Artwork: Elderly Warlock Master

It’s pretty self-indulgent of me to post this, so it’s going up on a Tuesday when there wouldn’t normally be any post anyway.

Long ago, in days of yore, I played World of Warcraft. A lot. Truth be told, I love that game. I think its overall quality has gone downhill over the years, but I still love it, and have very fond memories of the time I spent playing it. And aside from being massive amounts of fun, the game fostered a number of positive changes in my life. It gave me a vessel with which I could remain close to some of my friends even after I moved far away, and it allowed me to make new friends, one of which I’m now involved with. Without the years I spent playing World of Warcraft, I never would have started writing Curse of Senility. If I hadn’t started writing Curse of Senility, I never would have been noticed by WoW Insider and hired by them to write Blood Pact. And without the confidence of knowing that people were willing to give me money for making words, I don’t know if I would have ever taken writing seriously enough to bother maintaining Papers & Pencils as long as I have.

So yeah, WoW played a big role in my life. And my character in WoW, the only one I ever took very seriously at all, is Sentai Grehsk, The Corpse Seeker. My warlock was the first character I rolled, and he’s the one I’ll always love. On the Silver Hand Role Playing server, I was the senile old warlock who rambled on about how much he loved fancy hats, and behind closed doors became a cunning, and sometimes ruthless, diplomat. It’s a little embarrassing just how much time and effort I put into the character and his backstory. And it is really cool to see him drawn so awesomely, courtesy of my very talented ladyfriend.

But if you don’t care about WoW, it’s just an awesome picture of a wizard. That’s cool, right?

Appendix N: The Zombie Survival Guide

Depictions of the macabre have always held a special place in my heart. Even in my early childhood, all of my doodles were of horrible monsters and demons. I remember it being a major concern to my parents, and I even frightened a few other children with what I came up with. This was not intentional. I’ve rarely ‘played up’ my love for disturbing images just to make people uncomfortable. (Though, I confess, as I’ve grown older this has become something of a guilty pleasure). I merely have a natural passion for the darker imaginings of the human psyche. And at the center of this passion are creatures possessed of unnatural life beyond death. Ghouls, vampires, and of course, zombies.

You might say that I was into zombies “before they were cool,” but then I would have kick you in the stomach for making me sound like a hipster douche. All the same, even I have long since tired of the ‘zombie craze.’ That’s hardly an original sentiment, but that doesn’t make it any less valid. It is past time for zombies to shamble out of the spotlight. The overproduction of zombie-themed books, movies, television programs and (especially) games is more than frustrating. The books which arguably started that craze, however, are still some of the best I’ve ever read.

Max Brooks’ two zombie classics, “The Zombie Survival Guide,” and “World War Z” are original, and inspired works of modern literature. They cannot even be counted as pulp, despite being predicated on a pulp icon like zombies. Both books explore some interesting questions about the human condition, and they do it from unique perspectives. The level of thought which Brooks put into his work is honestly remarkable, and he deserves no end of accolades for what he accomplished.

Personally, I think World War Z is the far better book. If you haven’t read it, you ought to. The episodic style of the story means you can read it in small segments and feel satisfied that you’ve experienced an entire story at the end of each one. But the episodes are not so completely disconnected that the book doesn’t have an overall narrative. One which, I think, is the definitive account of a zombie apocalypse.

Despite WWZ’s objective superiority, however, I think The Zombie Survival Guide is a much more valuable tome for game masters. It’s valuable even if you never have, and never intend, to run a zombie survival game. The ZSG is useful for all GMs, of all games, in all settings, because in that book Max Brooks does what a good GM should do: he creates a fantastic world, complete with rules for the fantastic elements, then takes that world completely seriously.

If you are unfamiliar with the Zombie Survival guide, the premise of the book is very simple. Zombies are real. There have been numerous minor outbreaks recorded in the past, dating back to as early as 60,000 B.C.. And while past outbreaks have been contained, there is still a real threat of a pandemic of zombieism which would consume the world. When and if that happens, the book aims to prepare the reader to survive in any eventuality. It exhaustively covers its subject matter–to the point that in some spots it almost becomes a general-purpose survival guide. Though it never stops being entertaining.

The complete seriousness of this book with regards to its own fantastic content is a perspective-altering tool for game masters. As I mentioned, this is precisely what I think we ought to be doing. We create, or inherit, fictional realities. Those realities often have fantastic elements, such as magic, or high technology, or even something as simple as slightly altered history from that of the real world. But whatever the particular oddities of our worlds may be, once we’ve determined what those oddities are, we should try to understand how the world would function realistically. If we can accomplish that, then we’ve taken one of the most important and most difficult steps to help our players take the world seriously.

For example, consider a world of medieval fantasy. The only way it differs from real-life medieval Europe is the presence of magic. Okay, now it’s time to figure out how it functions realistically: how does magic work? Is it an innate power granted to a few, or is it a studied art? How powerful can magic be, and why haven’t magic users taken over the world by now? Medieval Europe was strictly religious, how does the pope respond to magic? Does he claim it for the church as a gift from god, or does he decry magic users as servants of evil? If he decries it as evil, is it outlawed universally, or does his opposition to it cause a schism from the church? Or, perhaps, does the obvious power of magic cause the political power of the pope to disappear entirely? Does magic affect the day-to-day life of the peasantry, or are its gifts enjoyed primarily by the ruling classes?

These are important questions to consider if we want our players to find our worlds believable. And it’s the type of thinking for which The Zombie Survival Guide serves as a perfect example. In some ways, I think the ZCG is the most well developed campaign setting I’ve ever seen. Because while many campaign settings focus their attention on detailing nations and races and politics, this book can skip all of that since it can be found in any world atlas. Instead, it focuses all of its 250-some pages on exploring the single way in which its world differs from our own.

It seems more than a little strange to write a recommendation for a best selling book which has been on the shelves for almost a decade. But I don’t simply recommend it as a good read. (After all: World War Z is better!) I recommend it as a valuable source of education for game masters.

