Give Them What They Want...

Over at RPG.net, Old Geezer asks:

One of the things computer games have going for them is QUICK rewards. In an interview about Diablo, one of the designers said they swiped the reinforcement schedule from Las Vegas slot machines; small, frequent, irregular reinforcements...

How do we translate this into table top gaming? How can we incorporate small, frequent, irregular reinforcement -- which Skinner clearly demonstrated is the strongest kind.

The discussion generated deals almost exclusively with mechanical tricks to give table-top play the “ding” of MMOGs. I think this mistakes the symptom for the disease.

Yes, you need to give your players little shots of happiness on a regular basis. That's the core of all games, whether we're talking about WoW or Monopoly or bingo or poker. Different games deliver this jolt of happy-happy endorphins in different ways. For WoW and slot machines, it's the randomly delivered reward for simple, repetitive action. In chess and poker, however, it's the head-to-head cerebral duel between players. WoW kinda combines the two where it incorporates player-vs.-player play, but doesn't do it nearly as well as the card game Munchkin.

RPGs are different from these other games in that they are infinitely flexible. Yes, I used the word “infinitely” and I meant it. As a GM (or a player, though that sometimes takes a bit more cleverness) you can reproduce the quick rewards by giving your players what they want.

No, I'm not talking about Monty Haul campaigns full of +5 dancing vorpal swords and characters with stats in the 20s (or whatever is amazing for your game de jour). I'm not talking about numbers at all.

If it's got a number or rule attached to it, it's completely useless for what I'm talking about. Numbers are only short term, one-time goodies. Sure, they're fun to get, but less fun to have, and you can only push them so far before you start to bump into the limits of your game's mechanics. This is why Old Geezer's thread is full of notions for mini-bonuses and short-term power-ups. Offering longer-term bonuses and such throws the mechanics out of whack and accelerates the power creep that is central to the reward mechanics of most games.

Those little mini-rewards, however, are a lot of book-keeping headaches. Honestly, do you track all the numbers you want to right now? Do you really want to shepherd more? And doesn't this just play to the strengths of computerized entertainment, while ignoring the strengths of pen-and-paper play?

Your players don't want mini-power-ups. They don't want to keep track of more numbers. They don't want more paperwork.

They want to be heroes. And being a hero has nothing to do with numbers.

Ok, I'm guessing here. Maybe they don't really want to be heroes. Maybe they want to be villains. Or they want to be sparkly vampires engaged in blushing teen romance. Or they want heart-tugging drama. Or they want to do things they'll never be able to do in their real lives. Or they want to misbehave. Or they want to fight the good fight. Or they want to evade the fiendish traps while trading verbal jabs with each other.

I can't tell you what your players want. Sometimes they can't (or won't) tell you themselves. You can tease it out, sometimes, through play. What's going on when they become most animated? What do they ask questions about, especially between sessions? When do they tune out? What does their body-language tell you?

Once you know, you can give it to them. If they seem to really enjoying chatting and deal-making with powerful beings, include more monsters that outclass them, but who are willing to deal for the right offer. If they really enjoy outfoxing fiendish traps or turning those traps against their foes, get a few issues of Green Devil Face and sprinkle the contents liberally through your dungeons. If they thrive on Red Harvest/Yojimbo/For a Fistful of Dollars -style cross and double-cross, give them warring factions to play off against each other. If they want romance, toss a handful of potential partners their way and see which ones stick. If they relish overcoming impossible odds, give them adversity. If they're really about exploring, give them free rein to wander where they will, but tease them with places they can't reach, knowledge that is forbidden, and secrets that are dangerous.

This is where games that follow modern design styles paint themselves into corners. When there's a rule for everything, everything is reduced to a roll of the dice. In spite of what some Old Schoolers will tell you, rolling dice isn't fun. It's boring.

Games are about making choices, not rolling dice. It's not the dice that separate pen-and-paper RPGs from computer games, it's the infinite latitude in the choices you can make. It's the ability of a real, live person to riff on your choices, and for the interactions of all involved to make the game something more intriguing than stat modifiers and dice mechanics. RPGs are not, after all, overly-complex, baroque versions of craps.

So when everything has a rule associated with it, you move away from the fun and towards rolling dice. Your elven sorcerer's knowledge of ancient cultures becomes a +6 bonus instead of knowing that winged serpents were associated with planar travel. Your rogue's charm and etiquette are reduced to bonus dice in a pool, rather than scouring the wine-cellar for just the right vintage and learning what her favorite books are.

These details make the game come alive, organically generate new adventures, and draw the players in. They make worlds feel real, they make NPCs seem three-dimensional and multi-faceted, and they make pen-and-paper RPGs something that computer games may never be able to touch.

"The Gods Have a Plan for You"

Words that would certainly strike fear into the hearts of most of my players over the years. Luckily for them, I'm just quoting this movie trailer:


Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time in HD

Trailer Park | MySpace Video

I'm not getting as much of a fun vibe off this as I got from the "Pirates" movies or "The Scorpion King". Still, it'll be great fun for the visuals and, I suspect, another Hans "ATTACK!" Zimmer soundtrack, even if the rest of the movie is only so-so.

Daisy Chains of Death and Destruction

I regularly read Roleplaying Tips Weekly, and while it's not chock full of gold every week, there's usually one or two bright nuggets in most issues. This in spite of the fact that the styles of play assumed by the authors and contributors tend to be a bit removed from my own.

This week, there was a question to the readership that caught my eye:

Dear Johnn,

Just wondering if you have any tips on large-scale battles
where the PCs can influence the outcome. My entire campaign
has been to get to the point where my players can be part of
a battle that they could possibly do different things where
the outcome is not pre-scripted. It's theirs to win or lose.

I GM a Star Wars Saga game, so it's likely to contain big
starships and starfighters, as well as ground forces with
blasters and Jedi. What's the best way I can manage this
without going insane? Splitting the party is bad enough.

- Melissa

I'm answering this question in my blog, instead of emailing it in, because this poor corner of the 'net has been languishing and needs some love.

Actually, while that's true, I also think the answer I have isn't one Melissa or her group would enjoy. It will probably feel like cheating. But it's perfect for folks who play in a style more similar to mine.

First, don't even think about fighting the battle with dice. That way does, indeed, lie madness, or at least the risk of a few failed SAN checks. Don't think of the battle as a giant combat. Think of it, instead, as a puzzle. A nasty puzzle with a timer that kills more people the longer the PCs take to solve it.

Duking it Out

The Battle of Endor at the end of “Return of the Jedi” is probably the best example from all six movies. It includes both ground and space forces, as well as a clash between jedi, all happening simultaneously, and interacting in interesting ways.

On the planet, Han, Leia, Chewbacca and company need to knock out the shield generator. They are not there to kill stormtroopers, to blow up war machines, or assassinate the commander of the imperial ground troops.

They have one mission, and that is to take out the shield generator so the rebel fleet can destroy Death Star 2.0.

What ends up happening is a disaster of epic proportions. They stumble right into the trap that's laid for them, without any indication they're even aware of it. Luckily, because they befriended the Ewoks, they get a second chance.

Here's where things get interesting for us as gamers. Yes, they're in the middle of a battle. Yes, people are shooting all around them, and yes, people are getting shot and killed, equipment is getting destroyed, and all of that. But the goal remains taking out the shield generator. The combat is a complication to the goal, not the primary focus of our heroes. The troops they have with them are basically told, “Hey, hold these guys off long enough for us to get inside this bunker.” Bodycount is hardly a consideration; the only thing that matters is getting into the bunker before the rebel fleet gets destroyed.

