Prepping for the Monk

Well, we got the druid knocked out (if you missed it, here's Part 1 and Part 2), which means it's time to move on to that other cleric subclass, the monk.

Hoo-boy.

I have only ever created one monk character (other than a sect of itinerant halfling monks for a short-lived D20 campaign...that's another story). Or maybe two. Hmmm...I know that I had one, for sure, that had the name "Soft Treader" (which makes me wince as I write the words). I also had one for whom I did a number of "character sketches," generally depicting an individual with a cloak and hood that obscured the character's face (like one of those Assassin's Creed dudes), armed with a variety of monk-eligible weapons (crossbows, daggers, quarterstaffs). Were these two characters the same? I honestly can't remember. Neither one was played more than once. Neither became major NPCs in our old AD&D campaign (of the late '80s), which is what often happened with unplayed PCs. Yeah, aside from the wince-worthy name and the illustrations of the other, I really can't any accomplishments of this (either?) character.

And as far as I can recall, I've never ever seen a monk in ANY D&D game before or since. Zero. That's even including a brief stint with 1E Oriental Adventures.

According to wikipedia, the monk class/concept was created by Brian "Buckshot" Blume, inspired by the Destroyer series of novels. Not familiar with those? Have  any of you children of the 80s seen Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins (starring no less than Fred "Timerider" Ward)? Well, that's the movie based on the books, and due to its disappointing receipts at the box-office, it never morphed into the film franchise it was intended to become. ANYway...

The inspiration for the monk.

The monk first appears in Supplement II (Blackmoor) for OD&D which mentions not Brian Blume even one time. Blackmoor states it's written by Dave Arneson ("with special thanks to Gary Gygax, Tim Kask, Rob Kuntz, and Steve Marsh for suggestions and ideas") and so I've simply assumed the subclass was an "Arneson Original" regardless of what Gygax says in his preface to Oriental Adventures (as far as I can tell, Blume never had contact with Arneson, unless they met at GenCon in Wisconsin). On the other hand, I could find no reference of any kind to "monks" in Arneson's First Fantasy Campaign (from Judge's Guild), and the "character list" therein (page 51) includes only the following:

Fighting-Man, Clerical, Magic-User, Ranger, Paladin, Assassin, Merchant, Sage

[and, no, there are no write-ups for "merchants" and "sages"]

The assassin definitely appears to be an Arneson creation; based on its inclusion in Supplement II, the stuff in the FFC, and his well-known love of pulp, I think it was probably inspired by the assassin caste of the Jon Norman Gor books. Of course, assassins are the next subclass of this series...

By 1975 (when Blackmoor was released) there were plenty more besides the Destroyer books to inspire a martial arts monk. Bruce Lee had finished the entirety of his film career (and died) by 1973, kicking off a Hong Kong action craze in the U.S. The popular television show Kung Fu ended its three season run in April of 1975 (combining martial arts and western tropes, I can see Blume being a fan...he did co-design Boot Hill). If the class had been written up during the '80s, it probably would have incorporated multiple ninja elements...mercifully, we missed that.

Originally (and this is different from every subsequent version of the class, with the exception of its "mention" in Holmes), the monk was a subclass of cleric. This is fairly important because, as a subclass, it is presumed the character has the same abilities of a cleric except when contradicted in the text. For example, Supplement II is explicit that the monk has no magical abilities (spell-casting) like a cleric; however, it does not say the monk cannot turn undead if Lawful (there is no alignment restrictions for monks in Blackmoor). It says monks may have no permanent followers and must treat treasure "as does paladins;" it does not say they don't receive divine aid to help construct their "modest stronghold" when the time comes to do so,

It makes sense for clerics to be a subclass of cleric, given their Blackmoor description of "Members of an Order [who] seek both physical and mental superiority in a religious atmosphere." As I wrote the other day, an individual in a pseudo-historic/ancient environment would have spent many years training in their expected profession (rather than attending elementary and secondary school), and the monks training would have been in a religious capacity supplemented by martial arts. At least ones similar to the Shao Lin temple-style monk.

[contrast this with the chivalrous knight ("paladin") whose training is in combat, riding, and warfare and only supplemented by religious tutelage in the churchy virtues]

A class has a focus...a subclass has a divergence from the "usual" training, but retains the focus.

However, beginning with 1st Edition PHB, the monk became its own class.

And I can see the (very sensible) reasoning of doing so. Despite a religious upbringing, the monk has almost nothing in common with the cleric. It wears no armor. Its weapons (at least in Blackmoor) were completely unrestricted. It has no spells. It has no followers. It possesses a variety of unusual powers learned as the character advances upwards. It has a level limit. It has restrictions on advancement beyond a particular level of experience. It uses D4s for hit points for God's sake, while clerics use D6s!

[this last may actually have been a typo, by the way. Supplement II lists the assassin (subclass of thief) using 6-sided dice and the monk (subclass of cleric) using 4-sided dice, whereas the ACTUAL variation (first presented in Supplement I) gave clerics the D6 and thieves the D4. It is conceivable that the editor of Supplement II missed the fact that the thief subclass should share the same HP progress as its parent class, and the cleric subclass share the larger die type. Things were a little "amateur hour" back in those days, as one can tell from reading the original books]

There are so many differences between the parent class and the subclass that it makes sense mechanically to divorce the two from each other, even when there's a thematic connection. Yes, you read that right...it makes sense to keep 'em the same and it makes sense to separate them. Both options make sense based on the mess we have here (thematic parallels with perpendicular mechanics). How to reconcile this?

Probably by throwing one of the two things away. And since Holmes has already designated the monk as a subclass of cleric (and we're doing this exercise in "Holmesian" fashion) I think we're going to need to keep the THEME of the class ("religious order") and chuck the mechanical kitchen sink of thing. In other words: overhaul the hell out of it.

Here comes the "flurry."

Sorry, monk-lovers. I know that in the early days of the hobby it was all about "including what feels fun" and whatnot, but over here we try to hold ourselves to a slightly higher standard. I've got few sacred cows about D&D, and that holds doubly true for a class that's been such a non-entity in thirty years of play. Plus, the monk class as written is brutally stupid (sorry, Brian). A 6th level monk strikes twice/round for D12 damage and (on a roll 5+ over the target number) has a 75% chance of stunning the guy 30-120 minutes and a 25% chance of outright killing 'em? And at maximum level (a lofty 16) the character strikes 4 times per round for 4D10 damage?! That's an average of 88 damage per round (well, presuming the character hits)...what fighter with a magic sword can hope to match that? The PHB nerfs this a little...but not much.

[as a quick example, fighters in the PHB receives their highest attack rate...2 per round...at 13th level, achieved at 1,750,0001xp. An AD&D monk achieves 14th level with the same XP total. At 14th level, the monk has a natural AC of -1, receives three attacks per round, and strikes for 5D4 damage: average of 38 points of damage if they hit with every attack. If the fighter had a halberd and 18/00 strength, they'd still only be looking at an average damage output of 23 points per round (more if the weapon was magical, but certainly not over 30)]

And here's the thing, folks: I like the idea of the monk. Some people might be surprised to hear that, given the general feeling that "Eastern and Western fantasy shouldn't be mixed;" that the martial arts monk is out-of-place in the pseudo-Camelot style D&D campaign. And maybe I was that way, too, once upon a time (I can't remember if I was). However, that was before I was introduced to the Scarlet Brotherhood. Once I got a whiff of that particular concept, I could see half a dozen ways to fit monkish orders into a fantasy campaign...at least one with a pulpy, sword-&-sorcery vibe to it (which is how I like my game).

SO...since this post is getting long (and its my third post of the day; my poor readers! Their eyes are melting!), I'm going to sign off for the moment. Next entry will be reviewing the monk-ish character's abilities line-by-line to see what can stay and what definitely needs to go-go-go.

Is it still cultural appropriation once
 it's already been appropriated?

A Different Paradigm

Dungeons & Dragons. Great game, right? One that's made a ton of money for people all over the world: everyone from little ol' indie-publishers like me to companies like OneBookShelf to every RPG company inspired by the game to every video game designer that took its cues from the thing. A game that, by itself, has provided countless hours of enjoyment. I mean that literally...I cannot count how many hours I've spent playing and running and reading and dreaming and scheming (enjoying every minute) over the years all due to D&D. And I'm just one person. There are plenty of others like me.

What if the game had been designed differently? What if core ideas we take for granted now...things like, say, incremental increases of effectiveness due to the acquisition of points (i.e. "leveling" by accumulating "XP") or delving "dungeons" had been less focal points to the game as a whole? What if the "original fantasy adventure game" had been more about focused on the fantasy adventure and less about the looting and cavern crawls?

Just humor me for a moment. I've got several different things roiling and boiling in my brain.

First up, an article from The Dragon, issue #7 (June, 1977), titled Gary Gygax on Dungeons & Dragons: Origins of the Game:

...a few months later when Dave [Arneson] came down to visit me we played a game of his amended CHAINMAIL fantasy campaign. Dave had taken the man-to-man and fantasy rules and modified them for his campaign. Players began as Heroes or Wizards. With sufficient success they could become Superheroes. In similar fashion, Wizards could become more powerful... 