The Legend of Zelda Adventure System: Problems

As a game designer, I’m a complete novice. More of a novice than I thought I would be, actually. After rebuilding every game I’ve ever played so many times, researching game design theories, and running this blog for a year, I thought game design would come a little more naturally to me. I didn’t expect to be some kind of prodigy or anything. I’ve been alive long enough to realize that every new venture will prove more difficult than it seems from the outside looking in. All the same, I’ve been surprised by the challenges of designing a game from the ground up.

What I’ve learned is that even though I have a solid grasp of some elements of game design, there are others which I’ve simply never tried fiddling before. Yes, I’ve rebuilt Pathfinder a dozen times, but I only changed the parts that I was interested in improving. There’s a lot more to the game which I never had to think about, because I never felt like it needed to improve. I let the game’s original designers handle those elements for me. Now that I’m trying to build a game from scratch, I’m ill prepared for the task of building a fresh approach to these elements.

Dungeons, for example, have proven to be a larger problem for me than I suspected they would. When I was originally deciding what my goals were for the Legend of Zelda Adventure System, I knew that dungeons would be a large part of it. In a Zelda game, most of the play takes place within dungeons, so it makes sense that much of the LOZAS system would be dungeon focused, yes? But a Zelda dungeon isn’t like a D&D dungeon, and I would like that to be represented by the system, rather than simply letting the game become another D&D clone.

I recognize that I’ll need to make compromises. As I’ve said before, throwing pots and pushing blocks doesn’t translate well to tabletop. A lot of Zelda dungeons have “timing” challenges, where you need to move through the room at a certain rate to avoid obstacles like monsters, spinning blades, or bursts of flame. Challenges such as those won’t function when the game isn’t being played in real time. However, in other ways, I think there are elements of Zelda dungeons which can be translated to tabletop. For example, many Zelda dungeon have a focus on traveling between sub-levels repeatedly in order to progress through to the end. There’s also the tradition of a dungeon requiring multiple keys, as well as including a map, compass, and ‘big key.’ These are things which could work well as a tabletop challenge.

What I would like to do is create a simple method GMs could use to build dungeons in this style. Something not unlike Gary Gygax’s “appendix A” in the DMG, which could be used to randomly generate dungeons, although this would not be entirely random. Ideally it would require a little more time and decision making on the part of the GM, while still streamlining the dungeon building process enough that it doesn’t require hours to accomplish the task. But this is new ground for me. I’ve never been the greatest at designing dungeons in the first place, so completing this aspect of the game has proven to be a challenge. Maybe I’ll scale back on just how ambitious it is, but I’d like to give my vision a solid try before I start making concessions.

Another element of the LOZAS system which has been something of a puzzle to me is combat. I’ve already posted a collection of notes I have for the system, but in many ways I’m not satisfied with them. As one commenter pointed out, combat in Zelda isn’t like combat in existing games. It is neither combat as sport nor is it combat as war. It’s combat as a puzzle. Enemies move in a very particular way and have a particular method of attack, and the goal of the player is to get past them, either by avoiding them or by killing them. But killing them is only a single method of completing the puzzle, and not always the best one.

Like the timed obstacles I mentioned above, I don’t think there’s any real way to translate this style of combat to tabletop, because again, it’s not in real time. However, I would like to capture its spirit as best I can. At present, the system which has developed from my notes is the best I’ve been able to come up with. but I can’t help but feel that there’s a better option out there. Something which further reduces  combat time, while still forcing the player to think about combat enough that it isn’t something they can simply skip over.

I like the idea of having numerous monsters which are used sparingly, and having each monster require the players to come up with some kind of tactic to defeat it. Hitting it with swords will work eventually, but it would never be as effective as coming up with a clever solution. Such as, in the case of a leaping skeleton, tricking it into leaping off of a cliff or into a pool of lava.

So yeah, these are some of the problems I’ve been encountering lately as I work on the Legend of Zelda Adventure System. And just so we’re clear:

I love it.

I won’t deny that there was a certain satisfaction to the early stages of the design process, when ideas for how to improve the game were just falling out of my head faster than I could write them down. But this, honestly, is better. Even if it’s a little less fun in the short term. Hitting a wall and learning how to climb over it, that’s REAL problem solving. That’s how I know I’m not just retreading old ground. I’m not regurgitating something I’ve seen before and simply forgotten about, or combining elements from other more successful games. I’m learning.

And if you ask me, that’s the whole point of doing anything in the first place anyway.

Colorful Characters 21: Margo Waggletongue

Note: Margo is my dead PC from Brendan’s Vaults of Pahvelorn game. Since I’m taking some significant liberties with the setting, I avoided any direct references to locations or characters. But I still wanted to give credit where it is due.

Margo was born in a land where learning was scarce, and magic was feared. Books were more rare than gold, and far less valued. Margo didn’t have much of either growing up. All Margo had was something so common as to be nearly worthless: ambition. He knew from his teen years, without any doubt, that he was destined to become the greatest wizard the land had seen in centuries.

That ambition manged to catch the attention of a middle aged magician who was willing to teach Margo the basics of the magical arts. But the sum knowledge of his mentor’s entire life was not enough to slake Margo’s thirst for magical powers. By the time he was in his early twenties, he had determined that the only way he would ever achieve his goals would be to recover lost magical knowledge himself. He would delve beneath the earth, into forgotten dungeons left behind from greater civilizations long past. He would find the journals and tomes of the greatest wizards who had ever walked under the sun, and he would learn their secrets. He would surpass them, and he would be remembered for all time.He would have a tower filled with ancient tomes, and young wizards eons from now would learn spells such as “Margo’s Floating Tentacle,” or “Margo’s Black Disk,” or his favorite idea, “Margo’s flinging roof tile.”

Margo found a party to adventure with. Ruffians searching for something as paltry as gold. Margo had use for treasure, but only as financing to further his quest for power. But that suited Margo just fine. The last thing he needed was someone else vying for the tomes he sought. And his companions were no less ambitious than he was; they had no time for smaller expeditions, and the promise of only small rewards. The group traveled immediately to the dreaded pit, where countless adventurers had been lost before them. They boldly descended to one of the numerous entrances to that labyrinth beneath the earth. At first, everything seemed to go well for the group. They cleverly avoided deadly traps, defeated terrifying monsters, and aside from a scratch, a bruise, and a gutted hireling, no one was any worse for wear. They grew more confident, daring to delve ever deeper into the vaults, without losing the caution which had kept them alive this long. Everything went well.