No Plan Survives Contact with the Enemy

Because of the utter lack of success on the parts of Han, Leia, and Chewie, Ackbar and Lando have to improvise a new plan. Their original strategy was to smash through any defending fleet, get to the Death Star 2.0 as quickly as possible, destroy it, and then get the hell out. Because the deflector shield is still up, they have to quickly change tactics. The new plan: stay alive long enough for the folks on Endor to destroy the shield generator.



Again, as a GM, there's no need for much dice rolling here. The battle is huge and you have exact specifics on every piece of hardware in the sky. You know how many rebel ships the imperial fleet can destroy in a round, and vice versa. The trick is to find ways to minimize the damage done to the rebel fleet at all costs. “Accelerate to attack speed,” says the general. “Draw their fire away from the cruisers.” At this level of abstraction, it's more like chess then traditional RPG combat. The pieces (squadrons, attack groups, capital ships) maneuver to support one another, deny movement to the enemy, or move to threaten enemy resources. (Lando's solution to the “fully armed and operational battle station” is, I think, an especially gamist one; the Death Star 2.0 will destroy one rebel capital ship a round, but the star destroyers take four rounds to destroy a ship. Therefore, fight the star destroyers where the Death Star can't safely attack.)

Dice Rolls and Lateral Thinking

How long the fleet must endure the punishment of the trap is largely up to the folks on the ground. R2-D2 and Han both horribly botch their “pick locks” rolls. The most important fight on the ground involves Chewie and some Ewoks taking over an AT-ST. (Notice that the poor guys piloting the thing can hardly fight back. The fight is horribly one-sided, with the imperial drivers trapped without weapons in an enclosed space with flesh-eating, midget hunter-gatherers who are brutally adept at butchering far tougher game with their stone-age weapons). Since the bulk of the imperial troops have been led off into the forest, Han is able to use subterfuge to get into the bunker and destroy the shield generator. This finally allows the rebel fleet to execute their original plan of attack.

Daisy Chains of Death and Destruction

The key to making this work is the cascade of consequences in each part of the battle. The effectiveness of Han and Leia and Chewie on Endor has immediate consequences for the fleet action (which affects Luke's confrontation with Vader and the Emperor). This means that, even though the party might be split up all over the place, the players still have a vital interest in what the others are doing. It also gives the GM clues on when to cut between groups.

Han's Player: Oh, crap! It's a trap.

GM: And the shield generator is still up when the fleet arrives. Lando, when the fleet drops out of hyperspace, you're ambushed from behind by a bunch of enemy fighters, and you're not getting any reading on those shields.

Lando's Player: Ok, we'll use our fighters to screen our capital ships. We get right into their teeth and give them something more important to worry about than destroying our big ships.

(Maybe some dice rolls to take out enemy leaders or some such here, but only things that will have a direct impact on the tactical situation as a whole.)

GM: Ok, the TIE fighters are stuck in swirling furballs with the rebel fighters. Meanwhile, back on the moon, as you're marched out of the bunker by the stormtroopers, the Ewoks attack!

Han's Player: Ok, I try to get back into the bunker. We'll have R2 pick the lock.

(He rolls some dice.)

Han's Player: Crap! My dice are cursed. (He scowls at Chewie's player.) Did you touch my dice while I was ordering the pizza?

Chewie's Player: Hey, don't look at me. Uh, I try to find the leaders of the Ewoks and see if we can't get them to draw the stormtroopers away from the bunker. That should give you more time and breathing space to find another way in.

GM: Ok, while the Ewoks battle the stormtroopers, in orbit over the planet, Lando, you can see the imperial capital ships are not driving home the attack, but spreading out to keep you from escaping. Why becomes abundantly clear when the Death Star 2.0 fires it's giant, planet-killing gun to destroy your cruiser Escargot.

All Players: CRAP!

As one group finishes an action that will have an effect (or lack of an effect) on the chances the other, you switch. When one group says, “Ok, change of plans...” or needs a minute to react to a change in the situation, you switch to the other group.

Note that this is why the combined space-and-ground battle in “Phantom Menace” doesn't work as well as the Battle at Endor. In “Phantom Menace,” what happens on the ground has very little bearing on the success of the overall mission. The only thing that really matters is destroying the ship that controls the 'droids. Once that's done, the battle is over. And there's nothing the ground forces can do to make that easier or harder for the ships in the fleet action. If you're playing a battle like that, try to avoid having any PCs involved in the unimportant ground battle. If players have to be there, try to make it interesting by giving them a chance to face a hated nemesis or achieve some ancillary goal that's important to the group as a whole. Otherwise, the folks in the fleet battle are going to tune out and get bored when you cut back to ground battle.

UPDATE (11/17/2017): Variations on this theme by Chris Lindsay and Satine Phoenix: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5u14LRYS9qc

UPDATE 2 (08/07/18): Variations on this theme that gets into more detail on how to make this happen at the table from Emmy "Cavegirl" Allen.

Nerds: the New Wanted Demographic

Granted, this ad was linked to from Libertarian Nerd Central, and granted also that they'd already put a foot down this path by hiring Mr. Fillion. But how many nerd-references can you cram into a single preview spot?



Buffy, Firefly (with a kinda-sorta sideling reference to "Millenium" and "Space: Above and Beyond"?), Underworld... Am I missing anything? Is Elizabeth Dryden a name I should know?

Laser Weapon Kills Truck

Fascinating, but less-than-thrilling, video and analysis here.

Sticking My Nose In...

Ok, I'm posting this here because I couldn't get Blogger to allow me to post a comment over there.

“Over there,” in this case, is David's great blog “Tower of the Archmage.” And he's having some trouble with getting a solo game started with his wife. As he puts it:

We both want to have fun, but our ideas of fun are light years apart... I was looking for a good naturally developed dungeon ecosystem, and maybe even a back story for the megadungeon. Virginia's priorities leaned more toward having a fun excuse to draw things like worms in sweaters, flying hamsters, and dwarven ghosts!

And that's a tough divide to bridge. You're thinking Tolkein's Middle Earth, and she's thinking Asprin's Myth Adventures.

Now, normally, I'm not a huge fan of Forge-style gaming. They've got very different goals than I do when we sit down and start rolling dice. But in this case, I think you need to take a page out of their book and work out what sort of game you want in advance. You might be able to wed the drama of High Fantasy with her fields of hungry venus flytraps and flying hamster aviaries. But it you do, it's going to take work from both of you.

As much as you can, outline what you want from the game ahead of time. Dungeon delving? Romance? Slapstick comedy? Funny accents? Ancient terrors that will rise when the stars are right? Make a list and organize in a vague way how you want these included in the game, and to what degree.

Prepare to compromise, and to stand fast where it's necessary. And then honestly adhere to this social contract. Don't try to cheat by sneaking things in around the edges. Don't suddenly spring the thing you agreed wouldn't be in the game on her about midway through the dungeon.

Then, tear the roof off D&D (or whatever game you're playing). Demolish all the boundaries you've created in your minds about what the game “must” be about. If managing a flying hamster aviary and catching rare and exotic hamsters to add to your collection is fun for you, wallow in it. If y'all are enjoying the awkward and forbidden romance between the daughter of a venus flytrap farmer and an elven rogue who always lives on the edge of oblivion, wallow in it. Obviously, you both love the fantastical, so there's some strong overlap there. Find those points of interests in the movies and shows and books you both enjoy and mine them for ideas.

Finally, allow me to scoot even further out on this limb and suggest you try reading Digger. It may give you something of a handle on how you can merge your seemingly unmergeable interests.

Of Caddies and Spartans

Fascinating interview with the author of The Legend of Bagger Vance and Gates of Fire here. Discussions of the warrior ethos, Bronze Age Greeks, the tribes of Afghanistan, and porn. What more could you ask for?

Who's Your Deity?

