge (nature) check DC? I cannot recall clearly if taking 20 on a Knowledge check is possible, but I'm leaning toward no, plus, even if taking 20 is permissible, taking 20 is not the same as getting a critical success, which can only happen on attack rolls and saving throws anyway, not skill checks.

Even so, a character with no ranks in Knowledge (nature) who has seen real live elephants up close cannot identify them or recall any information about them because (even if they can take 20 on the check), they're limited to whatever common info you'd get from a DC 10 only. Which is probably "they're big and grey and covered in wrinkles".

Moreover, in B/X derivatives, knowledge really should fall under classes and that paragraph of freeform backstory. A fighter who is a hedge knight probably should know how to ride a horse and take care of it. He is also likely a pretty good judge of horseflesh, and has at least a working knowledge of practical heraldry, meaning he's memorized famous knights and their devices. Furthermore, he probably has a pretty good grasp of how to take care of his weapons and armor, since his profession (and his very life) depend on them.

Having Knowledge skills (as well as Crafting skills, actually) also hurts the structure of the game, because players will load up on them so they can bypass the tedium (and resource/time consumption) necessary to roleplay finding sages, scholars, and smiths to get those questions answered and legendary weapons reforged.

Profession

I take it back. This one is the worst of the lot.

This skill should not exist in any game. In a classless game, a character's profession should be defined by the collection of skills he has, like Astrogation, Pilot (starfighter), Weapon Training (starfighter), and whatnot. They should not have Profession (space ace), and they certainly shouldn't be allowed to roll their Profession (space ace) to make double dollars for off-screen bounties. That's not only boring, but defeats the entire purpose of playing a Space Ace in the first place. Why have dashing adventures as a swashbuckling Space Ace when you can roll a die and win without ever having to bother doing anything?

"But what about NPCs?" Well, what about them? They should only have the bare minimum of statistics and shouldn't be built using PC rules unless it's a classless system, and they don't need to have Profession (lovely filth farmer). You can just assume that they're competent at farming lovely filth, and can identify lovely filth with only a modicum of effort. What is the point of statting out every single NPC in a given settlement and deciding the very important question of whether or not the village headman should have 4 or 5 ranks in Profession (mayor)?

This skill cannot be justified. It doesn't benefit any adventurer who is reckoned to have a modicum of skill in their area of expertise, it doesn't benefit the DM when crafting NPC statistics, and it certainly doesn't benefit those players who decide to take it in lieu of more useful combat or social oriented skills, so who is it for? Is it for the roleplayers who want a mechanical representation of their backstory? Is it for the players who find they have too many skill points and can consider wasting them on a skill that skill point starved classes would murder close acquaintances just for the opportunity to have enough skill points to waste like that?

No, Profession exists in 3.5 as a skill tax for prestige classes. That's its true purpose. The money making thing is just a consolation prize for being required to waste precious skill points on a nearly useless skill. By all the gods odoriferous and flatulent, Profession should get flushed.

Previous Editions

Secondary Skills and Non-weapon Proficiencies are actually worse than 3rd edition's craptacular stacking modifier skill system, since they heavily favor higher ability scores, and thus penalizing anyone who rolled poorly or (gasp) assigned their points to avoid the possibility that they'd be terrible at everything. I suppose you could say "well, don't take the skills associated with your low ability score", but that's build-talk, and defeats the entire purpose of having skills for roleplaying reasons, because if you min-maxed in favor of physical prowess at the expense of sagacity, and being a competent sword smith requires Intelligence, well... you've just made an incompetent sword smith when you could have made a competent long distance runner or survivalist instead.

Certainly, I have strong opinions on skill systems, but I can't force you to think the way I do, and even if I had the power, I'd never use it because the very idea of doing such a thing fills me with repugnance at the thought.