Until they encountered the Necromancer.

The party was actually successful in that battle. They slew the necromancer before he could cast any of his more powerful spells, and were able to flee the scene before the numerous undead were able to devour them. But unfortunate Margo took a blow to the head from a skeleton’s fist, and fell to the ground unconscious. By the time they realized he was missing, his companions assumed their magic user was long dead.

In fact, Margo was taken by the undead, and dragged before a necromancer named Turlok The Unrestful. He offered Margo the chance to join him. He could study the powers of necromancy as Turlok’s pupil, to replace the one Margo and his companions had killed. Turlok even told the young magic user of the great army of undead monsters which had been sealed beneath the ground. Monsters he intended to unearth, and control. All the young mage needed to do was join him, and he too could command legions of the fearsome monsters, as Turlok’s vassal. Margo was tempted, the opportunity to study under a true master of the magical arts was all he had thought he wanted. But he was not so narrow minded as to be devoid of morals. Margo refused the necromancer, and in turn was sent to join the throng of slaves in digging tunnels.

Margo lost track of the time he spent in the dark tunnels, slaving alongside other captured adventurers. It would have been easier and cheaper to just kill them and raise them as skeletal diggers, but they surmised that Turlok enjoyed watching them slowly die from exhaustion and malnutrition, only to then raise them to serve as overseers to their former fellows. Escapes were attempted from time to time, but the labyrinthine, pitch black tunnels offered little hope for those who escaped. The only way out anyone could be sure of was back towards Turlok’s citadel, but that was even more suicidal than the tunnels were. After a few months, Margo didn’t even bother his mental exercises any longer. Magic had failed him, and he could die without its help.

It took years, but the diggers did finally reach the magical barrier holding the army of undead at bay. Dutifully, they cleared around it, opening enough space for Turlok the Unrestful to begin the dispelling rituals needed to unleash his hordes. As they cleared, they saw the monsters on the other sides clawing at them, waiting for a chance to tear them piece by piece.

Turlok arrived alone, looking about as gleeful as a Necromancer ever can. He began to scrawl a meticulous circle in the dirt. With the digging complete, Margo watched him quietly, waiting for his doom. The mad wizard’s bent form was detailing each rune with ominous precision. Margo looked down at his hands. They had been capable of such delicate work once. Now all they were good for was swinging the pickaxe he held.

Margo blinked. He looked around, confused. Then he stepped forward, and buried the pickaxe into Turlok’s brain. It was simple. Stupidly simple.

Without direction, the skeletal overseers began to attack their wards. But their attacks were random, and disorganized. The skeletons standing far enough away didn’t even seem to notice, merely wandering off aimlessly into the blackness. A few prisoners were killed, but the rest fled back towards Turlok’s citadel. From there it took them several weeks and a few more lost companions to find a route to the surface, but that was it. They were free.

His taste for magic lost, Margo staked a claim on a few acres of land to farm not far from the town he and his companions had supplied in years before. He even learned that they had become successful adventurers, and upstanding members of the community. But he did not go to see them. He didn’t need to. He was content just being under the sun again.

Margo Waggletongue (CR 4)
XP: 1,200
Male Human Wizard 1/Commoner 8
N humanoid
Init +2; Senses Perception +5
Note: Margo’s history has led to him losing many of the abilities which would normally be entitled to.


Defenses


AC 8, Flat Footed 10, Touch 8 [10 + Dex(-2) ]
hp 37 (9d6 + 0)
Fort +2 Ref +0 Will +1


Offense


Speed 30ft
Melee Quarterstaff +5 (1d4 + 1)
Wizard Spells Prepared (CL 1st; Concentration +3)
1st– Shocking Grasp
0 (at will)– Flare, Ray of Frost, Mending
School Evocation
Opposition Schools Necromancy, Divination


Stats


Str 13 (+1) Dex 07 (-2) Con 11 (+0) Int 14 (+2) Wis 09 (-1) Cha 08 (-1)
Base Atk +4; CMB +5; CMD 13
Feats Scribe Scroll, Improved Initiative, Combat Reflexes
Skills Knowledge(Arcana)(+3), Spellcraft(+3), Perception (+5)
Languages Common, Ancient Common, Draconic
Gear Simple leather clothes, 120gp, quarterstaff

Legend of Zelda Adventure System: Sage Spells

On Monday I detailed my current plans for how magic will work in the Legend of Zelda Adventure System. But a big list of magical mechanics isn’t much use without some specific spells to provide context. Below are all twenty three of the spells I’ve created so far. That should be plenty to start testing the game with, since even a max level character will only know 11 spells.

You may notice, as you look through this list, that there are very few spells which could easily be labelled “offensive” spells. My vision of the sage is that it serves as a utility class, rather than a damage dealing class. In part, this is informed by my own preference. Whenever I play a caster, I like to load up on spells which allow me to help everyone else do their jobs better, rather than spells which put me in a pivotal role. More importantly, I hope that by restricting the magic user to support spells, it will be virtually impossible for the class to become overpowered the way magic users in Pathfinder are.

Heal: May restore 1 heart container to anyone who has been injured by laying a palm upon them. Does not work if the target of the spell is dead, and cannot be used to grant health beyond a character’s normal maximum

Push: May be cast from up to 10ft away. The target is knocked back 10ft. If something stops them from being knocked back that far, the target takes damage equal to 1/2 the extra feet they would have moved. If the target will be pushed into something dangerous (lava, off of a cliff, etc.) and they pass something which they might grab onto, they are entitled to an agility check to try and grab it.

Levitate: The target may move up and down through the air at will. They must be touched by the caster in order for this spell to be cast. There is no limit to how high or low they can go, and they can move at any speed they wish. The spell has a duration of 1 minute per level of the sage who cast it.

Water Walk: The sage must have some water available to cast this spell, which they sprinkle upon the feet of of the spell’s target. The subject may they walk on water as if it were solid. Only their feet are affected by this spell, so if they fall over the spell is broken. Water is not very solid footing.