The idea of measured progression (experience points) and the addition of games taking place in a dungeon maze struck me as being very desireable [sic]. However, that did not really fit in the framework of CHAINMAIL. I asked Dave to please send me his rules additions, for I thought a whole new system should be developed. A few weeks after his visit I received 18 or so handwritten pages of rules and notes pertaining to his campaign and I immediately began work on a brand new manuscript... 

...There were then three character classes, with players beginning at first level (rather than as 4th level Hero-types or relatively powerful Wizards), and each level was given a heroic or otherwise descriptive name. The actions that could follow were outlined. Spells were expanded. The list of monsters were broadened again, and a complete listing of magical items and treasures was given. The reaction to the manuscript was instant enthusiasm. DUNGEONS & DRAGONS differed considerably from Dave's "Blackmoor" campaign, just as the latter differed from CHAINMAIL: but, based on the reception given to the game by others testing it, he had to agree that it was acceptable. Although D&D was not Dave's game system by any form or measure, he was given co-billing as author for his valuable idea kernels. He complained bitterly that the game wasn't right, but the other readers/players loved it. In fact, the fellows playing the manuscript version were so enthusiastic that they demanded publication of the rules as soon as possible...

Okay, that's the first thing. Now look at Dave Arneson's introduction to The First Fantasy Campaign; we'll skip the parts about creating the Blackmoor campaign setting and just highlight some of the rules differences Arneson describes in his original "CHAINMAIL variant:"

Character motivation was solved by stating that you did not get Experience Points until the money had been spent on your area of interest. This often led to additional adventures... 

Combat was quite simple at first and then got progressively complicated with the addition of Hit Location, etc. as the players first rolled for characteristics, the number of Hits a body could take ran from 0 - 100. As the player progressed, he did not receive additional Hit Points, but rather became harder to Hit. All normal attacks were carried out in the usual fashion but the player received a "Saving Throw" against any Hit he received. Thus, although he might be "Hit" several times during a melee round, in actuality he might not take any damage at all. Only Fighters gained advantage in these Saving Throws. Clerics and Magicians progressed in their own areas, which might or might not modify their Saving Throws...

The part about experience points is especially intriguing; in the section of FFC that addresses this ("Special Interests;" pages 50-52), Arneson identifies seven areas of potential interest: Wine, Women, Song, Wealth, Fame, Religion & Spiritualism, and Hobby. Each area provides specific guidelines/rules for how wealth must be spent in order to gain XP; only the "Wealth" category gains XP for simple accumulation of treasure (and carries the stipulation that wealth robbed results in a loss of XP and a potential loss of level). "Hobby" is:

"a catch-all category left to the Judge to award details on to the players. Examples of some of the more obvious pursuits would be Spell Research by Magic Users specializing in say Animal Control or the raising and breeding of Lycanthropes...one's hobby could even be the devising of of better Torture machines, making gold, the Building of Flying Machines, all up to the Judge to outline and define within the limits of his campaign."

Thus, while characters were all treasure hunters, they were treasure hunters with specific reasons and motivations, several of which (Fame, Religion, and Hobby) required characters to engage in non-treasure seeking activity (though with potentially interesting adventure implications) as part of their advancement strategy.

Remember, that Blackmoor grew (in part) out of Arneson's experience with Braunstein in which different pieces/characters were given different motivations/missions. The goal of acquiring money, as described in the later Dave Arneson's Blackmoor was provided as an easy goal around which to unite, despite what they planned to use that money for. It wasn't necessarily for the building of castles and armies for additional war-gaming action. However, all of these "motivations" require the expenditure of their money, overcoming the insane economy decried in a game that has moved away from the domain-ruling endgame. It's a different way to get players to voluntarily drain their own income (diffusing it gradually into the campaign setting), rather than send a 0-level tax collector and the town guard to harass a group of hardened adventurers.

DMDave has a lot of good articles deconstructing the design of D&D, especially its latter (3rd-5th) editions; I've spent the last day or two reading much of his blog. Another good post cites the specific reason for and origins of "hit points" in an earlier Ironclads war-game developed by Arneson. While I've discussed and hypothesized about this development previously, this is the first time I've had the additional info provided by this 2004 interview. Yes, I'm late to the party.

But what if Arneson had not chosen to go this route as a patch to players' disgruntlement over being one-shotted? What's interesting is that, per Arneson's own FFC, while HPs were implemented to have incremental injury, hit points were still a static resource, while increasing effectiveness instead increased the character's defensive capability...similar to Saga Star Wars defensive class based on level or (perhaps more accurately) very similar to Mutants & Masterminds saving throws versus damage.

Incremental level increase (via XP) with incremental increases in effectiveness (additional HP, saves, bonuses, etc.) were a Gygaxian invention. Arneson fighters only had a couple "levels" (Hero and Superhero) while Wizards had incremental increases in effectiveness a la CHAINMAIL, which simply results in more spells and better chance to cast spells...the "other areas" of progress mentioned in Dave's introduction to FFC.

What if the game had continued to develop as per Arneson's variant rules, rather than along lines that better "fit in the framework of CHAINMAIL"...CHAINMAIL, a game developed and designed by a war-gamer for war-gamers?

I've reflected before that, as a fantasy adventure game, D&D leaves a lot to be desired, that some of its premises don't jibe with much of the fantasy adventure fiction it would seek to emulate. And yet, it has set standards of concepts in role-playing (especially FAG role-playing) that are largely unchallenged, only tweaked (to taste) or redesigned wholesale for extra "realism" (see RuneQuest, Chivalry & Sorcery, etc.) without really creating an alternate paradigm. Or rather, the alternate paradigm has been attempted (taking the game out of the dungeon), without reconstructing the system in a non-war-game fashion. OR the game has been designed to emulate fiction exclusively (with story driven objectives) but in a much more subjective fashion that has a lesser appeal to non-narrativist agenda players.

As said, these are things roiling and boiling in my brain at the moment. I'm just not sure what I want to do with these ideas. I'll keep y'all posted.

Revising B/X Ability Scores (Oh, Boy!)

Ah...ability scores. Love 'em or hate 'em, you just got to have 'em don't you?

Well, actually, no you don't. If I remember correctly, FATE (and its derivatives) don't use "ability scores." Neither does Tim Morgan's Ellis: Kingdom in Turmoil (a more traditional RPG, it defines characters mainly through skills selected from a finite list).

But most RPGs have some sort of "set attributes" that describe their characters. Even something as abstract and narrative-y as Rod Edwards's Trollbabe uses a number that helps describe/define the character's capability (the number in Trollbabe simultaneously describes the character's fighting ability, magic ability, and effectiveness in social interaction). This idea of having a number or numbers that express a character's basic abilities is as old as...well, as old as D&D. And no matter how "innovative" we get, game designers are always throwing it out there as part of character creation, sometimes even to the point of redundancy in game play: does Dungeon World really need ability scores at all?

Abilities are a useful tool to have, though, and not just from a mechanical perspective. It's valuable to be add some structure to an imaginary construct, to codify the archetype in your mind. Even very imaginative people who have little trouble coming up with crystal clear character concepts might need a little help every now and then. And it's useful to have a trait against which character's can measure each other (is Jill stronger than Bob? Is Rick smarter than Phil?)...we establish all sorts of pecking orders in real life (even if only in our own minds for our own benefits), and doing so with the members of an "adventuring party" just increases the "reality" (i.e. the immersion/escapism) of the players as they take a normal world behavior (gauging themselves against others) and transplant it in the fictional world.

[what, you think that's a stretch? I've seen this behavior in all sorts of games with all sorts of players. Kids are especially straightforward about it, but even mature adults will give each other a "good-natured ribbing" about whose character has the most pathetic ability trait]

I like ability scores (as they're called in B/X...I prefer the general term attributes from my old Vampire days), when used in moderation. Since most of my game designs of the last few years have started off a B/X base, I generally start with the standard B/X scores ("The Big Six"). The most recent heartbreaker, a kind of Holmes/BX mashup with a specific objective of play is no different, but in "building from the ground up" I took a really hard look at the ability scores, not just because I wanted to make sure they were appropriate, but in how they interacted mechanically with the game.

So once again: welcome to my thought process.
: )

First you look at where the Big Six came from: OD&D, yeah? There were no ability scores in Chainmail (the game Arneson originally used as the mechanics for delving Blackmoor). Characters were defined by class, but class was pretty much limited to fighting men plus (maybe, with expansion) wizards and elves (not necessarily in that order). To me, the ability scores in OD&D reflect this history: they feel "tacked on." They don't do much.

That is to say, considering the RANGE of possible ability scores, they don't do much. A score of 3-18 for each, and yet the prime three (strength, intelligence, and wisdom) carry no bonus aside from an XP bonus, and the other three carry a (very small) assortment of additional bonuses. The designers could have easily said:

"Roll D6 for the following traits:

• XP bonus (regardless of class)
• Missile adjustment
• Health (HP) adjustment
• Reaction adjustment

"If your XP bonus is a 1 or 2, you have a penalty to earned XP; if it's 5 or 6 you have a bonus. For the other scores, you only receive an adjustment if the score is a 1 or 6 (down or up respectively)."

Right? I mean, there's no other mechanical bonus. Oh, sure...number of languages. But that's easily addressed by saying, "roll D8 for the number of languages you speak. The first one MUST be common, the second MUST be 'alignment' language." Easy shmeezy.