Over at RPG Blog II, Zachary Houghton is pondering clerics. In this case, it's less the age-old cognitive dissonance we've all experienced, where the pseudo-christian cleric mashes up against the pseudo-pagan, polytheistic worlds we game in. Instead, the cleric seems not medieval Catholic enough for Mr. Houghton, which is an interesting perspective on the problem.

It seems to me that it's just the other side of the same coin, however. Pretty much all the other character classes come ready to play right out of the box. The thief needs stuff to steal, the fighter needs things to kill and weapons and armor to do it with, and the magic-user needs spells. All of these can be found in the box.

But the cleric needs a god, and those don't always come in the box. Even when they do, it's rarely more than a list of powers or approved spells and equipment. It isn't enough. It's not what we expect when we're talking about religion.

Part of that is the modern perspective. We assume religion is a personal thing, a one-on-one relationship between worshiper and deity. This was not always the case. In the city-states of the Bronze Age, religion was a civic matter, and worship was a duty you owed your community, just like paying taxes and jury duty. It certainly wasn't a matter of personal choice, and thinking that you could have personal relationship with a god, like Odysseus or Perseus, was the height of hubris. Besides, most folks who ended up in personal relationships with the gods usually came to regret it.

The assumption in D&D tends to be more of the modern, personal relationship model that most of us who grew up in the West are familiar with. The cleric loses access to spells and powers if that individual deviates from the deity's dictates and interests, not if the god's favorite city gets sacked or the priests at the holiest of temples stop making sacrifices. The cleric is often expected to proselytize and bring more worshipers to their deity. Zeus didn't need folks wandering in barbarian lands spreading his word, and he didn't get his nose bent out of shape if you worshiped other gods, just so long as you kept the sacrifices and adulation coming. The Romans even made sacrifices to “the Unknown God” just to be sure they didn't offend some deity they'd never heard of due to ignorance.

But if you're expected to adhere to a set of divine strictures and spread the word of your god's greatness, you kinda need to know what those strictures are and what makes your god so great. The vague guidelines provided by the rules typically result in goody-two-shoes characters who make vague pronouncements on those rare occasions when they can address a crowd and must be conveniently facing the other way when the party decides they have to do something that the cleric's god disapproves of. (Or, even more bizarrely, tree-hugging, vegan druids who will starve the wolf's cubs by saving cute little lambs.)

It's traditionally been the campaign settings that have filled in the gaps, with varying levels of success (Planescape has probably provided the most fun with this idea). Frankly, if I had the power to remake D&D, I'd probably dump the cleric class entirely, give anyone and everyone the opportunity to earn powers from the various deities based on their level of service to said divinity, and moving healing powers to rangers, elves, and sage-type characters.

Art by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema and William Shakespeare Burton

Madonna's "Die Another Day"

I got a hankerin' to hear this song yesterday, so I tracked it down on YouTube and found the official video. It starts off appearing to be what you'd expect: the usual intercuts between the singer performing the tune on a minimalist backdrop and scenes from the movie. It then goes into a wierd collision of traditional Madonna, the opening credits montage from the movie (but with Madonna instead of Brosnan being the one tortured), Spy vs. Spy, and kabbalah. Lots of glass gets broken, we've got a battleaxe vs. halberd fight, and my favorite bit is when Madonna steal's Oddjob's hat.

(Kimm, you don't want to watch this. Trust me. Other cat-lovers may also want to give this one a pass.)

In Over My Head

And it sure feels nice!

I have a few friends and acquaintances who are serious artists. I mean they do art for living. They don't putz around with it in their spare hours or sneak it in during their lunchbreak. I mean they are full-time, to-the-hilt, paying-the-bills-with-their-creative-skills artists.

Being creative types, they live their lives outside the boundaries that most of us take for granted. They're a quirky bunch, given to deep emotions and a devil-may-care attitude towards things most of us lie awake at night fretting about. Being outsiders, they have something of a kinship with other artists, though like bloodline kinships they can be fraught with animosities and rivalries and out-and-out feuding.

But the one thing they all seem to save their deepest, most venomous hatred for are people who settle into a rut with their art. Sure, going for the low-hanging fruit is understandable; sometimes you just need to pay the bills. But falling into a niche and just stagnating there, never pushing your talent, your assumptions, or your craft is the ultimate blasphemy. I have seen an artist I greatly admire, a man with amazing people skills who always makes you feel special and appreciated and remembered, no matter who you are, erupt into a torrent of blazingly acidic contempt for another artist who was clearly just aping the style of a former star.

Now, I don't consider what I do with my RPGing to be “Art” and I do only dabble in it during my spare time. I'm not a professional, and I don't really see myself pushing the hobby's collective envelope or anything. But it is fun to push my own, and I'm deep into that now.

It's most noticeable in the solo game. It's gone from very traditional dungeon-delving into something dominated by interpersonal relationships and the like. I've dipped my toe into these waters before, and usually with less-then-exemplary results. When I've had games sputter out in the past, it's sometimes been because the game has gone to similar places, but we've never really found our groove there.

This time, things seem to be catching. Time will tell, of course, and as always it's more about what the players want than my own skills, but I'm feeling traction where before the wheels just slipped and spun. There's no strong sense of momentum in the game, but there's still a sense of motion, of texture and depth.

It's hard to describe, honestly. But it's fun. I'm starting the game sessions with a sense of real trepidation. I know what it feels like when a game is beginning to falter and I can feel that nipping at our heels, but it's not caught up to us yet. Are we on the verge of a breakthrough? Will we come through to see vast new expanses of gaming possibilities that have eluded us before now, or that we never even expected were available?

The group game isn't quite treading the same territory, but it's had it's own excitements, primarily in how the group is trying to come together. That, combined with some traditional dungeon delving but with distinctly untraditional themes woven through, has given the game a unique character in my mind. I'm not just going through the motions with this one; the players keep challenging my assumptions and I hope I'm challenging theirs. Again, only time will tell how successful this actually is. I'm having fun, and getting reports back that fun is being had. As always, that's the most important thing.

What's the Buzz?

I've been away from the net a lot this past week, but I haven't entirely forgotten about y'all. Unfortunately, it's meant less posting than I'd intended to do. However, I did manage to write up a review of Labyrinth Lord for RPG.net.

"The Holy Inquisition finds you guilty... of HERESY!"

"The dark night of fascism is always descending on America,” said Tom Wolfe, “but it always seems to land in Europe."

So we keep hearing about how the OSR is all closing ranks and imposing purity tests on folks to make sure they're not engaging in “deviant behavior.” Only I have yet to see it happen. Maybe I'm not reading the “right” forums (I'm actually pretty much out of the forums thing, but for a some brief passes through RPG.net, these days). Maybe I'm not reading the right blogs. But I just don't see it.

Jameses Maliszewski and Raggi seem to be leading the charge into the future, but it sure ain't a strictly regimented one. Mr. Maliszewski keeps swinging back and forth on thieves and gives us four-armed martian PCs while Mr. Raggi is apparently creating unique adventures the likes of which nobody has seen before, and only avoiding controversy of Carcossian proportions because, hey, it's Raggi, and what else would you expect?

I can't find anyone of any significant standing in the OSR telling anyone they're doing it wrong. I see a lot of “this is the way I do it” and “hey, this worked really well at the table last night.” I see a lot of people playing games and building dungeons and starting magazines. Folks are tossing out rules and building new games and making houserules. They're embracing Vancian magic, or rejecting it for something else, or creating their versions of books which were promised by never published, or playing with alternative experience systems, or creating emo-devouring monsters based on pre-raphaelite nightmares, or...

I don't see purity flamewars or inquisitions or blacklists. People keep talking about how the long dark night of fascism is all ready to smother the OSR in its shadowy tentacles, but I couldn't tell you where it's actually landing.

Art by Jean-Paul Laurens.