See Through Wall: Sages may cast this spell upon a surface up to 10x10ft in size. Once cast, the sage can see through up to 10ft of solid material, to the other side. The vision is slightly blurred and tinted the color of the surface which is being looked through. This spell is unable to penetrate lead. Some villains line important chambers with the material to prevent spying.

Floating Disk: A silvery disk materializes in the air, roughly 4ft in diameter. The disk floats between 1 inch and 6ft off of the ground, and can carry the weight of several full grown Hylians before the spell shatters. The sage moves the disk with their mind, it can be moved up to 60ft away from the sage, and does not need to be within their line of sight.

Conjure Plank: An extremely sturdy plank of an unknown solid material forms in the air in front of the sage. It is 12ft long, 3ft wide, and 4 inches thick. While suspended by its ends, it can support a fully grown Hylian jumping in the center of it without being damaged. Despite its strength, even a weak person can easily lift the plank with a single hand.

Passwall: The sage, and anyone touching them or their clothes, is able to walk through a wall as if it were an extremely viscous liquid substance. This spell does not allow anyone to see what is on the other side of the wall, nor can they breathe while within the wall. Any part of a person which exits the wall after entering it cannot re-enter the wall unless the spell is cast again.

Detect Hidden: Secret doors within the same room as the sage begin to glow a bright blue color for all to see. This effect works regardless of the nature of the door. It can be a section of wall which slides away, a loose stone on the floor which hides a gem beneath it, or a trapdoor in the ceiling which would drop acid on the party.

Ghost Sound: The sage can create any sound they can imagine, and make it seem as though it is coming from anywhere within earshot of themselves. This spell must be cast with the eyes closed, and requires intensive listening and hand gestures for the sage to successfully indicate where the sound is coming from.

Summon Animal: Through a number of verbal incantations, including whistling, the sage may summon a natural creature to do its bidding. The animal must be one which would be present within a mile of the Sage’s location, and it must be able to reach the sage unobstructed. A horse could not be summoned to the 10th sublevel of a dungeon, but a spider or bat could be. Note that this spell does not work on monstrous creatures, nor can it be used to tame specific creatures, such as one which is threatening the players. It takes 1d10 minutes for the creature to arrive at the sage’s location, and it will obey the sage to the best of its ability for 3 hours. This time will be lessened if the sage treats the animal poorly, or could be lengthened if the sage treats the animal particularly well.

Counterspell: Cause the spell of another sage to fail. The spell is cast using subtle hand gestures and blinking patterns, making it difficult to detect. It can be cast either in a “general” way, causing the next spell cast within 100ft to fail, or it can be cast at a specific target, causing their next spell to fail.

Airblade: A blade of focused wind cuts through the air in a slashing motion, dealing 1d6 slashing damage at a range of up to 60ft.

Speak with Plants & Animals: The sage is able to speak the language of plants and animals for the length of a single conversation (however long that takes). Remember, though, that not all plants and animals will be eager to help.

Telekinesis: The sage can use this spell to lift and move an object of up to 50 pounds. The ability functions up to 100ft away, but cannot move any object at more than a slow, clumsy wobble.

Control Fire: If fire already exists, the sage can manipulate it with their mental powers. They cannot make it larger without fuel, but they can shape it, make it flare up momentarily, cause images to form in it, or cause tendrils of it to lash out.

Freeze Water: By blowing upon the surface of a body of water, the sage can can freeze it solid. The larger the body of water, the thinner the ice will be. A 10ft diameter pond could be frozen completely solid. A 20ft pond could be frozen with ice about 6 inches thick. A 30ft pond would only have a thin layer of ice atop it. Alternatively, this spell can be used to create a 10ft block of ice within a larger body of water.

Magic Shield: Mystical energy forms into the shape of a red circle 1ft in diameter. The circle is solid, opaque, and moves of its own volition within about 3ft of the spell recipient’s skin. It can successfully block one projectile per round. If the spell’s recipient is attacked by a magical projectile, or a particularly heavy one (such as a thrown boulder) then the shield will block it, but be destroyed in doing so. Otherwise the spell lasts for 15 minutes.

Raise Fog: A thick fog rises from the ground in a 50ft radius from the caster. This fog magically fills that space, and after that acts as normal fog. On a sunny, windy day, it will quickly dissipate, while in an underground cavern it might remain for hours before slowly settling back to earth.

Sleep: A single target within 30ft suddenly falls unconscious, sleeping soundly. This effect cannot be resisted, but once they are asleep a splash of water or a slap will wake them.

Sphere of Darkness: A 10ft spherical area becomes completely engulfed in magical darkness. No light can penetrate this sphere. It can be cast either upon an object, or a location. Once cast, it will remain tied to that object or location until it fades away an hour later.

Orb of Light: The sage can conjure a 3″ orb of heatless light which is insubstantial, but can be held or mounted as though it weren’t. Bright light fills a 15ft radius from the orb, with dim light for 20ft beyond that. The light otherwise acts normally. It will not magically bend around hands, bodies, or other objects.

Fear: The target of this spell will fixate on the scariest thing in their immediate vicinity, and will become cripplingly terrified of it. They will react according to character, either groveling for mercy, cowering in fear, or simply fleeing for their lives.

Legend of Zelda Adventure System: Notes on Magic

One of my favorite things to tinker with in an RPG is the magic system. Ultimately, the goal of any tabletop game mechanic should be effectiveness and simplicity. But unlike combat mechanics, there are innumerable ways for a magic systems to achieve those goals. Combat is real, and a lot of people who play RPGs have even studied it. You can’t pull wild made-up ideas about fighting out of thin air, because everybody will recognize that those ideas don’t model reality. You have some leeway, but on a fundamental level, a combat system needs to be grounded. But magic doesn’t exist.

Magic can come from anywhere, be accessed via any method, and have any side effects the designer wants. Ultimately it still needs to be effective and simple, but the paths a game can take to reach that goal are nearly limitless. Magic can be born of nature spirits which must be asked for their spells, or it can come from pacts with demons who demand sacrifice in exchange for power. Magic can be an elemental force which speaks to a chosen few, or it can be ‘glitches’ in the universe which the intellectual elite have learned to exploit.