Get to the Fucking Point

Skills are best when they serve a meaningful aspect of the game. A sci-fi game where characters might be expected to navigate between stars and unsuccessful navigation could mean danger or death adds an element of uncertainty, and creates opportunities ranging between being stranded on a primitive world or making a daring escape from an enemy fleet. A skill that adds nothing is bloat, a wasted opportunity to keep the game lean and fast, a resource sink for the foolish or the boring. PCs need no Profession - their class or their collected skills should suggest their Profession, and NPCs don't need anything more than "check out clerk at the Duper Mart". The last thing they need is 3 ranks in Profession (sales associate), and the DM certainly doesn't need the headache of keeping track of dumb shit like this.

It's rather late (or early, I suppose), and I feel like I'm repeating myself, so I think I'll fuck off to bed. But ask yourself a couple of questions next time you're considering whether or not to include a skill:

• Does it provide a meaningful impact on the way the game will be played?
• Does it create an opportunity for organic (and dramatic) changes in the circumstances of the gameworld?
• Is it worth the book keeping that will be necessary to keep track of it?
• Does the skill require characters to choose between being good at the skill, or being good at their chosen class/archetype/role in the party?
• Does it conflict with common sense? 

More On Magic Swords

After writing my previous post, I knew I was going to have to look at one of the more infamous magic items in D&D: the Cursed Sword.

Cursed Swords are a necessary staple of the dungeon delving genre, because it keeps players cautious about using any sword they find with a magical aura. Testing such swords against target dummies and in mock combat will reveal only that they are magical, and perform to expectations. When used in combat, however, they reveal their true natures (which is the least convenient time for them to do so).

In the Rules Cyclopedia, Cursed Swords are a result of a normal enchanted sword being generated, and then rolling a 1 or 2 on an additional d20 roll. This more or less means that the sword's +X becomes a -X to attack rolls and damage.

The 1e DMG takes a different approach to Cursed Swords, as there are three varieties:

1. The Sword +1, Cursed - This sword compels the wielder to fight opponents to the death. They cannot retreat or break off from combat. Worse, they cannot be rid of the sword by any mundane means. It cannot be dropped, and when combat begins, the sword teleports into its owner's hand. A cleric must exorcise the sword in order for the curse to lift.
2. The Sword -2, Cursed - Functions like the RC Cursed Sword, but is limited to -2 to attack rolls and damage. Like the Sword +1, Cursed, this one teleports into the users hand and forces them to wield it against all opponents. Only limited wish, wish, or alter reality can rid the unfortunate owner of this sword.
3. The Sword, Cursed Berserking - Probably the most dangerous cursed weapon, the Berserking Sword compels the wielder to attack the closest living creature and continue to fight until dead or until nothing lives within 60' of the wielder. It has a +2 bonus instead of +1, and acts in all other respects as a Sword +1, Cursed. It can only be gotten rid of through exorcism or wish.

What does this all have to do with my previously doing away with the +X bonuses? Well, if a normal enchanted sword can't have a bonus to attacks and damage, a cursed sword shouldn't have penalties to such either. Instead I propose the following:

• Cursed Swords roll two dice for damage, taking the lesser of the two results. On critical hits, Cursed Swords roll no additional dice. Cursed Swords compel their owners to prefer* them over other weapons, and their owners cannot bear to parted with them, and will try to recover the sword by any means should they be parted with it. As it is unlikely that the owner would give up the weapon willingly, they will fight anyone who tries to take it from them.
• Swords of Aggression function like normal enchanted swords, but they have the compulsion property of Cursed Swords. Swords of Aggression further compel their owner to fight opponents to the death, and they may not voluntarily break off or retreat from combat.
• Berserking Swords function as though a Sword of Aggression, but the owner is compelled to attack the closest living creature, and fight until death or until all living creatures within 60' are dead.

*By prefer, I mean that they will use the weapon to the exclusion of all others. They cannot be persuaded to use a different weapon (such as a crossbow if the party will be attempting an ambush from range), nor will they use a superior weapon if they posses one.

Depending on what version of D&D you're using, it might be necessary to use exorcism, limited wish, wish, or alter reality to free an owner of a cursed sword from the weapon. The RC uses dispel evil and remove curse for this.