Two Variations on a Theme

I started today reading this at Grognardia:

Well, MY players loved to roleplay (acting), and so do I, so I played the NPCs to the hilt, and prepared for hours beforehand and afterwards, knowing my players wanted to find out which NPC was related to which other NPC, what scandals had gone on in this village thirty years back, and so on and on and on . . . so I gave it to them. They always wanted to TALK to everyone, and there were nights (six or seven hours of play, with a tea-and-chips-and-chip-dip break in the middle) when no player character even drew a weapon; it was ALL intrigue and roleplaying conversations, confrontations, investigations, trade dickering, and so on.

This doesn't surprise me much. Greenwood had a profound influence on my gaming, especially his "Seven Swords" article.

And over at I Fly by Night, we have this:

This situation is set up by looking at what the NPCs are trying to do and their resources, and with them creating a situation which the PCs must in some way react to. The PCs react to this situation with energy, pushing it out into an action. I see how the NPCs will react to the PCs' action, and apply resources and organization in the way they would, based on their goals, motivations, and personalities. This back and forth act, react, and react to the reaction process can last a good many sessions.

You can sum up a lot of the way I GM with these two articles. A lot of knowing Who and Why, with the What primarily being inspired by the actions of the PCs.

UPDATE: Even Carl "Mutagenic Substances" Nash has been wallowing in this sort of play. He adds this thought:

One thing that has come of all these combat-less sessions is that I have completely abandoned the experience tables in the Mutant Future rulebook and have gone to free form experience awarding. I wouldn't feel right to not award experience for all these sessions of brilliant role playing. The party could easily have been killing things left and right but that would have accomplished very little and I want to reward role playing, not discourage it. I now evaluate what the party accomplished last session and give out a reward that I feel is in keeping with what happened, whether or not any monsters were killed or any treasure was found.

Yeah, I've been facing similar issues myself. Not sure yet how I'm going to jump, but I think I'll dig up an old article by Katherine Kerr on this subject, as I recall it went pretty far towards creating the EXP system I used during my college games, and it was viewed pretty favorably by the players.

Potions in Pitsh

Here are a few more things you can spend your ill-gotten, er, I mean, hard-won loot on while you're in Pitsh.

Extra-healing Potion – 300 gp: There are two doses in this potion that heal 6-12 points of damage each.

Giant's Strength Potion – 600 gp: This potion gives you the strength of a giant for a half-hour.

Healing Potion – 100 gp: There are two doses in this potion that heal 3-6 points of damage each.

Love Potion – variable prices: There are lots of these floating around town. Most are probably just slightly-past-the-freshness-date fruit juice. Reputable alchemists won't touch this one with a ten-foot-pole, and warn customers that the real thing can be shockingly potent with unpredictable results.

Night Vision Potion – 50 gp: This potion gives you the low-light vision of elves for six hours.

Water Breathing – 300 gp: This potion will grant the ability to breath underwater for up to 24 hours. It can be split up among multiple people. For instance, 24 people could drink it and breath underwater for a single hour, or six people could share one potion to breath underwater for 4 hours each.

Art by John William Waterhouse

Magic Item: Wayedge

A few days ago, when I posted a comment over at the “Hamsterish Hoard of Dungeons & Dragons”, the verification word that popped up was “wayedge”. I commented that it sounded like the name of a magic item I'd expect to see on that page, and Taichara agreed. So, today, we're both posting our versions of what Wayedge is. This is mine:

Wayedge appears to be a rather unremarkable, heavy-bladed, large kitchen knife. The blade is made of a dark grey, glossy material which tapers to a sharp point, is not quite a foot in length, with a triangular cross-section and only one sharp edge. The handle is fashioned of bone with odd marks carved into it that are easily mistaken as an attempt to make the grip less slippery, and the parts are joined by fittings of orichalcum.

In truth, the blade is a single piece of magically shaped diamond and the handle is fashioned from the phalanx bone of a grey slaad. The blade can, with enough force, cut through nearly anything short of adamantium. While somewhat clumsy for combat, the blade's cutting ability translates to a non-magical +3 “to hit” bonus (meaning that it doesn't count as magical for harming lycanthropes, non-corporeal foes, etc.).

Wayedge wasn't designed to be a weapon, however. It was fashioned with the ability to slice holes in Planes, allowing passage from one Plane to another. The Plane on the other side of such a cut is randomly determined, but is always a Plane which is adjacent to the one the where the cutter currently is. (If you're using the traditional multi-verse wheel, a person cutting a hole in their Prime Material Plane might open a way to a neighboring Prime Material, the Ethereal , the Astral, one the Elemental Planes, or the Planes of Positive or Negative Energy, as all of those are “adjacent” to and “touch” the Plane of the cutter.)

In order to make this cut in a Plane, the edge must be coated in the blood of a single creature. Then the cutter recites a chant three times while stabbing at the air and pulling downward with the blade. (The chant is actually carved into the handle, in the letters that make up the strange markings carved into the handle.) Whatever Plane the cut opens into, it will have everything necessary for the survival of the creature whose blood is on the edge of the blade. That means, there will be air to breath, the temperature will not be so hot or so cold as to pose a serious danger, and it won't be in the middle of rock or the bottom of the ocean, if such things would be an immediate threat to the creature whose blood is used in the ritual. The blade will not, however, insure a lack of enemies on the other side of the rift.

The cutter can usually make a rift as long as they are tall every round. These cuts heal at a rate of roughly 6 feet per turn.

The blade is assumed to be of sshian manufacture, as the runes carved into the handle are a simplified version of that race's courtly script. Legend puts it in the hands of their most famous assassin, the infamous Washak-lum, who personally saw to the deaths of three empresses and nine sorcerers, as well as murdering the dragon Grangom and severing the hand of a river titan. Washak-lum met his end, according to legend, at the hands of a yakfolk sorcerer inhabiting the body of one of the assassin's favorite hierodules.

The knife falls out of legend for thousands of years but it is shows up in the hands of Tecolotliztac, a sorcerer of great renown among the lizardfolk at the height of their second empire. He is known to have been personally slain by the Necromancer at the Battle of Atlyei. Rumor then says that the Necromancer had the knife on his person during the sack of the pleasure gardens of Amocampa. The blade is never mentioned again, and some wonder if the Necromancer used it to escape the destruction of his armies, taking it with him to some unknown Plane.

UPDATE: Here's Taichara's. It's interesting that our minds seemed to orbit the same idea.

And here's David's version over at "Tower of the Archmage". Anybody else do one?

ADDITIONAL UPDATE: Here's Oddysey's vaugely creepy version.

AND YET ANOTHER: Here's JB's bloody version.

Left or Right?

I think I've touched on this before, but Stuart brings up a good point in the comments to my last post. I'm not going to address that directly, but instead look at something tangential. Specifically, how do you create meaningful choice in the dungeon?

It can be difficult. Players assume certain things between staying on a certain level or going deeper. (Whether or not they should is another matter entirely.) Beyond that, typically the passage east is pretty much identical to the passage west. There's typically little reason to choose one over the other.

How to fix that? Generally, folks will tell you to hit the other senses: are there smells, or hot drafts of air, or sounds one way or the other? More to the point, however, is what you might be trying to communicate by these clues. What, beyond the inhabitants, is there that makes one part of the dungeon different from another?

When I'm sitting down to beat on a dungeon, I try to break the place up into zones. Typically, these zones are based on what the original builders had in mind for the location. The passage to the left has ornamental carvings on the arched doorway, while the passage to the right is narrower and without ornamentation. The left leads to the living quarters of the owners of the place, while the passage on the right was an access hallway for the servants. That sort of thing gives players all sorts of information to play with. To the left, the hallways will be broader, the rooms bigger. That's where the best treasure and bigger monsters are likely to be found still. The narrower hallways and smaller rooms of servants' territory, however, probably go everywhere and might provide ways to get around things and creatures best avoided, or offer tactical possibilities.