In the Zelda series, the source of the world’s magic is never explained. Ocarina of Time touched on the subject with the history of the three goddesses. But the LOZAS project is focused on the games which came before that, so I’m not taking it into consideration here. An argument could be made that the Triforce itself is the source of magic, but it seems more likely to me that the world is inherently possessed of mystical energies. I’m not sure if I’ll choose to add more flavor to that myself, or if I’ll leave the specifics for individual game masters to tinker with. But since the ‘fluff’ has already been taken care of–albeit ambiguously–I’ve focused my attention on creating solid mechanics for the game’s magic. Mechanics which hopefully capture the feeling of Zelda spellcasting, without resorting to a point tracking system. That would be too much bookkeeping, I think.

Before diving into the magic system in full, however, I need to explain a little bit about how the ability scores and ability checks currently function. There are three abilities: Body, Agility, and Wisdom. When generating a character, each player rolls 2d10 three times, and arranges the resulting numbers between their three stats as they choose. I like using two dice rather than three, because it makes both high and low scores more common, which seems appropriate for the dramatic style of a Zelda game. Once the scores are arranged, each player gets 2 points which they can place in any of the abilities they like. So the maximum a player can have in an ability score is 22, and if they have a 22, then it’s the only maxed they can have, since there are no opportunities to increase ability scores after character creation.

Ability checks are handled OD&D style. The player rolls 1d24 and if the result is less than or equal to the relevant ability score, then they succeed. If their roll is greater than their ability score, they fail. In the event that the player doesn’t want to use a d24, they can always use 1d12, and flip a coin to see if they add 12 to the result. I could write more about why I’ve chosen to set the game up this way, but it’s not particularly relevant to explaining how the magic system works.

There are two types of magic players can access in the Legend of Zelda Adventure System. The first comes from magic items, which anyone can use. The rod of fire, or the cloak of invisibility for example. These items draw upon the magical energies within the wielder to power their spells, but the knowledge of how those spells are cast has been crafted into the item itself. The item is casting the spell, and merely leeching off of the untrained mystical powers of the wielder. After an item has been used, a non-sage must roll a wisdom check. If they fail, then their magical energies are drained and they must restore them either by consuming a potion of magic, or by resting for 8 hours. If they succeed on the check, then they still have enough energy to continue casting without rest. For as long as a character continues to succeed on wisdom checks, they continue to find reserves of magical power within themselves.

Sages, the game’s primary casters, have a little more access to magic than other classes do. At first level they learn 2 spells from the sage spell list, and they learn one spell each level after that. At the maximum level of 10, that’s a total of 11 spells. Sages are able to cast a number of spells per day equal to twice their level. So a first level sage will know 2 different spells, and can cast 2 spells on a given day. While a 10th level sage will know 11 different spells, and be able to cast 20 spells per day. After a sage casts their final spell for the day, they make a wisdom check just as other classes would after using a magic item. If they fail the check, they are drained and cannot cast any more that day. If they succeed on the check, then their last spell slot for the day is not spent, and they may use it again later. They may continue casting spells in this manner for as long as they succeed on wisdom checks.

Sages can also make use of magic items, as other classes do. Like other classes, the sage makes a wisdom check after they use the item. If they succeed, then their spellcasting ability is unaffected. If they fail, then using the magic item expends one of their spell slots for the day. When a sage uses a potion of magic, it restores half of their total spellcasting ability for the day.

In addition to their greatly expanded spellcasting ability, sages are able to use “spell crafting.” Using spell crafting, the sage’s player describes to the GM a minor modification they would like to make to one of their spells. For example, the spell, “Conjure Plank,” creates a 10ft long, 3ft wide plank which appears in front of the sage. An example of a minor modification would be to make the plank 12ft long, or to cause it to appear in a specific place about 30-60ft away from the sage. After the sage has described the modification they’d like to make to the GM, the GM uses their own judgement to determine whether or not the alteration is minor enough to work. If it is, then the sage should make a spell crafting check.

To do this, the sage rolls a wisdom check. For particularly easy or difficult spellcrafts, the GM is encouraged to announce bonuses or penalties to the sage’s roll. If the roll is a success, then the spell works as intended, and one spell slot is lost. If the sage has no more spell slots for the day, then after a successful spell crafting attempt they are considered fully drained and unable to cast again. If the check fails, then the spell fizzles. It may function incorrectly, or simply nothing happens. Regardless, the sage still loses their spell slot as if the spell had succeed. It should be noted that spell crafting is not permanent, but only affects one specific casting of the spell.

Sometime in the next few days I’ll share a spell list for the Sage, to give you an idea of what kind of magic players will be able to access in the game.

Seven Cursed Items for Fun & Profit

Greed’s Guilt – Golden coins of slightly larger than normal diameter, with a small ruby inlaid into a cavity in the center. They appear to be particularly valuable, and are likely worth more than standard gold coins if you can find the right collector for them. These cursed coins were actually made by a church of a goodly and lawful deity, whose clergy wished to punish the sin of greed by crafting an item of obvious value, which harm the owner.

For as long as these coins are within a character’s possession, whether they are currently being held, or are in a bank in the character’s name, the owner is cursed. They must roll a will save each night, with a DC equal to the number of Greed’s Guilt Coins possessed. Upon failure, the character cannot fall asleep by any natural means. They incur all of the penalties which would normally be associated with not sleeping, such as slower traveling speed, fatigue penalties on rolls, and an inability to prepare spells if they are a caster.

If an unnatural means is used to put the character to bed (such as a Sleep spell) then they will succeed in making the character unconscious. However, the sleep will not be restful at all. When they awaken, the character will feel as though no time has passed, and they will still incur all the normal penalties from not sleeping.

The Golden Quill – A fine writing implement, the size of a standard scribe’s quill, with a plume of fine golden strands, and a cap of the finest silver craftsmanship. This is obviously a piece of only the very highest quality, and is doubtless quite valuable. The origin of these quills is unknown, but the most common educated guess is that they were painstakingly crafted in the depths of the Abyss to sow seeds of discord amongst the mortal kingdoms. It is a good guess.