There are some magic items that defy my previous post's injunction against multiple Bane properties (AD&D 1e):

1. Sword +1, Flame Tongue, +2 vs. regenerating creatures, +3 vs. cold-using, inflammable creatures, +4 vs. undead. Personally, I think the weapon is too complicated to be used "at a glance" in combat, and it should be reduced to down to something like "Flame Tongue".
2. Sword +3, Frost Brand, +6 vs. fire-using /dwelling creatures. Same deal here, and should probably be reduced down to "Frost Brand".
3. Sword +4, Defender. It's fairly straightforward, but it would be better I think to make a "Defender" property, and leave it at that.
4. Sword +5, "Holy Avenger". I think these swords are going to be complicated no matter what if one is trying to preserve their flavor and intent.
5. Sword of Dancing. This version is very complex, and I think the "Dancing" property would be more like 3.5's version (I know, I know, boo).

 So, how would I change these to simpler, less complex versions?

• Flame Tongue: Flame Tongue swords grant an additional die of fire damage. On a critical hit, this damage is doubled (so, two dice of fire damage). Can be caused to burst into flame with a command word or phrase, shedding light like a torch. The aura of flame can ignite oil, burn webs, or set fire to paper, parchment, and dry wood.

Personally, I think that's better, more succinct, and since creatures like trolls already can't regenerate fire or acid damage, the Flame Tongue retains its usefulness against them. Creatures immune to fire damage simply ignore the extra die of fire damage.

• Frost Brand: A Frost Brand weapon grants an additional die of frost damage. On a critical hit, this damage is doubled (two dice of frost damage). It sheds no light, but the weapon is cold to the touch, and ice crystals may form on it. It acts as a ring of fire resistance and can extinguish fire in a 10' radius when thrust into them (this includes walls of fire).

Originally, the fire extinguishing power was a 50% chance, but all that really does is make players try it twice or even three times before it works. Simpler just to say the sword can and does extinguish fires.

• Defender: Defender weapons can be used as normal magic swords, or they can be used to defend their owner, sacrificing their "best of two" property. When Defending, the extra die is rolled on the owner's turn and counts as damage negation until their next turn when the die is rolled again. For example, if a 5 was rolled, 5 damage would be potentially negated that round. If a goblin attacks the example wielder and scores 3 damage, the damage negation would come into effect, and there would be 2 damage negation points remaining. If another foe attacked the wielder and scored 4 damage, only 2 points would be negated. The remaining 2 would go straight to HP, and any further successful attacks would also go straight to HP.

This might be more complicated than I meant to make it, but I felt damage reduction was too strong. What we have now is something like ablative armor or temporary hit points instead

• Holy Avenger: In the hands of ordinary warriors, Holy Avengers function as normal enchanted swords. In the hands of a paladin (or cleric, if you don't use paladins) Holy Avengers grant an additional die of damage against creatures of chaotic alignment (or chaotic and evil alignments, if you're using the 9 alignments). Additionally it grants its wielder 50% magic resistance and they can dispel magic in a 5' radius as a spellcaster of their experience level.

It's not really any different, the only changes are to account for games that are derivatives of Basic, since they don't generally use paladins or the 9 alignments. Yes, I know that name-level fighters in  the RC who are lawful become paladins.

• Dancing: A dancing weapon will fight on its own for five rounds and then return to the wielder. It must then be used in melee by the wielder for five rounds before it can fight on its own again. It fights at the same level and class as its owner.

The description in the 1e DMG is far, far more complex.

I may revisit this in another post. There's a lot of weapons that could benefit from simplification, but these are the "big" ones that commonly found and used by player characters.

On Magic Swords (and other violent implements)

My friend (who plays, or rather, played the elf in the Spies and Pirates game) and I stayed up rather late tonight after a game of Microscope where we were building a sword and sorcery world talking not only about said world, but our conversation also meandered into OSR territory... and our topic, magic swords.