[though I have to admit that in recent years, I've come around to Alexis's thinking on the whole issue of language barriers in D&D, i.e. "not very interesting"]

Anyway, that's OD&D where the main purpose of ability scores would seem to be flavor. Are you a strong adventurer? A smart one? What's your fitness look like compared to your fellows? Since then ability scores have become much, much more important with mechanical bonuses and blow-the-top-off escalating scores (ability scores go up and never come down). The most recent edition (5E) seems determined to scale this back with its maximum limit (hey, 5E...already done that), but also seem bent on removing the flavor by reducing ability scores to their straight mechanical bonus.

Where's the soul in that?

Haha...just being facetious, folks (kind of). In recent years, I've felt B/X to be a nice "middle ground" for ability scores. You get the nice flavor range (3 to 18) with only minor adjustments (+3 or -3 maximum)...not over the top and yet more than nothing. Lately, though, I've still found myself dissatisfied, and here's why (four things):

Breakpoints, first and foremost. As B/X stands, the adjustments for ability scores can be summed up as follows:

3 = -3
4-5 = -2
6-8 = -1
9-12 = 0
13-15 = +1
16-17 = +2
18 = +3

A character with a Strength or Intelligence of 15 is just as smart as a character with a score of 13, even though only 4.5% of the adventuring population achieve the former score as opposed to nearly 10% of the latter. Sure, it's a matter of expedience to have breakpoints, but when you are able to self-adjust prime attributes (as you can with B/X...drop 2 points to raise your prime 1 point) you end up with a lot of adventurers sporting 13s and 16s because those are the breakpoints for "the next bonus." And that lack of variety grows tiresome to moi.

There's also the issue of people being disappointed when they can't achieve a particular breakpoint. "I wanted to play a fighter, but the best I can raise my strength to is 15...and I'm already at 13. And all my other scores are 'average' or worse." Been there, done that, pal. There is a certain lack of variety that comes with baseline B/X play (one of the things I tried to address in The Complete B/X Adventurer. What you just thought it was all new classes and spells?).

Utility is another issue. There's just no denying that, while every ability score can be useful, not all of them are as useful as others, or as useful to all classes. It depends a bit on the style of play, of course. But usually any B/X PC is going to appreciate a high strength or dexterity over a high charisma at low levels of play, even for players determined to "talk to every monster they encounter" (you still need to speak the monster's language, and there's a LOT of languages out there).

No Helmet = Low WIS

And wisdom? Just about outright useless at low levels. Considering their quick rate of advancement, people rolling traditional "fighter stats" (high strength, constitution, etc.) would do well to consider the clerical class...without worrying about raising the prime requisite.

Redundancy. Just no real way around it. Do you need a "strength" AND a "constitution" score? Considering my recent Blood Bowl post on the difference between "strength" and "durability," well, maybe...but dungeon delving in a pseudo-medieval setting isn't really the same thing as suiting up on the football field. Considering the lack of "sport science" (as one of my readers pointed out), I'd just as soon consider strength and constitution to be an overall measure of...um strength.

I mean, unless you really want to nuance your ability scores...have a "manual dexterity" and an "agility" and a "speed." Have a "knowledge" versus "common sense" versus "linguistic talent" (or whatever).

But, of course, combining strength with constitution (and the associated bonuses) just makes an "uber ability" (see utility above)...the overall usefulness of strength is one of the reasons it received more weight in racial bonus consideration (see D&D 3rd Edition).

Penalties. Last but probably not least. I've just decided penalties ain't really fun for anyone...not even a cackling, sadistic DM like myself. The penalty adjustments applied from low ability scores simple mean characters become less effective...and low-level characters are already pretty ineffective

[consider this: even with a 16 strength, a fighter of levels 1st through 3rd only hits AC 5 - chain mail - on a 12 or better. That's less than a 50% chance, meaning the character is going to spend more than half of all combat rounds "whiffing," on average. Kinda' sucks, don't it?]

Why make a hard life even harder? Besides, aren't these characters supposed to be heroes?

Oh, wait, no. "Scurrilous rogues" is, I believe, the proper OSR term for adventurers. Except for DDC in which you're even a step below THAT to start (goat herders and whatnot). Well, in my new heartbreaker (designed for "basic" play) I've made the design choice that characters ARE supposed to be heroes. My other two games currently under construction (and based on a B/X system chassis)? Characters are just supposed to be 'really proficient' types...not shmoes.

[my shmoe game uses a different system]

Still, I like the 3-18 range for humans...I just prevent player characters from having ability scores in the low end of the range. We'll get to that in a second.

Hmmm...but now that I'm looking over the length of this post, I might need to do a "part 2." Um, okay...here's what I'll do: I'll outline my thoughts or, rather, objectives when it comes to retooling ability scores. They were:

• Breakpoints: if a high ability score can be defined as 13+, each point of the ability should show an increased measure of effectiveness (not just 13, 16, and 18). Every point counts, diversity is good, at higher is better.
• Utility: every ability score provides bonuses cool enough that all players will want high abilities in every category, regardless of class.
• Redundancy: all abilities adhere to a different and distinct arena of mechanical adjustment that makes sense within the setting.
• Penalties: don't like 'em for heroic types. You're either average or better.

Got it? Oh, yeah...one more thing:

• Don't tread on class abilities in major ways. We'll talk about that one, too.

But all that's for the follow-up post. I'm sorry folks...I had an extremely busy day and it took me a while to find the time to post all this. I'll try to get the next part up before the end of the weekend, but don't count on it.

Killing Vancian Magic (Part 3)

[continued from here]

The spells in Dungeon! are limited to two categories: combat (fireball and lightning) and movement (teleport). The combat spells are the most effective means of combat in the game (except against evil wizards and witches, perhaps due to an unwritten, “counter-spell” ability). This is balanced by the finite nature of the spells: each spell is recorded on a card, and spell cards are discarded with use. A wizard player starts the game with a certain number of spells (in my 1981 edition, this is 7-12 cards) and part of the “advanced play” of the wizard role is nursing that finite resource and expending it wisely. In some editions of the board game (including mine) the wizard can return to the starting chamber and spend turns to regain spell cards; in other editions, they never receive more. However, even without spells wizards are formidable in the upper works of the dungeon, and are no easier to kill than any of the other character types.

The First Fantasy Campaign provides a sketchy description of Blackmoor and its operation without providing much in the way of hard, fast rules. For example, it does not discuss the exact magic system used (the subject of this post) but it DOES discuss the justification for Arneson’s magic system. And while it appears obvious that wizard spells in Blackmoor were limited (just as they were are in D&D or the Dungeon! board game) it wasn’t based on any Vancian literary justification:

"In Blackmoor, magic followed the "Formula" pattern for most magic. The reasoning behind limiting the number of spells that a Magic User [sic] could take down into the Dungeon was simply that many ingredients had to be prepared ahead of time, and of course, once used were then powerless. Special adventures could then be organized by the parties to gain some special ingredient that could only be found in some dangerous place."

Here magic-users appear to be of a more traditional (cinematic, mythological) tradition, using magic formula requiring specific ingredients (Eye of newt? Bat wings? Alchemical concoctions?) that had to be prepared prior to entry into the dungeon. Expenditure of spells (i.e. discarding “spell cards”) represented expenditure of those prepped magical ingredients…and when gone, the mage would be left bereft of magical power.

What’s evident from examination of Dungeon! and the FFC is that Arneson found it necessary to limit the number of spells available to player character magic-users. After all, he started with the Chainmail rules and spell use in Chainmail is NOT limited as a finite resource…if a mage knows a spell, it may be cast over-and-over again (though perhaps needing a successful die roll to go off). Personally, the whole “die roll for spell-casting” thing works well for me, but remember that this doesn’t apply to the wizard’s “automatic” abilities: fireball/lightning bolt, invisibility, viewing in darkness. Those “spell effects” (for lack of a better term) could simply be used at will. And while their use was limited on the battle field of Chainmail (who cares if you can auto-kill a handful of opponents with a fireball…there’s still an army bearing down on your now revealed wizard!), in the SMALL SCALE, TACTICAL SKIRMISH game of D&D these effects…if adapted straight…would be devastatingly over-powered.

See, for me, I see yet another gross design oversight leading to years of dissatisfaction and “tweaking” ever since:

• Rules are developed for a table-top fantasy wargame (Chainmail)
• A person (D.A.) designs a small-scale fantasy adventure game (Blackmoor)
• DA adapts the wargame rules to the fantasy adventure game
• Over time, actual play shows the (wargame) magic rules to be too powerful on the small scale
• Gradually, the magic-user character is “nerfed” for balance.

The nerfing includes the following:

• Limiting the defensive capability of wizards (no armor, less hit points)
• Limiting their offensive capability (attack tables, weapon selection)
• Limiting their spell effects (“damage” infliction instead of auto-kill)
• Limiting their spells carried (in-game justification: prepping ingredients)
• Limiting spells based on complexity (some spells require ingredients only found in the dungeon, per the FFC book) and character constitution (also per FFC notes)

And eventually (with the advent of levels and experience points; remember the game didn't start with these things):

• Limiting the spells that may be known AND the spells that may be cast based on level of character.