Once every 1d4 days, the possessor of a Golden Quill will use it to pen a letter to some friend or ally. In this letter, they will do everything they can to harm their relationship with that person. They will bring up their friend’s every failing, reopen every old wound, and curse their fellow’s very existence. Once the letter is written, they will do whatever they need to do to have it delivered promptly. If they are in the wilderness, they will store the letter pending their return to civilization. The curse of the Golden Quill allows no saving throw, and the writer of the hurtful letters will have no memory of writing them. Even if the quill leaves their possession, they will continue to ignore the letters hidden in their pack, and will dutifully have them delivered once it is possible.

Boots of Great Movement – A pair of finely crafted boots constructed from red-dyed leather and silk, with an intricate stitching of a wing on each heel. They appear to be luxuriously comfortable, and still very durable footwear. Anyone who wears these boots has their maximum movement speed increased by 15, but finds that they cannot stop moving. Every round, the character must move at least 10ft. The Boots of Great Movement cannot be removed without the use of a Remove Curse spell.

Rod of Lightning – This rod of blue glass appears to be a simple enough magic item. When directed at a foe and waggled up and down, an arc of electricity jumps from its tip to the target, dealing 1d6 damage. Targets are allowed a reflex save, DC 17, to take half damage. The Rod of Lightning is not a fancy magic item, but it does perform its task adequately.

However, if a character carrying the Rod of Lightning on their person is ever outdoors during a storm, then at least once they will be struck by a bolt of lightning from the sky, dealing 10d6 damage. It is likely that this will need to occur twice or more before the character will realize they are not merely the victim of a random occurrence. Even then, it may be difficult to deduce that the rod is responsible.

These devious items were crafted by a group of fundamentalist shamans. They wished to teach a lesson to anyone arrogant enough to think that the elements could be controlled with magic.

The Finishing Blade – This +3 longsword appears black in color, with a green shimmer if held under the light. The weapon deals an additional 3d6 negative energy damage to any target who has less than 20 hp remaining. While this at first appears to be an effective weapon, particularly when fighting against weaker opponents, it–of course–has a drawback.

Any living creature which is slain by this weapon rises as an undead monster precisely one month later. They retain all of the knowledge and abilities which they possessed in life, but gain the “undead” and “incorporeal” subtypes. Beings reanimated by The Finishing Blade’s curse have only one goal: to seek out the one who killed them, and force that person to join them in death. These creatures have a sixth sense which allows them to always be aware of their target’s current position relative to themselves. And they are absolutely relentless in their search.

Scabbard of Protection On one side of this leather scabbard, the material is dyed a deep red, whilst on the other it is a deep blue. The two colors are highlighted with gold, which is intricately shaped around the edges to create a supporting frame. The size and shape of the scabbard will change to suite any blade inserted into it. This is no mere work of mystic artistry, however. It also grants fast healing 1 to any who wear it. Upon strapping the scabbard to their body, an adventurer will immediately feel life flowing into them, and energizing them.

They may not even notice that every damage roll made against them is subject to a +5 bonus while the scabbard is worn.

The Lantern Beneath the Nose No one really understands the design of this lantern when they first lay eyes upon it. At the top, there is a hollow nose shaped from iron. A horizontal handle inside of it allows it to be held not unlike a buckler. Two chains descend from the nostrils, with a small lantern suspended about 1ft down.

Strange as it appears, however, adventurers who discover it are quickly excited by its power. When the handle is gripped, the lantern immediately lights up, and magically fills the entire room the wielder is in with light. Regardless of its size, or the position of objects which would normally create shadows. The entire room is magically illuminated.

As the light fills the room, however, it also casts a spell of greater invisibility upon any creatures of evil alignment.

Merciless Monsters 6: Octorok For Pathfinder

Lately it seems as though all I post about is the Legend of Zelda Adventure System that I’ve been working on. Which isn’t really surprising, I’m inspired to work on it and I don’t have anything else related to tabletop games drawing my attention right now. I enjoy the OD&D game I participate in on Monday but don’t have a lot to say about it beyond that, and it’s been awhile since my Pathfinder group has found time to get together. So when I work on tabletop stuff, it’s focused on the Legend of Zelda.

But I thought that instead of posting another monster constructed with a half-finished monster system, I’d adapt one of the most classic Zelda enemies to Pathfinder: The octorock. It’s a land-based octopus that shoots rocks out of its mouth. Literally, that’s how it was originally conceived. See?

As with all of my recent Zelda work, however, I’m using the Link to the Past as my source. That game’s conception of the creature was a little less silly looking I think. Unfortunately, there is no art for the creature that I am aware of, but I did find this nice image of the game’s sprite:

I’d also like to note that starting with this post, and from now on, I will not be using the ‘proper’ methods for creating monsters in Pathfinder. It takes far too long, and the results are not worth the effort it involves. My monsters will have no skills, nor will they have any feats, nor will they be constructed with painstaking care to ensure that the CR is “accurate.” Personally, I don’t even use the CR anymore, preferring that my players learn the fine art of running away if they encounter something beyond their ability. I’ll still include the most accurate CR I can, but it will be estimated, not calculated.

Pathfinder Octorok

The Octorok is an aberration which makes its home in plains. It is often incorrectly assumed that the octorok prefers plains of dirt, but this is only an illusion. Octoroks often migrate to grassy plains rich in plant and insect life, but they quickly overgraze the land, reducing it to an expanse of dirt where the creatures must forage for worms, beetles, and nutrient-rich soil.

Part of this confusion rises from the assumption that the nozzle on an Octorok’s face is a ‘mouth.’ For lack of a better word, it is in fact a kind of sphincter which the octorok uses to expel waste products. The octorok’s actual ‘mouth’ is an unusual scooping apparatus located on the bottom of its body. Octoroks feed by moving across the ground at high speeds, picking up soil, insects, and plant life as they do so. The octorok’s digestive tract quickly siphons part of this collection into the octorok’s stomach, where it is digested and used to produce energy. Meanwhile, any unneeded food, or inedible substances such as stones, are shunted to the octorok’s colon, where they are coated in an unusual kind of adhesive juice which is actually quite valuable if it can be harvested. This organ shapes the ‘leftovers’ into a solid ball, which the octorok can hurl with some force from its forward nozzle. The ball formed by this process is quite hard, making this hurling ability an effective defense mechanism for the octorok.