The both of us are somewhat disappointed with the whole idea of +X weapons in D&D. Not only is it incredibly underwhelming that +1 swords go out of style faster than goldfish platform shoes, but it's also incredibly frustrating from a world-building perspective. Why would anyone make or enchant a +1 sword when +5 swords are clearly superior? Practice? Is there a sweatshop somewhere where lowly apprentices are made to slave over crude iron swords, rubbing them with rare ingredients in the desperate hope that some magic will flare to life in the cold metal dug from the earth by enslaved goblins? Will they be beaten and starved if they don't meet their quota of one enchanted sword per day?

Some of my irritation is partly based on the Ye Olde Magick Shoppe trope where adventurers can buy and sell magic items because it's convenient, and +1 swords are yawn inducing after the fifth one you find, so shouldn't there be a way to offload these crappy things to get a better sword? And why would anyone care about +1 swords anyway? It's just a +5% to-hit! Completely useless to anyone who isn't an adventurer or soldier type, so why wouldn't there be a market for this crap?

As much as it pains me to admit, those that throw these arguments around have a point. I don't have to like it, but I'm not so arrogant or stupid to think that they're completely foolish to have these notions. I do however blame the idea of D&D's magic swords for creating this culture of dismissal and disdain. My friend and I were discussing the ways in which weapons are differentiated from one another, where some OSR folks like lots of little bonuses and penalties depending on weapon/armor interaction, and some of us just want something streamlined that works, and then gets the hell out of the way. Both the elf's player and I are firmly in the latter camp.

So, to this end, we propose to do away with +X entirely. A magic weapon is a magic weapon. It doesn't alter to-hit probabilities, and doesn't do any extra damage (excepting specific sorts of weapons). But then, what makes a magic sword special?

Enchanted weapons have the following in common:

• They are difficult to break (any attack that would destroy a mundane weapon only has a 1 in 6 chance to destroy an enchanted weapon).
• They require the bare minimum of maintenance to keep them in combat shape. Wiping them clean is generally sufficient to protect them from the ravages of wear and time. An enchanted weapon never needs to be sharpened.
• They can harm monsters that cannot be harmed by mundane weapons (yes, I realize this means that monsters that can't be hit by +2 or worse weapons are now much more vulnerable, but I think this is a fair trade off for not getting straight damage bonuses)
• They deal an extra die of damage, but only the best of the two results is kept. A critical hit would roll 3d6, the two best of the three being kept.

Additionally, some weapons are built to fight specific foes:

• Bane weapons allow the wielder to roll an extra die of damage against the creature that the weapon was enchanted to defeat. E.g., a Goblin Bane Sword would deal 1d6 base damage, with an additional enchanted die where the best of two are kept, and then an extra 1d6 vs. Goblins only.
• Slaying weapons would necessitate a saving throw vs. death. Some especially strong Slaying weapons might impose penalties to this saving throw.
• A weapon can be both Slaying and Bane, but they must be for the same type of monster, and an enchanted weapon could not be enchanted with more than one Slaying or Bane property.

Most other magic item properties should have fantastic or utility powers. A sword that glows (or glows when particular monsters are near) are not only good for light (and thus save on torches and lamp oil) but can also serve to forewarn adventurers - but there's also that slight problem that the glow may not be able to be turned off, thus exposing the party (or just the character wielding it) to scrutiny and possibly attack.

It's late where I am (or early, depending on whether or not you went to sleep at a reasonable hour), so I won't be developing this as thoroughly as I might otherwise. But fear not, once I've slept I'll crack open my 1e DMG and my RC and see if there's some other magic item properties I should adapt to this particular take on magic items. In my own games, I prefer magic items to be a big deal. I don't like the idea of there being a white or grey market for magic items, and that in general, magic items are not sold for money unless someone is extremely desperate or extremely foolish, and are instead traded for other magic items.

I will likely go into this in more depth in another post where I'm not delirious from lack of sleep.