Whether this last was an idea of Gygax or developed by Arneson’s group doesn’t much matter (though I’d lay the “credit” for this development and the foot of Gygax as a formulaic organizer). Was it simpler and easier to limit spells in this fashion? Yeah, probably (use Chainmail “complexity” as a basis for D&D “spell levels;” award a new degree of spell level mastery for every two character levels advanced; give up messy spell ingredient requirements, etc.). Very safe and easy and more consistent, math-wise. And this IS just a game, right? Playability is important in a game.

But, even accepting that D&D is a game (and thus de-emphasizing any importance on actually modeling the literary or real-world mythology surrounding “magic”), we still find the system wanting. Even accepting “this is just how it works” most folks are still dissatisfied with the mechanics of the magic system and how the magic-user class functions in the game. Which I’m sure is at least part of the reason why so many fantasy heartbreakers (note: NOT the “new Old School heartbreakers” discussed earlier) junk the Vancian magic system in part or completely. I’m not the only one who sees it as being in need of a rebuild.

Next up: Building a Better Magic-User

Killing Vancian Magic (Part 2)

[continued from here]

You read or hear (at least I do) all this garbage about “how great D&D is at the low-to-mid levels” but then "sucks after that." Tell that to the guy playing a magic-user! Just how "awesome" is it to be a 4th level magic-user (where one’s average hit points and armor class are about equal)? 10,000xp…that’s a lot of dead orcs (100 in OD&D, 2000 in B/X) that need defeating. Or huge, fat wads of treasure. Now, I’m a big believer in the “3-to-5-sessions-to-level” school of thought, which means four to six months of regular play to earn that 4th level and the right to cast two 1st level and two 2nd level spells…which will probably be sleep, charm person, invisibility, and web (or levitate), right? How can that be called “satisfying play?”

Okay, okay…I’m digressing (as usual). The point of the mini-rant from the last couple paragraphs is simply this: there are problems with character class as designed/written that make game play unsatisfying. So let’s get down to brass tacks and start DECONSTRUCTING that design:

First off, all these detrimental aspects of the magic-user class…the lack of hit points, lack of defense (armor), lack of combat ability (weapons and attack %), lack of saving throw progression (incremental increase every 5 levels? Holy crap!)…all of these detriments in the main appear to be design choices made to BALANCE the character against other classes. As in, “magic-users get to cast cool spells so we have to make them suck in every other way.”

And the reason I chalk this up to design choice is that there’s not a whole lot of literary precedent otherwise. Sorcerers and wizards found in Howard or Moorcock or Bradley or Tolkien or even Vance (look at Turjan in the Dying Earth) are hale and hearty adventurers, capable of holding their own in a fight, happy to wear armor and wield weapons. Elric is one of the greatest swordsmen of his world, only hampered by his albinism (like he rolled a “3” for his Strength score); it’s not by dint of being a wizard that he's a weakling (his sorcerer cousin Yrkoon has no such problems). Gandalf and MZB’s character Lythande are likewise depicted as able (and feared) swordsmen despite their magical professions.

So the idea of a “spindly wizard” as a class is a design choice. Please note the distinction here: there are plenty of “spindly” (or at least “below average”) wizards pictured in literature, too, like Elric’s nemesis Theleb K’aarna (though NOT Jagreen Lern, the sorcerous theocrat of Pan Tang with his plate armor and great axe). However, “wimpy as class” is much different from a “wimpy character” (of any class). Get it?

Personally, I dislike this design choice, this “balance by subtraction.” After all, one could simply make fighters stouter and more lethal (because of their training) compared to the baseline adventurer (like magic-users, etc.). Instead, it feels like thieves, or perhaps clerics, are the “baseline,” and magic-users are a step-down on the physical prowess scale. And by doing this, you make the class terribly hamstrung once the character’s vaunted magic power is exhausted (as pointed out earlier).

But, hey, whether I like it or not, it’s just a choice of design, and done with an eye towards BALANCE versus the magic-user’s magic, right? Okay, so now let’s look at what that magic power entails:

Since the LBBs of OD&D, arcane magic has worked more or less the same. A magic-user has a spell book containing one or more spells. The magic-user “memorizes” spells found in the spell book. Casting a memorized spell causes that spell to be “erased” from the magic-user’s memory. Advancing in level increases A) the number of spells that are known (in the spell book), B) the number of spells that can be memorized, and C) the level (magnitude) of spells that can be learned and memorized.

In addition, it’s important to note that in most (all?) editions, spells may be transcribed on scrolls and cast simply by reading the spell; however, this causes the spell to disappear from the scroll. Depending on the edition, spells might be transcribed from a scroll into a spell book, but it is unclear (or varies) as to whether or not a spell book functions like a spell scroll – i.e. can a magic-user read a spell from a spell book as from a scroll.

According to Gygax, the mechanics of the system is modeled off the magic described in Jack Vance’s Dying Earth novels. Wizard has book. Wizard memorizes spells from book. Casting spell erases spell from memory. However, I think it’s pertinent to point out that Vance’s magic differs from the D&D system in a number of ways. There are no degrees of magnitude (“levels”) for spells. The number of spells memorized seems more connected to the degree of complication inherent in the spell. The number of spells memorized seem much fewer in number (in Dying Earth), even for a powerful mage. Scrolls (or the transcription of spells in books) are unmentioned, as I recall.

Gygax also stated that he felt the D&D magic system may have been too powerful…which is perhaps the case once player characters reach a high level of experience (as those in Gary’s campaign must certainly have done over time). Certainly, high level magic-users have the capacity to cast a great number of spells, even those with limited spell lists (limited due to an early edition of the game or restrictions based on Intelligence score in AD&D). But if a magic-user has the ability to cast five fireballs plus chain lightning, does it really matter that feather fall isn’t in his repertoire? As a side note, I believe the increased casting times and material components found in AD&D are a kind of “patch” against high level magic abuse as neither of these are aspects of the Vance magic “system” (memorized spells in Vance get cast instantly and without components).

Here’s the thing folks: I personally think Gygax’s claim of basing the magic system on Vance is mostly bunk.

The D&D magic system…which mechanically breaks down as a resource management system based on character’s placement on the “flunky-hero” scale…may have some TRAPPINGS of the Vance literature (tomes of spells, memorization, forgetfulness, fini), but that’s all they are: trappings. Flavor. COLOR, to use the Forge term. What you have is a variety of game effects like the fancy-shmancy arrows in Hawkeye’s quiver…except in this case, your quiver is your character’s brain (or “memory”). As you shoot those arrows…the explosive one, the zip-line one, the net, etc….you gradually deplete your ammunition, until you’re left with an empty quiver, and the need to return to “base” to get more.

It’s simply a DESIGN CHOICE…a game rule to limit a character’s magical firepower. Holmes writes that he pleaded with Gygax to let him use some sort of “magic points” (a different way of tracking magic ammunition) when he was writing the first Basic set, but Gary would have none of it (perhaps he really liked the Vancian style; perhaps he’d mostly penned the PHB and didn’t want to have to change the text). But where does the mechanic come from in the first place, since it seems to have little literary precedent besides Vance’s strange Dying Earth magic? Most magic in literature seems to be limited by exhaustion/fatigue or requirements of astronomy (“the right constellations”) or the need for spell components or the limited nature of magic itself (which is very rarely as flashy as what is found in D&D and video games inspired by D&D). What was the basis for this magic-as-resource system?

I would assert it comes from a combination of Chainmail and Arneson (specifically Arneson’s Blackmoor).

We’ll talk about Chainmail first: Chainmail introduces several fantasy pieces to the table-top war game in order to inject a little Tolkien into your Normans and Saxons and Vikings. We have the dragon, of course, and the hero (and superhero). Also the giant, the wraith (as in, Tolkien ring-wraith), and the troll. And you have the wizard.

The wizard in Chainmail has the same attack and defense capability of a couple armored knights, making them pretty tough hombres (no flimsy meat bags here!). They can turn invisible at will (and thus cannot be targeted) until they make an attack (ever wonder where that rule came from?). They can see in darkness. And they have the ability to throw either a fireball or a lightning bolt (chosen at the beginning of a match), making them into a mobile piece of magical artillery…which is just fine for a table-top war game as the subtlety of sorcery in S&S literature is kind of lost on the open field of battle.

Please note all of the listed abilities are AUTOMATIC (it should also be noted that fireball and lightning don’t do “damage” in the D&D sense; instead, they simply wipe out targets, though heroic figures receive a “saving throw” to avoid this). In addition to these automatic abilities, wizards will know a number of additional spells (chosen from a short list, most of which appear later in the OD&D rules). However, UNLIKE D&D there is no mention of Vance or spell books or memorization. As with literary spell-casters, the wizard either knows the spell or does not…and a spell known may be cast over-and-over again. There is no “quiver of ammunition;” instead the player who controls a wizard must roll dice to see if, in the thick of battle, the wizard can cast the spell correctly. Depending on the result of the roll, the spell will either go into effect immediately, or go into effect on the following game turn (“delayed”). And that die roll (based on the “complexity” of the spell) is OPTIONAL.

In Chainmail, the basic magic-using figure is the wizard, but players can choose to have lesser wizards in their army as well. Why would anyone want a “lesser wizard?” They cost less “points” to field in battle (for readers that have never played war games, most pieces will have a “point value” and the sum of an army’s points is compared against the sum of an opponent’s to make sure a particular match/battle is “fair”). These lesser wizards have names that will be readily familiar to long-time D&D players: Seer (-4), Magician (-3), Warlock (-2), and Sorcerer (-1). The negative number in parenthesis indicates the penalty the lesser wizard suffers when attempting to counter another wizard’s spell; lesser wizards also know less spells, and need higher die rolls to cast those “non-automatic” spells, like phantasmal forces and hallucinatory terrain.