While similar in appearance to the aquatic Octopus, Octoroks differ in a number of important ways to help them survive and thrive on land. On close inspection, their eight ‘legs’ more closely resemble the bodies of snakes than they do the suckered tentacles of a cephalopod. While these legs might not seem practical, they actually allow this aberration to move much faster than many larger creatures. Most of the Octorok’s body is also covered by a soft ‘shell’ which protects the creature from most attacks. While this shell is not calcified as a turtle’s shell is, meaning it can be pierced or cut, it is actually much more resistant to cracking, and distributes the force of an impact more effectively. This is a useful ability when traveling in a herd of creatures which are constantly hurling heavy objects around.

Octorok

A dull red creature darts past you on a mass of wriggling legs. A strange nozzle protrudes from its face.


Octorok; CR 2; [Aberration] [Plains] [Temperate/Warm Climate] [Diurnal Cycle]


XP: 600
N Tiny Aberration
Init +9; Senses Darkvision 60ft, Perception +0


DEFENSE


AC 17, touch 17, flat-footed 12 [10 + Dex(5) +Size(2)]
HP 3
DR 3/Slashing, Piercing
Fort +9 Ref +4 Will +5;


OFFENSE


Speed 45 ft.
Melee +2 Slam (1d4)(Bludgeoning)
Ranged +7 Rok Hurl (1d6)(15ft)(Bludgeoning)


STATISTICS


Str 10 Dex 20 Con 10 Int 2 Wis 14 Cha 10
BAB +2; CMB -2; CMD 13
Languages None
SQ Quick Initiative


ECOLOGY


Environment Plains. They prefer grassy plains, but quickly reduce these to large expanses of dirt.
Organization A ‘Tangle’ of Octoroks is usually between 6 and 20. They are rarely seen in smaller groups.
Activity Cycle Octoroks are diurnal, so they function during the day and sleep at night.
Diet Plants, Insects, Earthworms, Nutrient-Rich Soil; Natural Enemies Hawks, Leevers, Most Medium-Large Aberrations
Treasure Typically None

What I Need to Improve on as a Game Master

I work hard to be the best game master that I can, and if I do say so myself, I’m not too bad at it. My groups always seem to have a lot of fun, or at least enough fun that they’re willing to return to my table. Plus there’s the few hundred people who seem to think I’m interesting enough to warrant reading this site, so I figure I can’t be failing completely. Unless a lot of you are just google bots and image wranglers.

…damnit, that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it?

Regardless, I believe that a person should always look for ways to improve, and I need to improve as a GM in more ways than I’m comfortable admitting. I rarely come away from a game session without feeling as though there’s something I could have done much better. I am honestly embarrassed to admit to some of these flaws, and I questioned whether or not I even wanted to share this post. But I also believe that the best kind of writer is one who is brutally honest. Especially regarding themselves. So here we go;

I wet the bed into my teen years.

There. Everything after that should be easy, right?

Consistency is a big personal battle for me, and my failure to be consistent has often affected my GMing in numerous ways. The extent of my preparations, for example, varies wildly. Occasionally I’ll come to a game with ten or twenty pages worth of notes, but more often I’ve got maybe a page of sloppily assembled chicken-scratches. I have a terrible habit of letting other concerns get in the way of my game mastering responsibilities.

Fortunately, or not, my greatest strength as a GM is improvisation. I can pull a varied and interesting game out of thin air without too much effort. But I think this ability can become more of a crutch than a boon. Even the best improvisations are rarely consistent with games I’ve run in the past. Players start to notice little oddities: “If half of the villagers have disappeared, shouldn’t there be empty houses we can stay in? Why do we need to stay in the mayor’s spare room?”

Perhaps my worst inconsistency is in my scheduling of games. I often put off arranging the next game session, because I find social situations so draining. It’s strange that someone like myself, who always feels exhausted after spending an extended amount of time with people, would be so attracted to a game that is inherently social. I’m a walking contradiction, apparently.

Overland Travel has been a weakness of mine for years. The way I handle it did vastly improve when I began mapping my overworlds with hexes. But drastically improved does not mean good enough. I still truggle with basic elements of presentation. I currently have my players indicate how they’d like to travel on a hex grid, and I fill in the blanks as they do so. Not only is it a waste of time to have me filling in hexes, but I hate that my current method has players interacting with a grid, rather than using their imaginations to create the environment for themselves.

I’ve been reading a series of posts written by The Alexandrian on this subject, which address many of the issues I’ve had with running hex crawls. Hopefully after tinkering with it, and trying to run a hex map according to his guidelines, I’ll have a firmer grasp of how a game like that should function. I would like overland travel to be one of the highlights of my games, where adventure hooks lurk behind every hex, and players can spend an entire session being entertained by a lengthy journey. I’ve been able to capture some element of that in my games so far, but I want more.

Economies in my games never make much sense. Going back to the problem with consistency, there’s rarely a set buying power for a gold piece, or any real gauge on how common it is. When my players approach their wizard friend and ask for a completely reasonable magic device that they should be able to acquire (but for which there is no precedent),  I come up with a price that ‘seems right.’ Only later do I realize that I’ve significantly over or underestimated the item’s value. I also have a bad habit of being a great deal more generous with treasure than I ought to be, because I’m worried about keeping my players engaged in the adventure if they don’t feel suitably rewarded.

Yes, I know that’s ridiculous.

Focus isn’t something I even realized I was failing at until recently. I started making audio recordings of my games, and realized that my group and I spend a lot of time chit-chatting during game sessions. Worse: more often than not those tangents originate with me. Time for a big surprise: I like the sound of my own voice. You could make the argument that so long as everyone is having fun, it’s not really a problem. But, having played in Brendan’s OD&D game, I’ve seen how much better the game is when everyone keeps their attention on the game. Brendan does a great job of gently guiding everyone’s focus back to the game when it strays. In that way he’s provided a model for me to learn from.