Just like your home is divided into zones, so too can you divide your dungeon. Your home probably has a kitchen and dining area, a sleeping area, and a working and living area. You might have nice rooms that you don't use unless you have company coming over, and you might have a workshop that you're in a lot but company doesn't visit much. The critters living in your dungeons have the same needs and interests. Where do they sleep? Where do they work? Where do they get their drinking water and where do they get their food? They also have other issues to keep in mind. How do they protect themselves against the bigger, nastier critters that live deeper down in the dungeon? These sorts of things might map directly on to the intentions of the original builders, or may have been altered by the new inhabitants. What was a bedroom is now a storeroom. The great hall is now a barracks. Regardless, this new habitation is going to leave clues. Kitchens and latrines broadcast odors that sharp-nosed adventurers might sniff out. Smithies will make lots of noise, as will makeshift taverns or barracks or dining halls, kennels, and nurseries. The most "important" rooms will be guarded. Vaults where loot is stored might be guarded with monsters, traps, or both. The locations where slaves are kept will likely be cruder and less well-maintained.

Finally, don't hesitate to give your players opportunities for reconaissance, either via rumors before they enter the dungeon, or from captives or spells once they are inside. The essence of all games is making meaningful choices; the more information the players have, the more fun they can have doing things with the neat dungeon-toy you've given them to play with.

Art by Jean-Léon Gérôme.

Simmulationism vs. Immersionism

It's not the great gulfs of distance between people that cause the real problems. It's the tiny differences that really get people riled up. D&D vs. Dogs in the Vineyard doesn't cause nearly the sort of angst and anger as D&D 3.5e vs. 4e.

Which explains why sometimes "Tao of D&D" rubs me the wrong way. He's a simulationist. He's all about building as complete and real a world as he can, and then letting the players run wild through it.

I'm an immersionist. What the heck is the difference? Tao works very hard to have all his ducks in a row from day one. He uses the real world as his template to make the work easier, investigates and designs appropriate weather patterns and economic systems and biologically sound ecosystems.

I, on the other hand, create the illusion via smoke and mirrors. To use a literary allusion, Tao is to alternative history authors like Harry Turtledove and Bruce Sterling, who work very hard to dig into the depths of history to make sure their alternative versions hold together, as I am to Robert Howard and Lovecraft, who create the illusion of complete worlds with a few words and a wave of their hand.

Verisimilitude is vital to both styles of play. Tao achieves it by creating amazing, intricate clockwork worlds where everything hangs together perfectly. I achieve it by allusion and suggestion, and trusting my players will pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, pulling on levers and rattling sheets of metal to create the sound of thunder.

How do you create the illusion? One or two well-placed and unexpected details will usually do the trick. What do I mean by unexpected? Here's a sentence from Lovecraft's “The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath” that illustrates it perfectly: “In the morning Carter joined a caravan of merchants bound for Dylath-Leen with the spun wool of Ulthar and the cabbages of Ulthar's busy farms. “

Where's the magic? Cabbages. In the middle of this tale of diabolical alien gods, ghouls, and darkly twisted woods, the people of Ulthar grow cabbages. These cabbages have nothing to do with Carter's quest, or with much of anything for that matter. They're a bit of seemingly random local color.

The truth is, the players expect a tavern or inn, and they expect a general store where they can buy more 50' lengths of rope. Even jazzing these up won't really stick in their minds. But they'll remember the way everyone in town has stained their teeth and tongue black chewing on licorice root. The odd way everyone ends any sentence including a personal pronoun by spitting in the dust, or how all magic-users are made to wear purple hats will stick in their minds. These sorts of things don't have to make sense (and, in fact, it helps if they don't sometimes) but they should be small and fairly inconsequential.

The Dream Quest is a great resource for this sort of thing, being a travelogue in miniature, where dozens of tiny places, people, and races are described briefly and then passed over. It's a surreal story, very much a thing of feverdream. It's the tiny details, like Ulthar's cabbages, the yellow silken mask of “that High-Priest Not To Be Described”, the tickling night-gaunts, and the “jasper terraces of Kiran which slope down to the river's edge and bear that temple of loveliness wherein the King of Ilek-Vad comes from his far realm on the twilight sea once a year in a golden palanquin to pray to the god of Oukianos, who sang to him in youth when he dwelt in a cottage by its banks.“

UPDATE: Alexis has posted on his blog with more detail on his technique. Be sure to check it out.

Art credits: James Campbell and David the Younger Teniers

Yes They Could!

For some people, learning the facts sucks all the joy and excitement out of life. I don't understand those folks at all.

I used to think that people from ye olden days couldn't do much that was as cool as the stuff we did now-a-days. I would limit the size and scope of things in my medieval fantasy campaigns to keep them "realistic." They hardly had nails, so how could they do anything that impressive?

That, of course, ignores the cathedrals. But it's even worse than that. If you visit The Cloisters, you can see prayer beads the size of a jawbreaker with massive crowd scenes carved into them, with every individual figure distinct and unique. It's the sort of work nobody can do today. Those skills have been lost.

When you really dig into things, you realize just how much you can achieve with ingenuity and a professional attitude. Learning a bit of cabinetmaking, for instance, I discovered that nails are a cheap and lousy short-cut; the best furniture is made with dovetails and biscuit joining. (And heck, you'll find folks who say even biscuit-joining is a cheap short-cut.)

So this, I suppose, shouldn't come as any surprise:



But it's still damned cool.

Inside Baseball

My blog has slowed down a lot lately. So, I notice, has Oddysey's. I think it's for the same reason.

We're engaged in a one-on-one game which has recently undergone a few momentous transformations. These flowed naturally from the course of events and decisions that the PC made. And therein lies the difficulty.

We've fired off nearly daily emails to each other over these issues, not because the campaign is falling apart but because it is thriving. Oddysey and her character are delving deeper into the world, ferreting out details and such that I'd only vaguely outlined in my own head. Now those details are becoming integral parts of the game, strategies are being built around them, and decisions are being made that have serious social consequences.

So why aren't we writing about that? Because, quite simply, the amount of background material you'd need to make sense of what's happening is huge. This is not unusual in my campaigns. I drop a few seeds of such things, present my players with difficult challenges, and they usually rise to the occasion by taking such things and crafting clever ways to overcome those challenges. So far, so good, but these sorts of things build on each other over time. The variations in gift-giving customs between the elves of Ashwood and Malfanwys become a vital element of an adventure, but that doesn't make any sense to an outsider until they understand that elves even have gift-giving customs, and then you have to explain what gift-giving means to elves, and eventually, it's turtles all the way down.

We've been writing up some very neat stuff (and you should bug Oddysey about her brief discussion of how dwarves use jewelry to express social and marital status), but it's both taken up a lot of writing time and not produced much that is suitable for general consumption. I'm going to be combing through some of this older stuff to find gems that I think y'all would enjoy, but don't be surprised if blogging is light for another week or so.

Image credits: Sister72 and WordRidden.

More Digital Ink on Where the Kids Are

Randall Bills over at Catalyst Game Labs has quite a bit to say on this subject:

I believe the most significant hurdle (a hurdle that’s always been the bane of our industry, simply more so now) is market penetration. With kids not driven out of their houses to get their geek on and discover gaming by accident along the way, getting them to find our games is all the more difficult.

Yet it’s important to recognize that the market still exists. It allows us to see that instead of giving up on RPGs, we need to think outside the box for how to deliver RPGs to a hard-to-find market. Instead of bemoaning the lost days of yore, we can step up to the challenge and declare emphatically that RPGs still rock, are cool and can find a great audience, including the next generation.

As I've mentioned before, I think MMOs and console gaming are a distraction. The real threat is freeform online play based on beloved IPs like Harry Potter and X-Men and Middle Earth.