[another side note: interesting that Chainmail has a counter-spell mechanic unlike every single edition of D&D, but very much in-line with fantasy literature]

Now as I wrote before, Arneson used Chainmail as the base rule system for resolving conflict in Blackmoor, but it is unclear whether or not wizards, as player characters, were available from the outset (the first documented game seems to indicate all players were members of the “king’s guard” and thus soldier/fighter-types). However, it’s clear that they were eventually a part of the game and we can get a clue of HOW the magic system was changed (from Chainmail) from two different sources: the board game Dungeon! and Arneson’s First Fantasy Campaign from Judge’s Guild.

Now it’s pretty well documented that the board game Dungeon! was developed from Arneson’s Blackmoor by one of his Blackmoor players. Even the combat system in Dungeon! (roll 2D6 to either one-shot the monster or not) echoes Chainmail and Arneson’s own statements about the primordial beginnings of the game.

In Dungeon! “wizard” is one of the four character types you can play (along with the “elf,” “hero,” and “superhero”). The wizard has a choice of three spells: lightning bolt, fireball, and teleport. The wizard can also fight without spells (not as well as the superhero, but better than both the elf and hero, echoing Chainmail) and I have read on-line that the first printing of Dungeon! allows wizards the choice of using magic swords (though they receive more spells if they choose not to do so). Again, the wizard is an all-around badass, which is balanced by his tougher victory conditions (wizards need more treasure to win than any of the other character types).

[to be continued]

3 Stages of Exploration (Part 3)

[continued from here]

Sorry, for the short digression (we’re not talking New D&D after all)…let’s recap some of the ground covered so far:

1) Game play in D&D can be divided into three stages of exploration.
2) Each stage demonstrates a deeper and more immersive role-playing experience.
3) It is these stages of exploration that make the game so intriguing and thought-provoking.
4) The three stages developed organically, not purposefully.
5) Because they were not purposefully designed the latter stages are severely flawed.

Okay, how we doing? Hmm…looks like I forgot I wanted to come back to the three "Stages of Exploration." Let’s talk about them now (and get that out of the way):

[I’m going to try to make this short]

Basic Stage (Stage 1 Exploration): Hazard Site

This is your basic single site, adventure locale, generally referred to as “a dungeon” regardless of the specific setting (a temple, cave complex, tomb, etc.). Whether relatively small (e.g. Tomb of Horrors), extensive (e.g. Hall of the Fire Giant King), or “mega-“ in size, it provides rough physical parameters for PC exploration…that is, it is finite and limited in scope. This doesn’t necessarily mean “unchanging” but in general “clearing” a dungeon means just that…it’s swept clean of hazards.

And it is these hazards – monsters, traps, fiendish puzzles, etc. – that give the “hazard site” its name. It is hazardous to enter into it. The imaginary persona (whether PC or NPC henchman) risks life and limb (and possibly more) by exploring the hazard site. To compensate for this, the DM provides straightforward objectives: rescue these prisoners, fulfill this quest, loot the place for fabulous wealth and treasure, etc.

This is easy-shmeezy to understand: secure the goal, don’t get killed doing it. This is the BASIC stage of exploration (and by exploration I’m talking “exploration of the imaginary game world”). Challenges, rewards, all within limited parameters…it gives players the chance to explore their PCs capabilities (what can my fighter do? How do thief skills work?), and explore basic concepts of the game (hit points, armor class, saving throws, attack rolls, XP, etc.). It is incredibly useful for teaching the basics of the game to the new player…the straightforwardness and limited nature of the exploration provides a nice little “cap” on the “you can do anything you can imagine” preventing the newbie from being overwhelmed.

Expert Stage (Stage 2 Exploration): Imaginary Landscape

Roughly corresponding to the “wilderness exploration” presented in the Expert rule sets (both Moldvay and Mentzer), Stage 2 occurs once players come out of the dungeon with enough loot and wherewithal to choose their own adventure. Now, as said, it’s still possible to have an adventure that takes place “outdoors” that corresponds to the limits of a hazard site…I lost my copy of N2: The Forest Oracle sometime ago, but I seem to recall it being fairly linear and limited, for example.

However, once player characters leave the initial dungeon for the “whole wide imaginary world” things tend to get a bit more dicey. Without a generous (or railroad-y) DM, players are left to find their own adventures, following up rumors and answering want ads, etc. The characters have the potential to go anywhere, not just being confined to the hazard site…if they can afford a ship they can purchase one and sail to the Isle of Dread (or elsewhere). If they can’t afford a ship they can still make plans to stowaway aboard a vessel (perhaps later killing and replacing the captain and crew). The can hire out as caravan guards, or purchase their own horses and gallop off in any direction. They have to deal with food and getting lost and hiring guides and blacksmiths and other specialists. They can research legends, or become traders in mustard seed…whatever fancy takes them. And they can certainly become embroiled in the local political scene, at least indirectly. If the Dragon Highlords are moving this way and burning every town that doesn’t capitulate, they have a choice between organizing a resistance, or hightailing it out of there…or throwing in with the Highlords, offering up the townfolk as slaves.

The difference between Stage 2 and Stage 3 is the players generally don’t have the power to do everything they desire, and are still (at least half the time) reacting to the DMs scenarios. Invaders are coming; what do you want to do? A noble is organizing an exploratory journey by sea; do you want to apply for the job? The town has a lottery for sacrificing virgins to the local dragon; what are you going to do about it? Etc. Player characters are learning a LOT about the openness of choice in a role-playing game during Stage 2 and finding their own voices. They’re also (at this point) pressing the limits of most Old School editions, exploring the boundaries of the game. Weak DMs will have a difficult time with this stage of exploration; railroad-y scenarios (to get a group of PCs back into the next Hazard Site) is a common reaction to the overwhelmed DM in Stage 2 of the game.

The last few years of the old D&D campaign of my youth was spent mostly in Stage 2 exploration.

Master Stage (Stage 3 Exploration): World Shakers

Around the forums and OS blogs, there’s been much talk about the “endgame” scenario(s) of D&D; i.e. the denouement that occurs after a player character (or group of PCs) grow to such a level of wealth and power (i.e. level) that they can easily settle down, build a castle, and collect taxes from the peasants while growing fat and lazy in retirement.

But who wants to do that?

It generally takes a lot of ambition (and a lot of playtime with the same character) to get to a lofty high level…even so high as B/X’s “name level.” When my most recent B/X group finally got all their grooves ironed out and started playing seriously we made good progress and after several months of weekly play we were just starting to hit 5th and 6th level. In my youth, we had many high level characters, but those came from years of play, often with large (i.e. “Monty”) hauls of treasure, and many starting their careers as “mid-level” characters (to catch up to existing PCs in the game)…not to mention marathon game sessions unhindered by jobs and familial obligations.

Chances are if you’re playing a high level character that you’ve worked to advance, you’re not going to want to “go quietly into the night.” You’re DRIVEN to do more: to build that thieves guild or lead that Jihad or forge that kingdom or craft your magical magnum opus. Sure, high level characters like to go on “adventures” too: Tomb of Horrors is just a Hazard Site for high level characters, and what are “other planar adventures” but Stage 2 exploration only available to characters with the means to gate or astral travel?

But honestly, once you’ve spent a bunch of time in Stage 1 and 2 exploration (and amassed a serious amount of XP and treasure in the process) you tend to become a bit jaded to O Just Another Dungeon. Sure you can fight Orcus in his palace (H4: Throne of Bloodstone), but is that the most interesting thing you want to do with your time? Reacting to the scenario the DM gives you?

Certainly there is a degree of reaction in Stage 3, but most Stage 3 exploration is exploration of one’s OWN power, and the effects of one’s own choices on the game world. If you take down Greyhawk with your personal army of gnolls and polar bears, how does that affect the surrounding nations? If you decide to force the infidels to convert to the worship of Odin or be burned at the stake, who will rise up to stop you? What types of shady deals do you need to make to allow your illicit guild (thief or assassin) to flourish and function with impunity in the Empire’s capitol?

I watched the first season of Game of Thrones (and read the book on which it’s based) and I’d certainly call it a “fantasy adventure” but the adventure is not one of exploring a strange landscape or an ancient ruins. The adventure is found in navigating the cutthroat politics of a nation ready to tear itself apart…and that’s a fantastic maelstrom of action to take part in. Assuming the player characters still have the stomach for the game after ten years of nothing but killing monsters of ascending size.

That’s the thing that hit me like a (small) ton of bricks the other day when reading Noism’s post was this: his idea is great but ONLY when one is looking at D&D from the Big Picture Fantasy Adventure World concept. That is to say, it’s only great when you forget the little dungeon-delving game from which the whole thing developed.

See, Noism is talking like an intelligent human crafting a fantasy world. The medieval (or even pseudo-medieval) mindset is not conducive to treasure-seeking adventurers, while other historical periods and cultures are. However, D&D is not founded on any intelligent principle of design: Arneson created a limited scope of adventure to run a particular GAME and then that game evolved into the “World of Fantasy Adventure.” And no the latter doesn’t make a whole helluva’ lot of sense…but then neither does most of the pulp serials that probably served as a basis of inspiration for said world.