Spies and Pirates, Part IV

Our four weary spies tramped into the common room of the Moosefoot Inn, and took a table by the fire. The proprietor and his wife provided a meal in return for coin - coin which they knew was strange and different from the coins that the village was used to seeing, and were of a kind with the coins spent by the pirates of Port Varos. The Elf paid for the best bottles of wine that they had, which turned out to be a drinkable vintage, and after, lodging was secured.

Being that they were strangers, it was unsurprising that they drew as much interest as they did. In the morning, Aldentown's mayor put on his finery, and tramped down from his townhouse to the Moosefoot to see what all the hubbub was about.

Aldentown knew of the dwarves of Zagrammhar's Hold, but they hadn't seen them in generations. So, the party's Dwarf was something exotic, but known. The Elf on the other hand? Aldentown hadn't seen in elf in hundreds of years. If any still lived on the island, they avoided men, and kept their settlements secret. Even then, the party's accents and words were strange to the ears, cut off as they had been from the mainland for several generations. Of note too was the Crusader, clearly both a pious man and a soldier - a warrior from a cult which had been unable to convert the island's people to the worship of their fiery, industrious god, and away from the strange and pagan rites which they continued to practice.

So, Walaric waited at the bar so he could speak with these newcomers and sound them out. When they emerged, he introduced himself, asked them to take lunch with him at his townhouse. The party accepted, and they went.

Their talk was friendly, Walaric answering their questions about the town, the island, and even the pirates. They answered his questions about why they had come, specifically, their desire to meet with Balthazar, the wizard responsible for the island's perpetual storm. Walaric revealed that he was the great grandson of Balthazar, and that most people in Aldentown were related to the sorcerer in one way or another. It seemed that once every decade or so, for many, many generations into the past, Balthazar would come down from his tower above Lake Belro and would court, seduce, or kidnap a local woman who took his fancy. Sometimes they returned more or less unharmed. Others returned pregnant. A few never returned at all. Most could only vaguely recall what had happened to them.

Most folk in Aldentown tried to ignore how closely they might be related due to the wizard's meddling. Far too uncomfortable. However, they did use their kinship with the wizard to keep the pirates mostly honest. It was better than the alternative.

Walaric was proud that he had inherited some minor sorcerous power, and demonstrated by turning a tea cup into a mouse. It lived for only a few minutes, before once again becoming a tea cup.

It was not long after that they were interrupted by the town's miller, Remi. Remi explained that goblins had gotten into the mill once again, and had taken several bags of flour. Walaric promised to put out patrols and keep some young men on watch. It was at this point that our spies offered to deal with the goblins permanently.

Obviously, Walaric was happy for the offer. The party decided to focus on planning their expedition, and asked if there was a local hunter or guide who could help them find the goblins. Walaric recommended Ebrulf, a man who had hunted the area since childhood.

The party retired to the Moosefoot Inn to plan, and to wait for Ebrulf to arrive. Sometime around evening, the old hunter drifted into town and was sent down to the Moosefoot.

All was quickly arranged, the party agreed to meet Ebrulf at first light on the edge of town and then travel into the wooded foothills to the mine where the goblins were laired. They followed the greying man up into the hills and forests, until at late afternoon, they topped a ridge that overlooked the mine itself. They set up camp, and kept a watch on the entrance below. Around dusk, a goblin left the safety of the mine, with a bucket in hand. A small stream flowed below the entrance, and it was to the banks of this waterway that the goblin went.

Before the goblin traveled all the way however, they stopped to speak with another goblin guarding the entrance that the party had not seen until that point. Our specialist knocked an arrow, and waited for the goblin to get partway down the remains of a gravel road before he loosed. It struck, killing them instantly, the bucket clattering to the ground and rolling a few feet away.

The sentry came out from cover, calling something in their savage tongue, and the party swarmed down the ridge toward the entrance. Ebrulf stayed behind, and covered them with his hunting bow. The party managed to kill the sentry before he could retreat or take cover behind a toppled mine cart. On further examination, the initial goblin they had slain was a female.