That said, the fix remains the same, as Mr. Bills points out. People are not going to show up until they're invited.

And we need to start extending that invitation. ICv2 Insider’s Guide reports that the second quarter of 2009 saw improvement in nearly every segment of the hobby games industry except:

The roleplaying game category remains deeply troubled, with most brands down, and the gap between Dungeons and Dragons and the rest growing.

UPDATE: James Edward Raggi IV riffs on this topic as it applies to the Old School Renaissance.

Gods as Monsters

There's a neat article from a few weeks back about polytheism posted at “The Tao of D&D”. It's a bit long, but a lot interesting, so worth your time.

One of the philosophies espoused in the article is that the gods should be great and powerful beings who "can smash a PC, or kingdom like a bug", far beyond the “glorified monsters” they appear as in Deities & Demigods. So where did Messrs. Ward and Kuntz come up with the idea of the gods as creatures who should have stats and could be defeated in combat?

Probably from the myths themselves.

These myths are hardly consistent when it comes to the powers of the gods. Isis could flood the Nile with a single teardrop, but had to spend time disguised as a common, mortal nursemaid in order to rescue the body of the murdered Osiris. Yep, murdered, as in slain, as in reduced to 0 hit points (or -11, depending on your house rules). Osiris was lucky; he got resurrected. Poor Baldur wasn't so fortunate and ended up staying dead.

And Baldur was hardly unique among the gods and their brethren. Zeus slew his father and imprisoned the other titans. Tiamat was dismembered after her husband was killed (arguably in self-defense) by their children. Heck, the entire Norse pantheon was doomed to die in battle against monsters and frost giants.

Dying and torment were not unknown to the gods. Nor were they omniscient. Odin lost an eye and hung for three days from Yggdrasil, the World Ash, to earn the right to drink from the Pool of Wisdom and learn the making of runes. Thor was fooled by illusions. Ares was driven, screaming in pain and horror, from the plain before Troy by Diomedes.

Having said all that, I think most folks will get more mileage from the system outlined in “The Tao of D&D” because it tends to agree with people's default assumptions. We tend to think of gods as mystical forces rather than flesh-and-blood creatures, and we assume the relationships our characters will have with the gods will be distant, obscure, and personal, rather than matters of civic duty, akin to jury duty and paying taxes. If you're going to do something other than that with your deities, you should probably make them central to the campaign and its themes, as was done in the Dragonlance campaign.

Art Credits: Frederick Arthur Bridgman, Bertel Thorvaldsen.

It's All About the Benjamins

There's more info now about what Messrs. Mentzer, Ward, Kask, and now Clark are up to. There's a lot here to like, not the least of which that they are talking about it on Dragonsfoot. The range of games they're talking about is promising, though the fact that Swords & Wizardry isn't listed seems odd.

I love the fact that these guys are jumping in like they are, and that they are treating it as a serious business. As I've mentioned before, there are real benefits to treating this sort of thing as a profit-making venture.

That said, they sure want a lot of cash up front. And that, honestly, is the most fascinating thing about it. Can they raise that kind of scratch? If anybody can, it's them. And if they can, it'll mean there are some real legs to this OSR thing. That'll be very, very interesting to watch.

Trollsmyth the Mastermind

Jeff's Gameblog has pointed me to BrainHex. It's about computer games, but it's still intriguing.

Your BrainHex Class is Mastermind.

Your BrainHex Sub-Class is Mastermind-Socialiser.

You like solving puzzles and devising strategies as well as hanging around with people you trust and helping people.

Each BrainHex Class also has an Exception, which describes what you dislike about playing games. Your Exceptions are:

» No Punishment: You dislike struggling to overcome seemingly impossible challenges, and repeating the same task over and over again.
» No Commitment: You dislike being asked to complete everything, preferring to pick and choose which tasks you will attempt, or simply messing around with a game.

Learn more about your classes and exceptions at BrainHex.com.

Your scores for each of the classes in this test were as follows:

Mastermind: 17
Socialiser: 16
Seeker: 15
Survivor: 10
Daredevil: 6
Conqueror: 0
Achiever: -2

And if we check out what a Mastermind is, we find:

“I know what to do.”


You like solving puzzles and devising strategies.

Your behaviour is focussed around making the most efficient decisions.

Your major brain region is the orbito-frontal cortex, an area just behind and above the eyes involved in making decisions, and the nucleus accumbens (or “pleasure centre”) which is closely linked to it.

Your chemical messenger is dopamine, which is chemically similar to cocaine, and is involved in habit formation.

If you were an animal, it would be an octopus.

I am the octopus! Koo-koo-kachoo! But at least I don't hate people. ;p

Not Quite Dead Yet

But since we're talking about Sinister Adventures, it may, in fact, be undead. They'll be posting submission guidelines in the near future as well.

Things look good for our end of the RPG woods, with Sinister Adventures getting back on its feet, Mr. Raggi churning out new stuff, and whispers of a new venture by Tim Kask, Jim Ward, and Frank Mentzer.

Gettin' High in the Lands of Doom & Teaparties

”Hey... Black lotus. Stygian, the best!”

“This better not be haga.”

“I would sell haga to a slayer such as you?”

I'm actually not aware of much drug use in Howard's stories about Conan, but it's all over the place in the works of Clark Ashton Smith and Michael Moorcock.

On high tables about the walls of the alchemy, there were jars, flasks, and vials containing subtle drugs and powerful elements, some of which were drawn from the more arcanic kingdoms of nature. Disregarding the moon-powder, the coals of starfire, the jellies made from the brains of gorgons, the ichor of salamanders, the dust of lethal fungi, the marrow of sphinxes, and other equally quaint and pernicious matters, the magician soon found the essences that he required. It was the work of an instant to pour them into the seething cauldron; and having done this, he awaited with composure the return of the reptiles. - “The Flower-women” by Clark Ashton Smith

In the realms of fantasy, it is an easy thing to come up with all manner of wild and fanciful inebriants and hallucinogens. The real world has more than its fair share as well. What follows is a short list of those most common in the lands of my Doom & Teaparties campaigns.

Chocolate is typically drunk as a thick, foamy liquid (it's foamed up by pouring rapidly from one container to another) and is considered a mild aphrodisiac.  Fermented and roasted beans are also ground into a powder which is used to spike other drugs, or sprinkled over or in food.

Cannabis along with hashish and sinsemilla are also fairly common. Usually it's burned in a pot that those wishing to indulge gather around so they can enjoy the fumes. It is smoked individually by some, but most consider it a more social drug. It's also baked into some sweetbreads pastries.

Coca leaves (not to be confused with cocoa leaves) are often given to slaves engaged in manual labor in the lands of the lizardfolk. The lizardfolk and their slaves claim that chewing the leaves boosts the slaves' energy and strength. The gods point out that the lizardfolk themselves use the leaf only rarely themselves, and claim that prolonged use makes humans docile and tame. The gods consider the cultivation and sale of coca leaves to be a crime, though rumors maintain that extracts from the leaf and root are part of the process the Shkeenites use to tame newly acquired slaves. The lizardfolk use similar extracts as part of an aphrodisiac they feed to their slaves when attempting to breed them.

Licorice is often consumed by just chewing the root to freshen the breath. The syrup from boiled roots is used to help break up coughs and cure mouth sores and fevers. However, the temples of the gods frequently serve the syrup mixed with food and sauces to their novices as a treat, because it is known to suppress the sex drive and other “antisocial” behaviors.

Large quantities of powdered nutmeg are combined with chocolate and other herbs into a potent potion brewed by lizardfolk witches to induce prophetic visions, though it's typically administered to criminals before execution or sacrifice. The effects are thought to be especially unpleasant, and such a victim can rave and babble for an entire day. Such visions are nearly always doom-laden, but the mystics and rulers of the empire take such predictions seriously.