For example, I recently read Tarnsman of Gor. I remarked that it would make a fine D&D setting, because it has this Deus Ex Machina in it called the priest-kings that can automatically incinerate at any time (with blue fire!) anything they don’t like. Like people wearing armor better than chainmail or the building of automotive vehicles or the use of gunpowder. Why do people fight with swords when they’re from a more advanced civilization and living among several (specific) examples of high technology? Because the priest-kings incinerate you if you don’t. The world of Gor is a big game, with rules only its masters understand.

While reading it I found myself thinking, you know, this reminds me a bit of the flavor of Blackmoor. Low and behold that when I managed to get my hands on a copy of The First Fantasy Campaign about a week ago, what do I find but Tarns and Tarnsmen and slaves of various types. Yeah, Blackmoor (and Arneson) definitely had some Gorean influence mashed in.

Gor is an artificial, nonsensical, game-type world…just like the world of D&D. Why are there Norwegian monsters side-by-side with Indian spirits (rakshasa) and Greek mythology…not to mention Tolkien humanoids? Because it’s a game and a goddamn hodge-podge, that’s why! If you take it seriously you end up gnashing your teeth or looking utterly ridiculous or both.

And yet, as I said at the beginning of this series, D&D is a whole helluva’ lot more than your “average game.” It provides players with an opportunity to escape into a fantasy world and pretend (for the duration of a session) to be a heroic warrior or wizard or whatever. To experience and to EXPLORE a waaay different way of life from that to which we’re accustomed. To deal with issues and challenges of a different (and often drastic or deadly) nature than the normal ones we find ourselves facing…and, of course, like a weekly sitcom, we can turn it off for the night when the session is done and be none the worse for wear (depending on our snack preference) while having packed in some damn decent entertainment.

This entertainment, this experience, is richer when coupled with deeper and better role-playing and with a layered and textured world. But that means getting rid of the artificial restraints imposed by the game itself, and that’s a tall order.

Noism’s suggested exploring the New World or Africa or Asia…doing the Marco Polo or Hernan Cortez thing…as a reasonable way to build a world looking for adventure. But the type of exploration he’s talking about is Stage 2…and that’s pretty rough for starting adventurers with the rules as written.

Just like life’s pretty rough in a dungeon when you're playing a 1st level druid or assassin, you know?

[to be continued]

3 Stages of Exploration (Part 1)

[hey folks - I'm heading out to the San Juan Islands tomorrow morning and am expecting my internet access to be slim-to-none until next week. To mak-up for it I've got a loooong (4 or 5 part) post that I am going to try to set-up via blogger to post every day or so while gone. We'll see how this goes...]

Okay, just forget everything I’ve ever written up till now.

At least for the moment while reading this particular piece. Look, anyone who’s been reading this blog for awhile knows my opinions on subjects can seem to be wildly contradictory (D&D is the greatest! D&D has stupid premise! D&D combat is incredibly efficient! D&D combat is clunky as hell! Etc.). It’s not that I’m this fickle imbecile or ADHD dude that just writes “stream-o-consciousness” (usually…when I’m drunk is another story).

HOWEVER, it IS just a blog I’m penning here, and it’s reflective of my opinions and my opinions change. ALSO, I have tendency to write when I get “fired up” about something and sometimes (when my head is cooler) my stance relaxes a bit.

Sometimes, not always. Skill systems are still fucking stupid and a waste of space in 99% of all table-top RPGs, for example.

So for now, just ignore things I’ve written previously as I delve into some not-so-random thoughts that have been percolating. Perhaps these notes will resolve some of the contradictions previously penned here, perhaps not…blogging about D&D (at times) is a bit like wrapping your head around a Zen koan. It’s more of a meditation on concept than an actual study or essay.

Okay? Got it? Good.

Let’s preface this by acknowledging, one more time, that D&D is a game. Designed as a fun pastime. Hopefully enjoyed by the consumer, hopefully lucrative for the publisher. It’s not supposed to be life or death, it’s not supposed to cause you to neglect your job or your marriage or your schooling or your kids. It’s something you do outside of “real life.” Okay, everyone on the same page?

On the other hand, D&D (and many other RPGs, but here I’m writing about D&D in particular) is certainly more than your average game of Scrabble or Monopoly, or even strategy games like chess. Other games can certainly elicit emotion in folks tied to winning and losing (depending on a person’s competitive nature), but Dungeons & Dragons can inspire all sorts of feelings depending on how deep one dives into the imaginary realm…and because of that, much print (ink and digital) has been spent discussing, arguing, and kibitzing about various aspects of the game. It IS a phenomenon, at least with a small segment of the world population, and has been for nearly 40 years. But, yeah, you already knew that, too.

SO (just getting to the point here)…this post is about the experience or concept of D&D as something GREATER THAN a simple game of “enter the dungeon, kill the monster, collect the treasure.” I want to talk about the larger concept of role-playing…or rather of “fantasy adventuring”…than just its elementary game components.

Why? Because. Just bear with me, all right?

Dungeons & Dragons as is (and here I’m looking at the pre-1989 editions, i.e. the Old School editions of D&D)…"Old School” D&D AS IS can be broken up into three distinct phases:

- A low-level dungeon delving stage
- A mid-level wilderness exploration stage
- A high-level “world shaker” stage

This is the concept as initially laid out (somewhat haphazardly) in OD&D, later jumbled up a bit in AD&D, and finally organized in B/X and streamlined in BECMI. First you go into the dungeon, then you come out of the dungeon and explore the wider world, then you carve yourself a niche and engage in the politics of that world (managing a kingdom, going to war, forging alliances, founding religious movements, magical research, etc.).

Each of these three stages represents a different level (forgive the term) in the development of both the adventuring player character AND the dungeon master (who must properly manage the exploratory scenario).

Basic Stage: Exploration of the Hazard Site
Expert Stage: Exploration of the Imaginary Landscape
Master Stage: Exploration of the World Creation

[these are NOT, by the way, terms I’ve thought long and hard about…I may very well revise them later, but the phraseology will do for now]

I’m going to get into the specifics of each of these levels in a moment…with the objective of then having a discussion specifically relevant to their interaction and the future of the game (yeah, wow, right?) but for now let’s set that aside and talk about the design principles at work here.

Or rather, the lack thereof.

Now, it’s perfectly reasonable to think that a game designer could have come along and written a three stage game like D&D by design. “Let’s make something where game play has three distinct types of exploration and presents three distinct challenges for the players, and let’s include rules whereby one stage naturally [or unnaturally…see below] leads to another.” It’s possible a designer could have come along and done this…but that’s not really what happened.

At least from my readings of the books and the forum discussions and the various internet histories out there, the evolution of the D&D game appears to be fairly cut-n-dry:

1) Concept came about as a merging of several factors: interest in pulp fantasy (especially Howard-style ‘sword & sorcery’), medieval wargaming (including the added fantasy of Tolkien which often reads like a war story…which it is), with an idea of playing a game as an individual “character” (rather than a troop of men). The last can be (I think) directly attributable to the Chainmail game system. Chainmail provides rules for medieval wargaming (i.e. moving troops around the table), but then also provides rules for individual “heroic” characters in order to model fantasy novels (Tolkien). For example, it’s all good to say, “My riders of Rohan are charging your troop of White Hand orcs while my elves snipe from the woods”…but how does one model a single Gandalf? Or Aragorn? Or Lord of the Nazgul? You don’t have a platoon of wizards (as you do with Napoleonic riflemen), so you have to create some rudimentary rules for the lone “hero figure.” Which is what Chainmail did. Given that, it’s an easy step to say, “Hey, what if EACH player played a single heroic figure?” Add in the neutral referee providing challenges and you have the basis of the Dungeons & Dragons game…or rather, the basis of Arneson’s Blackmoor.

2) Now that you have the basis of “system/concept” you need to develop the environment and methods of game play; i.e. where the hell are the players doing their thing, and how is the referee developing challenges (and what are those challenges)? Enter Arneson…and Blackmoor…again: Characters are given a suitable task (by S&S genre standards) of seeking out treasure. Characters are placed in a static environment (dungeon), providing both an objective and a limit on what’s possible (they can enter or leave but are otherwise constrained by the adventure). The environment is stocked with challenges (“hazards”) to be overcome. At this point, the game is still simply a game…it is mimicked in many other board games that have been published over the years (Dungeon!, DungeonQuest, Siege of the Citadel, etc.).

3) Players and/or referee gets bored with “delving” and want to explore the world outside the dungeon. Lands are invented; as well as their histories, legends, and politics. Characters begin exploring the countryside, facing new challenges (not just monsters, mind you) and acquiring more treasure…the latter of which is necessary due to the “point system” developed during the “delving stage” to keep score. Increasing effectiveness (i.e. going up in level) requires higher and higher scores (i.e. more XP, which is received mainly from treasure). And what to do with all this treasure, besides (literally) cart in around with your party? Invest it in castles and “improvements” to one’s domain and hirelings to man the castle walls and spell research, etc.