Traps are my weakness when it comes to dungeon crawls. Otherwise, I think I do a pretty decent job of making dungeons work in my games. But when it comes to traps, I’ve never been able to pull them off satisfactorily. Either they’re so non-threatening as to be boring, or they’re so deadly as to be cheap. In part, I blame the game systems I’ve GMed for this one: D&D 3.X and Pathfinder. Skill checks are not a very fun way for a player to search for traps, nor are disable device checks a fun way to get rid of them. I covered this a bit in my skills analyses of both perception and disable device. However, having now played in Brendan’s OD&D game where traps are handled properly, I feel as though I have a better understanding of what makes them fun, and why I’ve only had limited success with them in the past. I guess here, again, Brendan has provided a model to help me improve my own GMing. Thanks!

Low Magic eludes me. I dislike fantasy settings where magic serves as technology. It can be fun now and again, but the world is much more interesting when magic is rare. Yet I always seem to end up in high-magic games. I’m not quite sure how it happens. One minute there’s only one wizard in the area, and he’s a crusty old curmudgeon. The next moment I’ve offhandedly mentioned to my players that there’s a wizard’s college in the capitol city. Fuck! Butter luck next campaign.

There you have it. My biggest failings as a GM. Hopefully I can get them sorted out soon and move on to more minor issues with my style.

Legend of Zelda Adventure System: Notes on Combat

I would like for the LOZAS system to be a paradigm example of simplicity in motion. Combat in gameplay should move  quickly, because combat in the source material moves quickly. Hacking and slashing your way through a room full of enemies is part of a Zelda-style adventure, but it rarely takes center stage. When it does take center stage, it can be an intense experience, but rarely a long one. My goal, then, is to build a simple and easy to run combat system which can still model complex tactics. Combat should be fast, but that doesn’t mean it should be easy.

In approaching this aspect of the game’s design, my thinking is to start simple. First, figure out how the bare bones of combat will be handled, then add in the core mechanics I want to use for the game. Once those two elements are in place, I’ll call it done until playtesting shows me that something more is needed. And if that happens, my first question for myself will be “Was the GM able to handle it?” If so, are additional rules really needed?

A basic attack roll will be handled by rolling 1d20 against a target number. Since I’m trying to create a numerically simple game without too many bonuses or penalties for players to keep track of, the maximum armor class will be pretty low. Likely somewhere between 18 and 24. If the player rolls a 20 on their attack roll, it is an automatic hit. If a 20 would have hit anyway, then it is a critical hit as well. Upon a critical hit, the player doubles the number of dice they roll for damage. GMs are also encouraged to make critical hits–both for and against the players–memorable. Not through painful attempts at florid prose, but by having the hit affect the battle in a more significant way than simply causing extra damage. A broken weapon or bone, a scar, losing a finger; any of these would be appropriate.

Called shots will be a central mechanic in the game. I discussed this in detail not too long ago so I won’t re-tread that ground here. Essentially speaking, the players are encouraged to declare that they are attacking a specific part of the creature, such as an arm, or an eye. The GM makes a ruling on the spot regarding the difficutly of this maneuver, and tells the player that it will be Easy, Moderate, Difficult, or Nearly Impossible. Only after hearing how difficult the attack will be does the player decide whether or not they’d like to attempt the attack. If they do, standard critical hit rules apply. Some creatures may be particularly strong or weak on different parts of their bodies.

Battle Maneuvers cover a large range of different things. If a player would like to trip their foe, or attempt to break their opponent’s weapon, or try to blind their opponent by throwing dust in their eyes, then both the attacker and the target make opposed battle maneuver checks. This is a 1d20 roll, with the individual’s battle maneuver score added to it.

The battle maneuver score is calculated by taking both a character’s body and agility score. For each score, 11 counts as 0, while any number higher than 11 adds +1, and any number lower than 11 adds -1. So a body score of 14 would grant a +3, while a body score of 9 would confer a -2. Once both body and agility have been calculated in this manner, add the two numbers together, and this is the character’s battle maneuver score.

Anything a player wants to do within combat is either an action, or a non-action. Things such as talking, dropping an item or drawing weapons are non-actions. They do not require a significant amount of time or attention, and so they do not use up a player’s turn. Whereas things such as moving, swinging a weapon, throwing an item, using a special ability, attempting a battle maneuver or casting a spell, all count as actions. Each player is allowed to make 2 actions during their turn. So on a single turn, a soldier could move their full speed twice, or they could move their speed once and attack, or they could attack twice.

Regarding movement, I see no reason to handle it differently than the way Pathfinder did. Hylians (the game’s only playable race) move at a default speed of 30ft per action, and each square on a battle grid will represent 5ft. I like the system and it works well enough. However, it’s important that the game can be run without a battle mat as well. Grids are useful for tactical battles, but for games played over the internet (which are increasingly popular) they can be more of an inconvenience than they are worth. Running a game without the mat is usually just as simple as choosing not to use a mat, but I would like to create a subset of rules which allow players to benefit from their character’s speed even when a mat is unavailable.

On that note, I’ve always felt as though Pathfinder was missing an opportunity by keeping movement speed largely static. The ability to move an extra 5 ft represents an interesting tactical advantage in combat, and the reverse is an interesting disadvantage. Different movement speeds will play a more pronounced role in this game than I’ve personally seen in other games.

Initiative will be handled in an OD&D style, because as I’ve mentioned, I quite like it. A ‘designated initiative roller’ will roll 1d6 for the party, while the GM will roll 1d6 for the monsters involved in the combat. Whoever wins the roll will go first as a group, followed by the group who failed the roll, after which initiative will be re-determined. GMs are encouraged to offer minor initiative bonuses or penalties to groups who put themselves in a particularly good bad position at the end of the round.

GM rulings and on-the-fly modifiers are very important to the LOZAS combat system. Game masters are encouraged to allow characters to make extra actions, give penalties or bonuses to any type of roll, or otherwise modify the rules during play. This is not a subversion of the game’s rules, or a type of haphazard house-ruling, it is an essential part of making the system work correctly. The mechanics above provide combat with structure. The die rolls inject the simulated battle with chaos. The rulings of the GM provide the final piece, by rewarding or punishing the player’s tactics.

For example, there are no attacks of opportunity written into these rules. None the less, there may be times when a player or an NPC will leave themselves vulnerable to an attack. If a player is engaged in a duel and chooses to turn tail and run in the opposite direction, their foe should be given an opportunity to attack them as they flee. No rule covers this eventuality, but GMs are encouraged to take advantage if they feel it is appropriate.