When no further activity came from the mine entrance, Ebrulf joined the party. They began to hash out a plan among themselves, but unknown to them, a second sentry had been watching from inside, and when his fellow had died at their hands, he had raced down the tunnel to warn his chieftain of the invaders. Their plan was to smoke the goblins out, so they tipped a mine cart back upright and onto the sturdy, dwarven forged rails, and began filling it with as much dry wood as they could find, some oil from the lanterns, the goblin's bucket, the sentry's spear, and both bodies.

Once the conflagration had gotten going, they piled leaves on it for smoke, and pushed it as hard as they could down the rails. By virtue of their dwarf-made nature, the cart was carried down the rails quite far - far enough to trigger another dwarf-made feature: a pit trap. The mine cart clanged and clattered into a long pit, dug 10' deep, the floor swinging down. It wasn't the most successful plan, but all in all, it was a clever one, had the mine's interior not been designed the way it was.*

Their plan thwarted, the party ventured into the darkness of the mine with lanterns lit and weapons a ready. Past the long pit trap was the mechanism that would reset it, or make it active. They left it alone, and soon found themselves in a T passage, and chose to explore to their right, leaving the left unexplored. At the end of the right passage were two big iron bound doors, closed. Listening at the doors, they could hear the muffled orders of goblins, but as no one could understand the language, it was unknown what those mad barkings were about.

A quick reconnoiter of the left passage revealed an elevator, but it didn't look sturdy, so they decided not to risk it. Returning to the double doors, they readied their muskets and pistols, and barged in. With great thunders of smoke and fire, the combined firepower of the power killed and wounded several goblins, and the rest broke and ran, retreating deeper into the mine. Quickly looking over the room they found themselves in, the party discovered that the goblins were continuing to work the abandoned mine, using cast off implements that were likely so bad that the dwarves who had abandoned the place had left them without a second thought.

In one corner was a damaged dwarven automaton, a bipedal mining device with drills on its arms in place of hands. However, there wasn't a lot of time to take stock or do much of anything, so the party began reloading their weapons, and the Crusader advanced to the beginning of the passage that the goblins had retreated down. Our Dwarf took up position on the other side, and the Specialist went to the same side as the Crusader. Our Elf was busying himself with reloading his pistols from a safe distance away.

The goblins returned, along with the chieftain and shaman, both hobgoblins. They'd managed to draw some more of the goblins into formation, so now they numbered twenty or so, plus three hobgoblins (another hobgoblin had been slain in the initial engagement). Using shortbows from their back ranks, the goblins waited for their foes to reveal themselves. The Dwarf and the Specialist revealed themselves, the dwarf blasting them with a mighty cough of his blunderbuss, the Specialist with his pistol. Both of them were wounded by the arrows, and the Specialist was downed. Only by the efforts of the Dwarf and Crusader was he pulled to safety.

Knowing that the tide had turned grim, the Crusader rushed the goblins, hoping to break their formation and slay their shaman or chieftain, and throw them into chaos. Unfortunately, this brave act didn't have the effect he desired, and although he savagely wounded the shaman, he was brought down by the many spears of the goblins who had encircled him. The Elf, who had since reloaded and moved up, saw the Crusader collapse among the green skinned foes, made a fateful decision. The Dwarf, for his part, knowing that things were all but lost, waded in while the goblin formation was disrupted, and extracted the Crusader.

It was this moment that the Elf had waited for. He charged. And as he ran into the teeth of the goblin spears, he lit fuses, fired his apostles powder horns (measured containers of gunpowder), and dived straight into the middle of them. The explosion shook the small passage, and the shrapnel killed anyone not slain by the blast itself. When the smoke had cleared, the Specialist and the Dwarf were witness to the utter destruction of the foe. But the Crusader was unconscious, possibly dying, and the Elf... The Elf was as surely dead as the goblins he had courageously slain.

And so ends Part IV. Continued in Part V.

*The module I used for the mine was Gold in the Hills, which can be found on the Basic Fantasy RPG website. It's free! Check it out.