4) At this point some long-standing characters are retired as players want to play other new characters; however, many players (I suspect) have grown somewhat attached to characters that have long withstood the test of time (and the fierce challenges of a wargaming referee). These players have developed personalities for their characters as well as personal histories and (imaginary) reputations and want to continue to “adventure” – though now their adventures consist of land grabs and politicking, making alliances and making war, creating new spells and powerful magics and religions and fighting to hold on to the things they’ve acquired over the course of months (or years) of game play.

Then the whole ball o wax gets written up in a couple-three game booklets (and published) for others to play. Because it’s found to be obsessively good fun.

What I’m describing is (in theory anyway) the theoretical evolution of the game and its levels (or rather) stages of play…an evolution and tiered hierarchy only poorly understood by the game’s creators themselves. After all, they were busy playing (and tweaking game play) at the time while it was being developed. It’s hard to take a step back when you’re in the midst of running a campaign six nights out of seven for a growing number of enthusiasts and see exactly what you’ve wrought, especially when your eyes are filled with dollar signs.

We, of course, have the benefit of both hindsight and distance…should we choose to use ‘em (which we don’t always do, seeing as how we’re busy playing and tweaking the rules ourselves).

Now, the problem with how ass-backwards this is may not be readily apparent to most, but that’s the bulk of what I want to talk about in this post (and possible remedies, if I get to ‘em without boring the crap out of you). First you have to buy into Dungeons & Dragons being “something more than your average game” (remember that part?) and second you have to examine this BIG PICTURE view of the game in light of an RPG being “something more.”

[to be continued]

Dungeon?! Oh, wait...

For a variety of reasons, I've decided to change my gaming night back to Thursday, i.e. tomorrow. Maybe no one will show up...but you've got to start somewhere, and Thursday is the night that works best for me. If I'm going to run a game dammit, it's got to be on a night I want to go out!

Here's a text I sent Josh (one of my regulars, and one who's no longer available on Tuesdays anyway) a couple days ago...or at least a rough approximation:

"I'm changing the game to Thursday night. And if it turns out no one's showing, I'm just going to go down to Prost! with my battered copy of Dungeon! and drink large amounts of beer."

[Prost! is a German semi-pub in the neighborhood that sells Hofbrauhaus beer by the liter]

But then I know Josh's weakness.

; )

Ugh...you know I did a lot of "research" last night (i.e. spent a couple hours surfing the internet) on Dungeon!, it's designer, rules variations, connections with TSR and Arneson and Blackmoor, etc. in anticipation of a big, cool blog post. And guess what? Turns out all my machinations and theories (conspiracy or otherwise) have already been plumbed...and in depth...by others. On forums (Old School and otherwise), with discussion with Arneson and members of his Blackmoor campaign, and on web sites completely devoted to Blackmoor, not to mention Havard's blog.

Reinventing the wheel...again. My usual M.O.

So right...I'm not going to blog about Dungeon! tonight. Instead, I'm going to hit the hay in anticipation (and in preparation) for tomorrow's game and potentially copious drinking. Did a bit of writing/work today on D&D Mine, so that's probably what I'll be running...but we'll see.

Later, gators.

Dave Arneson's Blackmooor (Part 2)

Despite a cough, I'm feeling much better today. Thanks.

All right, let's pick up where we left off yesterday, i.e. reviewing D&D in its basest, primeval form.

Oh, is that what we're doing? Well, kind of. I mentioned "deconstructing" Dungeons & Dragons which I meant in the same fashion that the term is used on the Bravo reality show Top Chef (a guilty pleasure). When a master chef (which I am not, just by the way...I make a burritos using canned chili, okay?)...ahem...when a master chef deconstructs a dish, the guy (or gal) takes the base components of the entree, disassembled, analyzes them for how they go together to evoke a particular flavor combination, than reconstructs the dish in a way that bears no semblance to the original dish but still evokes the essence of the dish such that it is immediately recognizable in its most enjoyable pieces.

That's kind of what I aim to do. But before I can reconstruct D&D, I really need to get down into the nitty-gritty of the base design. And stuff like that quote from Mr. Arneson is immensely helpful to that objective.

[and in case anyone wants to ask, 'why the hell bother?' ...well, I could do what I've done before, what everyone seems content to do: tweak and edit and house-rule and twist until the game resembles something "acceptable" OR I can tear it down and do a complete rebuild. Which, by the way, may not be entirely possible (at least to mine or anyone else's complete satisfaction)...but there's always the possibility the rebuild will turn out to be more satisfying (or, at least, have less unsatisfactory parts) than the usual hot mess most of us play with]

Okay, on with the show.

I think it's safe to give credit to Dave Arneson as the guy who invented the base CONCEPT of Dungeons & Dragons. That in no way is meant to diminish the importance of Gary Gygax to the overall project. In astrology there are three qualities of astrological signs: Cardinal, Fixed, and Mutable. Cardinal signs are the creators and originators, Fixed signs are the organizers and controllers, and Mutable signs are the communicators and moderators. In business, you often see Cardinal signs in the position of the entrepreneur/idea guy...but without a Fixed sign to act as an organizer or CEO-type, they can lack "staying power." The Fixed sign may never have the original idea, but without their power the Cardinal sign may flare out.

Arneson, as a Libra, is a Cardinal sign. Gygax, a Leo, is a Fixed sign.

But, whatever...I know many of my readers don't give a hoot about astrology, so I'll try not to mix too much of that in with my premise. As I said, I believe it's fair to credit Arneson with the creating the concept of D&D: a role-playing game (where players are individual heroes as opposed to squads or armies), guided by a neutral referee, through a monster-infested dungeon, seeking treasure/loot. Gygax's Chainmail game (designed for table-top mass warfare) was the earliest set of rules used with the basic design concept, and then this got changed and refined overtime...by both Arneson and Gygax.

Just to jump forward a bit for a quick sec: this is understandable, jah? Every edition of D&D that has come out since the first published Little Brown Books has been an attempt to refine the game, to perfect it and make it better...even if by "better" one simply means "more understandable" or "more logical" or "more consistent" or even just "more fun."

AD&D - is Gygax's attempt to "flesh out" the game.

Holmes Basic - Dr. Holmes's attempt to make D&D accessible to the novice.

B/X - Moldvay's (and others) effort to streamline and refine OD&D.

BECMI - Mentzer's attempt to extend B/X with consistent scaling.

AD&D2 - Zeb's attempt to refine AD&D and make it a viable, consistent engine.

D&D3 - WotC's attempt to bring D&D into the future with serious design considerations and attention to consistency and coherence.

D&D3.5 - WotC's attempt to refine D&D3, work out the kinks, make the game more "balanced"

D&D4 - Hasbro's attempt to make the game even more "fun" and "balanced" while adding recognizable tropes of other 21st century entertainment types (i.e. video games).

D&D Next - Hasbro's attempt to save the cash cow by reconciling the disapproving (earlier edition) fan base with those new fans turned on by D&D4.

Does that about sum it up? Hopefully, none of it sounds too biased...if one leaves out the (*shudder*) capitalist notion of making more money for one's business by putting out new editions, one can easily see how every new edition has been created with the best of intentions. That is to say, each new version of D&D (even those I personally dislike) have been created with the idea of IMPROVING the product in order to provide a BETTER GAME to those who play it (and hopefully, helping to grow the hobby by producing a better system for new, happy customers).

Now let's return to the past, i.e. to the days of Blackmoor, or what we might call pre-D&D. We have the basic concept, provided by Arneson. But let's look at some of the specific specifics, which I shall infer from his preface to the D20 campaign setting quoted earlier:

- DA (Dave Arneson) was NOT a proponent of "sandbox play" (he set the game in a dungeon specifically to "keep the players from running all over the place"). That he bothered to create a town and country around the dungeon speaks more to Arneson the college history major and his interest in historical wargaming and (even more so) his interest in alternative history or "what if" scenarios (he liked the fluff).

- DA was NOT interested in any kind of "tight plot" (i.e. linear adventure, adventure path, railroad, etc.)...he wanted players to have a loose environment for exploration but the freedom to do "just about anything...for better or for worse."

- The original dungeon consisted of six levels infested with monsters. Characters were searching for treasure (loot) and magic items. Major combat (see below) consisted of rolling a pair of dice to determine victory. If this sounds familiar to some folks, it's because it perfectly describes the game and game play of the 1975 board game Dungeon! I have a whole 'nother post planned for Dungeon! (again, with regard to deconstructing D&D); at this time, suffice is to say it was designed by David Megarry who is listed in the DA's Blackmoor credits as one of the original players of the Blackmoor campaign.