The gods use nutmeg in the incense used during ceremonies in their temples, but the amounts are too low to produce any noticeable hallucinogenic effect. It is believed, however, to ward against airborne diseases, so the incense is often used in and around hospitals.

Anthoneiri or “dreamblossoms” is a flower from a clinging vine that grows best in Fairey. The long, leaf-shaped petals are a milky white near the center of the flower, blushing to pink and then a brilliant crimson at the outer edge and pointed tip. The stamens and pistil of the blossoms can be used to create a potion that induces a wild, sometimes violent, bestial state in the drinker, and is used by some shock troops to work themselves up into a fury before battle. The scent of the dreamblossoms is a potent aphrodisiac, and prolonged or saturating exposure can induce a temporary state of extreme satyriasis/nymphomania that, if sated, will result in a very deep, restful sleep with especially bizarre and vivid dreams. Hierodules of Tiamat are known to use this effect to attempt to contact Tiamat in her prison.

Moonglories are a small, shrub-like plant whose silvery blossoms open under the light of the silver moon. Chewing the root is a common cure for male impotence. Eating the blossoms raw is known to cause mental instability, but when properly prepared it is a potent anesthetic. A more concentrated form is sometimes combined with sinsemilla to produce a powerful hypnotic drug that can be used to make a person highly suggestible or alter their memories. It is believed to be another tool in the pharmacological arsenal of the Shkeenites.

Lotus plants come in a number of colors, each with its own potent powers. Chewing the petals of the white lotus before bed results in restful sleep full of pleasant dreams, and is thought to be a ward against the nocturnal predations of night hags and nightmares. It is often administered to mothers going through difficult pregnancies, as it's also thought to settle the tummy and curb the effects of morning sickness as well as gentle the emotions.

Purple lotus is noted for its prophetic powers. Alchemists and soothsayers use a potent mix of dried blossoms, sinsemilla, and moonglory blossoms to get hazy glimpses of the future. Chewing the petal gives a mild euphoric effect and stains the tongue a dark purple color. Some use it to enhance the effects of other drugs or alcohol. In many human cultures, maidens will chew a fresh purple and white petal before bed on nights of the full moon in hopes of having a prophetic dream in which they will get a glimpse of the face of their future husband. Purple lotus are often grown outside the temples of Hasrit, and some coming to watch the whirling dance ceremonies of the priestesses will take a petal or two to chew, though the priestesses warn that they will not be responsible for the results of such practice.

The petals of the red lotus are thought to release the emotions, to bring secret thoughts from the depths of the soul, and unleash inspiration. It is thought to be especially potent when smoked with cannabis under a full silver moon. When the petal is chewed, it does strengthen the emotions and makes the chewer more susceptible to mood swings. When dried and smoked mixed with cannabis, those mood swings can be extreme. It is grown in the temples of Uban to be used to help unlock the inspiration of the priests who are thwarted by a particularly difficult or thorny problem, but always under the supervision of other priests, since it nearly always results in the user curled up in the corner, babbling and weeping in stark terror at horrors only the smoker can see.

The petals are sometimes ground into a paste, combined with aphrodisiacs, and turned into a lip paint. This lip paint is thought to slowly excite not only the wearer, but anyone kissed, and is sometimes used by those hoping to seduce an otherwise disinterested or hesitant lover.

The most precious and potent lotus is the black. Black lotus petals are dried and smoked to produce a deep feeling of contentment, invulnerability, and, eventually, powerfully erotic dreams. (Unscrupulous alchemists will often cut dried black lotus petals with common cannabis that's been dried and dyed a dark color.) The root can be chewed to improve the endurance and strength, but also results in a dulling of the wits, and prolonged use can reduce a person to a drooling imbecile, as well as permanently stain the lips and teeth an ugly purplish black color.

It's sorcerers who prize the plant above all others. The pistil is the primary ingredient in a potion that, when properly prepared and drunk, creates a dream-like state in which the wizard's vision can pierce the veil between worlds, see into other dimensions, and, according to some, even see the very stuff of magic floating in the air like streaming ribbons or floating soap bubbles. Its use can improve the magical abilities of sorcerers, but most will only indulge when it is most necessary. Rumors of the dangers include madness, possession by beings from higher planes, and actually being physically kidnapped into such bizarre dimensions.

In certain communities, bees are cultivated near fields of the various lotus plants, and the pollen of the lotus blossoms is turned into honey. This lotus honey tends to be very sweet, slightly more viscus than common, and impart strange visions or variations on the more typical effects of using the flowers to those who eat it.

Just in case it wasn't clear, I certainly don't recommend actually trying any of this stuff in real life. Chocolate will make you fat, nutmeg will make you vomit if you get enough in you to produce hallucinations, and I suspect chewing on lotus petals isn't that good for you, either. As for the imaginary stuff, well, if you find a vine of dreamblossoms, please tell me where. ;)

UPDATE: Gavin's got the goods on a few psycho-active substances of a more crunch-affecting variety over in "The City of Iron."

Photo Credits: 00dann, davitydave, matze_ott, and NZ Alex.

Oh My Freakin'...

Ok, yeah, most of you have probably seen this already, but wow, is that an awesome trailer.

Music for Doom & Teaparties

The subject of music that makes folks think of our Doom & Teaparties campaign came up recently. I'd actually started to put together something I play in the background when I'm working on the Doom & Teaparties game. In part, it's a bit of what I think music in the campaign may sound like, and in part it's just music that inspires me to think about the campaign.

Most of these pieces don't have words in English because I sometimes find it hard to write if I'm being distracted by English lyrics. Yulunga is a nice, atmospheric piece that fits many aspects of the campaign; it gets me out of medieval northern Europe, and fits well whether we're talking about the city of Pitsh or the palaces of the efreet in the City of Petal. Tikal pumps things up a bit, and brings in a touch of South America, which works because I'm pulling a lot from the Maya, Aztec, Olmec, and Inca for this campaign, especially for the Wednesday group.

Alan Stivell is one of my favorite makers of celtic music. Frankly, if I'd been able to find it, I'd have used his wonderfully atmospheric "Ys" instead of this piece, but it works for me to bring that touch of celtic to the Fey.

The next three build up the sense of menace and mystery. There are others I'd like to add, like bits from the Myst, Gladiator, and latest King Kong soundtracks, but I can't find those in Playlist's system. I may just end up throwing that together onto a CD of my own.

Art by Winslow Homer.

The Natural Mutations of a Campaign

I've got two Moldvay/Cook/Labyrinth Lord games running right now. In one, the group has just returned from a dungeon, sold their loot, and is considering what challenge to tackle next. Nothing unusual there.

In the other, in spite of being in an efreet city on the Plane of Fire, the last game was largely taken up by the blossoming romance of the single PC and an NPC. Some clues were gathered, some mysteries were solved (which, of course, led directly into new mysteries needing to be explored), but mostly it was conversation about the difficulties inherent in a relationship between a dwarf who'd been transformed into a nixie and a human cleric. I don't think we rolled a single die the entire game.

Are we still playing D&D? Yep. The nixie could give her beau the ability to breath underwater, the cleric prayed for his spells in the morning, and their efreeti host had 10 hit dice and the ability to create illusions at will. I'd be shocked if nobody else ran games like this. In fact, I know other people do. It might not be typical, but it does happen.

And this is the way it's supposed to work. The point is for your group to take the game and make it their own. Do you want to destroy the great artifact of evil and return the rightful king to his throne? D&D can do that. Do the PCs rarely leave the city-state and instead strive to make their guild of Blades and Shadows the masters of every criminal enterprise within its borders? D&D can do that, too. Maybe the PCs are all students in an ancient and storied thaumaturgical university, or mamluks of the cabal of brain-eating tentacle-monsters who rule the world.