- DA writes, "Major combat changed from rolling a pair of dice that resulted in victory or death to one where the hero could fight beyond the first swing just like in the movies!" There are two interesting parts to that sentence. The first is the term "Major combat;" how exactly would that be defined? Or better yet, what would constitute minor combat, since we might infer (from the statement) that minor combats did NOT change (i.e. not every battle needed the detailed battle of attrition that became the mainstay norm...and clunky slow-ness...of all future D&D editions). The second interesting part has to do with how the statement relates to the NEXT sentence in DA's preface:

- DA writes, "Killing critters in one blow was fine but not when it meant getting your character killed." There are two different ways I can interpret this statement (in conjunction with the prior one) in explaining how early Blackmoor combat worked. Chainmail (which, as noted, was first used as a base rule set for Blackmoor) provided a semi-complex man-to-man (i.e. one-on-one or individual) combat system in which one character would strike a blow and, if failing to kill his opponent, would receive a blow in return. In Chainmail, your attack either kills your opponent or it does not, and there are many tables provided that show the chance needed to down your foe based on the combatants armor, weapon, mount, etc. For the fantasy monsters of Chainmail (ghouls, giants, ogres, wizards, dragons, etc.) a simple 2D6 roll is cross-referenced against the chance to kill such a beast. For example a Hero needs to throw an 11 to kill a giant, but only a 9 to kill an ogre. However, against lesser foes (orcs, goblins, bandits, etc.) a character uses the weapon vs. armor table (so a character with a mace needs a 9+ against leather and shield or a 7+ against plate armor...oh yes, folks, your choice of weapon in OD&D really DOES matter if you use the standard Chainmail combat instead of the "alternative combat rules" that later become the norm of the game). So keep these Chainmail rules in mind, while considering Mr. Arneson's recollection.

As I said, there are two ways I can interpret DA's statements here: #1 He used the Chainmail system (with some restructuring: the average Joe is neither a "Hero" nor a "Wizard" and thus has NO chance to single-handedly kill a great monster) giving one character a first strike (i.e. chance to kill) and thus risking a return blow (and auto-kill). This, in turn, led to the development of hit points due to players lack of enjoyment at being "one-shotted." #2 DA had a modified version of Chainmail that featured a SINGLE ROLL of 2d6 that would either result in "victory or death." #2 would actually be a literal (if radical!) interpretation of the statements and I think unlikely (as it's unclear how that would lead to the development of hit points, nor be used in conjunction with armor class, which DA reports to have adapted to his game from an earlier naval warfare game system he designed).

However, if I use interpretation #1, then I have to ask: WHY did you insist on using the SAME SYSTEM for both players and monsters? Dave writes "Killing critters in one blow was fine;" okay, so why change that? Because it wouldn't be fair to the monsters that they can be one-shotted when players can't be? What do the monsters care?!

See, to me, this is a major design over-sight. Sorry, Dave, it is. And the rest of us (those who have played any of the upteen iterations of D&D post-Blackmoor) have been paying for it ever since. There's no law that says the combat rules have to go the same both ways (the rules for monsters aren't the same as for players anyway...I mean, they don't get experience and advance in level for killing adventurers do they?). I've already worked out a way to reconcile this is my own D&D Mine (about three-four weeks ago), but to do so I had to go back to the Chainmail method of combat using D6s and kick the D20 to the curb...something that will no doubt cause people to say, "your game does NOT resemble D&D." To which I'll reply: it resembles the EARLIEST version of D&D before the "alternative combat tables" became standard.

- *ahem* Moving on...according to DA, the goal of his game was the acquisition of treasure. Not saving the world or killing monsters (in order to acquire XP and raise in level). Nope, the goal was to acquire wealth and "cool magic items." From this standpoint, the XP for treasure found continues to be the only sensible way of measuring an adventurer's proficiency. As it always has.

- And with regard to XP and leveling up, DA writes (towards the end of his preface), "Within the first month the players were getting quite attached to their characters. Then came the next big question...'Shouldn't we be getting better at killing stuff like our experienced troops on our Napoleonic campaign?' Okay, let's work something out." Wow, to all those who feel some sort of reward or advancement system needs to be inherent in the process of designing an RPG, even one that facilitates a gamist agenda (as D&D does), this little tidbit is a big "F-- you!" That the idea of experience points and levels were afterthoughts (and only brought up after a month of solid gameplay!) should be an eye-opener to folks who've simply come to expect "that kind of thing."

I mean, certainly counting points (experience or otherwise) and earning advancement (in levels or otherwise) are things that have great merits, design-wise. Putting them into the game was one of the smartest things that could have been done as far as keeping folks interested via constant struggle for achievement. There's a reason why so many RPGs contain reward mechanics! However, that struggle to achieve was NOT the original goal or intention behind Arneson's concept (see the bit about gold). According to DA's statements, the chronological order of development was:

#1) Objective/Goal Created: Acquire Wealth

#2) Players play, become attached to their characters

[note, #2 has nothing to do with achievement/status/power-gaming]

#3) Players ask if their characters should be getting better, more experienced

#4) Advancement mechanics implemented in response

That's fairly frigging mind-blowing to me, folks. In my game designs I almost always use some sort of level/experience advancement scheme and it occupies a helluva' lot o y attention: how XP is awarded, how much XP to level, rate of advancement, benefits of advancement, etc. In many ways, this is the CORE of most gamist RPGs: #1 What behavior is rewarded, and #2 How does that reward increase a character's in-game effectiveness.

But THAT wasn't the point of pre-D&D Blackmoor! It was never, "how does my peon become a 'roid-raging Conan somewhere down the line?" Conan doesn't "advance" in Howard's stories (Arneson's inspiration for Blackmoor)...Conan simply goes on adventures and kicks ass. Period!

All right, all right...that's enough for you folks to chew over for now (I know I'VE been chewing it over the last couple days). We'll do some more "deconstruction" in the next few posts.

: )

Dave Arneson's Blackmooor (Part 1)

I've been sick for three days.

Or four, maybe. Yeah, it really was Thursday that I started getting "bad" and that turned "real bad" by Friday. In past years I had a habit of getting a cold at least once every 1-2 months due to a combination of over-work, poor nutrition, lack of exercise, lack of sleep, etc. However, I started taking a daily multivitamin shortly before my son was born and this has resulted in me retaining near solid health despite averaging 5 hours of sleep at night. Unfortunately, I ran out o vitamins a week or two ago and I've been lazy about replacing 'em (they bulldozed the nice little grocery across the street from my house where I used to get 'em)...so combine that with my child being sick (Tuesday-Wednesday) and short sleep all week and the stress of putting out the new book; well, it was a recipe for disaster.

I'm still sick. Which has made an otherwise beautiful weekend kind of miserable.

[actually, I haven't been resting as much as I could due to the beautiful weekend and going out with friends and family, etc. resulting in lingering illness...at least I did pick up the vitamins]

Being sick has prevented me from blogging (till now) but hasn't stemmed the flow of blog ideas and inspiration. I picked up a couple-five books this weekend, several of which have been idea fodder for my feverish brain. The first one I want to talk about is Dave Arneson's Blackmoor. Published by Zeitgeist Games in 2006 for use with D&D 3.5, you might have missed this one. I certainly did...the copy I picked up was in the used book section for $8.

Now, of course, I don't play D20 or Pathfinder or anything would lend DA's Blackmoor any semblance of usefulness to my gaming library. However, as it was published in 2006, three years before Arneson's death, and was a book on his original campaign world ("Blackmoor") I figured it might have some useful tidbits to help me in my present pursuit of deconstructing the Dungeons & Dragons game. In fact, it appears this post will be the first in an on-going series of deconstruction posts I intend to write...as I find the time to do so.

And, no, I was not disappointed. I own the original Supplement II ("Blackmoor") for OD&D but there's precious little of Arenson's home-brew campaign world. There's a lot one can infer from Supp. II (I've written before that it has a much more Sword & Sorcery vibe...almost a weird Eastern flavor to it, with its assassins and monks and whatnot)...but there's no detailed narrative from Mr. Arneson that accompanies the text.

Dave Arneson's Blackmoor, on the other hand, DOES have a preface from Dave himself (Arneson is credited as "lead designer" for the book), and it is this preface that contains the bulk of useful information I was hoping to find.

The first part, talking about getting the idea for dungeon delving while spending a boring weekend watch TV and reading fantasy books isn't anything that's not available from other sources. The part that perked my interest most was the following bits:

"By Sunday night the first six levels of the dungeon were done and the gaming table in the basement had been transformed into a small medieval town with a castle. A dungeon seemed like a good idea since it would keep the players from running all over the place. We still needed some more details... Ah! I drew a map of the town and the country around it. These last details took me most of the rest of the week to complete. I was really excited about this idea. Now everyone could be a hero like in a book but without a tight (and often dumb!) plot. They could do just about anything they wanted to do, for better or for worse.

"In that short time, Blackmoor was born. I had few rules and no plans for anything beneath the 6th level in the dungeon, or beyond the tabletop boundaries into a greater world. With the basic idea laid out, there were still questions to answer.

"Where did the players meet? Inns were popular in a lot of books and it was logical that the guys would meet in a public establishment. And there had been this neat medieval restaurant in Chicago called The Comeback Inn.

"What was their goal? Why, money, of course. They sought great treasure and cool magic items. These were quite popular quests in fantasy novels and movies. Maybe they will quest after the "Magic McGuffin Amulet!"

"The campaign setting now known as Blackmoor was done within the month with additional details added as needed. Both the setting and the rules continued to grow over the weeks. Most, but alas, not all, the guys liked the game and wanted to keep playing. So the next few weeks were spent fleshing things out and trying to maintain structure...

"Major combat changed from rolling a pair of dice that resulted in victory or death to one where the hero could fight on beyond the first swing just like in the movies! Killing critters in one blow was fine but not when it meant getting your character killed. Within the first month the players were getting quite attached to their characters. Then came the next big question... "Shouldn't we be getting better at killing stuff like our experienced troops on our Napoleonic campaign?" OK, let's work something out..."

All right, this post is getting a bit long and it's getting a bit late. I'll come back to it tomorrow.