This is why the modules of original D&D were so bare in terms of setting and story. They were built to be dropped into any of these campaigns. Sure, the assumption was that you'd have to march a few days through the wilderness to reach the The Slave Pits of the Undercity, but they could just as easily be placed in the sewers of your campaign's largest metropolis. You were supposed to take what TSR and others had made and make it your own. The modules of those days way back when were not so much games or stories, but miniature sandboxes. Some might not fit as well in your campaign as others (funhouse dungeons, for instance, are a poor fit for my campaigns), but the bulk of the translation work was up to the DM and players.

This is why I tend to be pretty vague when writing about RPGs and campaign construction. What's perfect for my game might not have any place in yours. I tend to run relationship-centric campaigns, were groups A and B team up to combat the forces of the loose and fractious alliance of C, D, and E. Other campaigns are focused on a particular location (Ptolus or the megadungeon campaign). Some are like action movies, with the barest plot stringing together action scenes like beads on a cord, or grand strategic visions where logistics and planning take center stage. The important thing, of course, is finding what works for your group and what doesn't. Learning what you don't like can be as important as figuring out what works.

Image credits: John William Godward and Paul-Marie Lenoir.

The Sartorial Variations of Pitsh

Fasion in Pitsh is based largely on human fashion of course. The major contributors are the cultures on the northern shores of the Turquoise Sea. These lands are not quite as tropical as the southern coasts of the Sea, but it is comparable.

The largest ports are part of the Lizardfolk Empire, and so most humans from those places were slaves or free menial laborers. The typical garment in these lands is a loincloth, usually a strip of linen about six feet long and three to five inches wide that's wrapped around the waist and loins so that the tail ends dangle down in front. This is a fairly unisex garment, and women might wrap another, similar cloth around their breasts in various ways, though such covering is not required and many go without. This is the daily garment of most of the farmers and woodsmen who live just outside the walls of the city.

There's also a slightly fancier version, which is some sort of chain or rope around the waist from which hang a pair of cloths of various lengths and widths, one in front and one in back. Because of the near-constant breezes off the sea, the hems of these cloths might be weighted with decorative stones or small copper pendents. This sort of thing is fashionable among the slaves of the more well-to-do, and the serving slaves of higher-end establishments, like the Pelican's Perch, wear such garments, the panels edged in decorative embroidery. Free people might wear such garments as well, especially in the height of summer, though they often add an open jacket of gauzy linen or net.

The further north you go, the more likely you are to encounter the all-purpose and flexible tunic. Hem and sleeve-lengths vary depending on culture, though almost everyone goes with light linen cloth when they reach Pitsh. Generally speaking, while sleeve lengths vary depending on individual taste, the lower the hem, the more well-to-do the wearer is. The longest, however, is usually ankle-length, which keeps the garment out of the frequently muddy streets of the city. In all cases, the garment is always cut loose and boxy, and is sometimes worn without a belt by both sexes. After the loincloth, variations on tunics are the most common clothing seen in Pitsh, and most of the sailors wear a short-hemmed, sleeveless tunic.

The northwestern shores of the Turquoise Sea are settled by free humans who generally have no allegiance to either gods or empire. The fashion there is kilts held up by a leather or metal belt for both sexes, and the females generally wear halter tops or a bandeau while the men often go bare-chested or with an open jacket or square-cut vest. To the eastern edges of the Turquoise sea the fashion is more towards sarongs, kaftans, and layers of loose, light robes.

Many people go barefoot, which just makes sense in the frequently muddy streets of Pitsh. However, sandals are very popular as well, and come in various styles. Most are made of leather, though you do see some hemp and cord styles. Some mercenaries and adventuring sorts prefer buskins. Very few wear full boots, especially through the hot, wet summer, since closed shoes and boots tend to promote all sorts of unpleasant foot-rot.

Jewelry is very popular, especially among those who have lately come from the Lizardfolk Empire. Most men and women have their ears pierced. Bangles, bracelets and bracers are common additions to even the poorest persons attire, made from leather or various metals. Anklets are very common among women and those who don't walk outside often will wear toe rings. Armbands are popular among both men and women. The men from the more western lands will wear torcs, but necklaces of various fashions are typically worn only by women. Rings are very popular as a sign of status among those who don't work primarily with their hands.

Headbands are popular for both men and women, and tend to be woven bands of patterned linen or leather. Male and female versions might have metal or jewels of some sort set into the band, and female versions might have the stones or coins dangling from the band over their brows.

Cosmetics are rarely worn, except for special occasions. Women typically paint their lips and khol the flesh between their brows and their eyelashes, as well as use rouge on their cheeks and darken their lashes. Men will darken their lashes and sometimes paint their lips, but even that's fairly rare. Both sexes pluck and shape their brows.

Hair tends to be long for both sexes. Men often gather their hair into a single clip or bind it into a ponytail. Women more frequently pile their hair atop their heads, using pins and combs to hold it in place.

Most children go naked until they are six or seven years old. Then they usually wear a loincloth or similar garment until twelve or thirteen, at which point they'll typically adopt their parents' styles. However, as children of different cultures marry and intermingle, there has begun to be a blurring of the cultural lines, and people have begun to mix and match the styles that appeal to them.

Fates Worse Than Death

Via Twitter: My DM, @trollsmyth, regularly demonstrates the principle that the only DMs who kill PCs are the ones who can't think of anything more evil.

There's been discussion in the past using monsters that are nastier than the levels of the PCs would indicate is “fair.” Yes, this sort of challenge really pushes your players to be creative and flexible. It doesn't, however, always go well for the PCs.

Last night, it was a water naga from the 1e Monster Manual. The AC of 5 is hardly anything to get excited about, and the 8 HD is nasty, but a large enough group can use the power of iteration to really pound such a creature into submission. No, what's really nasty about the naga is her ability to cast magic-user spells: “4—1st, 2—2nd, 2—3rd”.

The party decided to hole up inside the dungeon. They thought they were in a safer part and posted guards. (This is not as foolish a decision as it might appear on the face of it. Camping outside the dungeon could potentially have resulted in being ambushed by something far worse than the naga.) The naga, having discovered where they were and knowing they were after the treasure she was guarding, cast invisibility on herself in an attempt to sneak up on them. It was only partially successful; one of the guards overheard her slithering up and woke some of the others. Not that it mattered too much. When the naga was close enough, she dropped her invisibility and launched a nasty alpha strike. The sleep spell took down all but one character, and that was a cleric who didn't last very long after that.

While I'm certainly not suggesting that PCs should never die, too frequent death removes the sting as much as any invulnerability; when death merely means a quick, fifteen minutes rolling up a new character and dropping them into the dungeon to get back into the game, what, then, really is the sting of death? The loss of stats, and maybe some equipment? When players expect to lose a character, they avoid investing anything emotionally. Then they truly do care more about the magic sword or ring than they do about the person wielding it, because the magical trinkets are the only things that truly last. (And while that can actually make for a very interesting theme to an Old School game, it's not the sort of thing we're aiming for in the current games I'm running.)

However, if you're up to playing a bit by the seat of your pants, and have a nice, open, sandboxy-type campaign, player defeat just means a bit shifting of the gears. In our case, the naga now had a nearly intact adventuring party at her disposal. By keeping a few of the NPC hirelings as hostages (and being prepared to indulge in the liberal use of the charm person spell), the naga was able to convince the group to perform a “small service” for her. It's a tangent, a side-quest that might grow into something greater.

What will the future hold? Will the heroes grudgingly accept the naga as an ally to their cause? Or will she become a hated foe, a nemesis to be hated and hunted a few more levels down the road? I don't know, which is part of what makes this sort of thing as much (if not more) fun for me than for my players.