A Defense of Knowledge Skills

While my recent posts on skills have focused on crafting skills, I haven’t forgotten that my stated intent was not just to rebuild Pathfinder’s crafting from the ground up, but also to rebuild Pathfinder’s knowledge skill. Knowledge, however, is a much more controversial type of skill than crafting is. And even crafting had to be defended against the argument that it should not be included in the game!

In this post I will make the argument that knowledge skills have their place. I don’t think they belong in a retroclone, or in a rules light game, but that doesn’t mean they are completely without value. Their presence in the Pathfinder ruleset is justified, even if I think it ought to be implemented better. I also hope that through this attempt to articulate a logical support of knowledge skills, I can gain a clearer picture of what is important and what is not for when I move on to designing my own version of this mechanic.

I’m familiar with two important arguments against the existence of Knowledge Skills:

By forcing players to make a successful knowledge check before receiving information, knowledge skills create an environment where the GM often fails to communicate information which the players should be given freely. Players may not be given knowledge that their character should have.
A game where knowledge is a mechanical ability of the character, rather than something possessed by the player, creates a gaming environment where the importance of the player’s skill is reduced. The player is not allowed to use knowledge which their character “wouldn’t have.”

Taken together, these arguments might seem like a case of wanting to have your cake, and eat it to. If the players don’t know something and the GM is supposed to tell them what their character would know; why then also should the player be able to turn around and use information their character wouldn’t know? The answer is quite simple, if somewhat flippant: because we’re playing a game. Our primary goal is not to embark upon a profound exploration of the characters we’re playing. D&D and Pathfinder are not, as -C has put it, an activity for those with thespian aspirations. Perhaps that’s what you’re doing, and if so I truly hope you enjoy it. But that’s not something I’m interested in writing about.

In a game, the player is expected to play to the best of their ability. They bring their experience and their knowledge to the table, and they’re also provided with information about the games rules, and how it functions.

But I’ve diverged from the point of this post. The fact is, depending on how Pathfinder’s knowledge rules are interpreted, both of the potential problems mentioned above can appear. But they do not have to.

In his analysis of the knowledge skill, Courtney listed three possible types of information, and posits that none of these should ever be hidden behind a successful roll of the dice.

Trivial and of no importance.
Non-vital, but interesting and providing some depth and background to the game.
Crucial.

In reviewing Courtney’s analysis in preparation for writing this post, it occurred to me that there is a fourth type of information. Imagine, for example, that my players have entered a room. It would be trivial of me to mention that the cobblestone floors have cracks in a few of the stones. I could mention to the players that the room smells so bad they can taste the pungent air on their tongues. It’s not vital for me to do so, since the smell does not affect the game, but it does help the players to imagine their environment, which is fun, so why not. It is crucial that I tell the players there are two exits on the north wall, and that there’s a large pile of stones in the corner.

4. Hidden information.

I should probably not tell the players that there’s a pile of gold under the stones. If they want to learn about that, then they’re going to need to do some work. Like maybe digging through the pile of stones.

There are two types of hidden information. The kind which can be modeled at the table, and the kind which cannot. The example above of the gold hidden under the pile of stones can easily be modeled at the table. If the players say “I knock over the pile of stones,” then voila, they’ve revealed the hidden information about the gold. However, this room also contains a hidden door on the south wall. The players haven’t seen it, but they’re pretty sure it’s there, because they saw a monster run into this room. There’s no sign of the monster now, and the only other exit from the room is barred from the other side. So they players would like to start searching the walls for hidden doors. At this point, we bring out the dice, because there’s no way for the players to describe how they look at a blank wall for a secret switch.

Based on this, I would say that there are three types of information which might be included in a game.

Player Knowledge is what the player themselves knows. When a black dragon appears, the player knows to ask the wizard if he can borrow that potion of acid resistance, because the player knows that black dragons have acid breath.

Character Knowledge is information the GM freely gives to the player, because the PC would obviously know it. If the player is in their home town and says they want to go to the local pub, the GM can simply tell them that it’s called the Pig and Whistle. When the player decides he wants to become more religious, the GM can identify a few religions the character would be familiar with. There’s no reason to hide that kind of information.

For Skill Check Knowledge, three things should be true. First, it should not be trivial. Second, the game should be equally interesting whether the players know it or not. Third, there should be more than one route to obtaining it. When a fighter encounters magic runes on the door of a crypt, it would not be trivial for that fighter to know whether the runes were arcane or divine. Even if they can’t read it, the type of writing on the outside of the door could provide valuable clues to what’s inside. If they fail to determine the type of writing it is, or even get it wrong, the game will be interesting because they’ll be less prepared for what they encounter within. Whereas if they succeed in determining the rune’s type, the game will be interesting because the player will have an opportunity to prepare for what they think is within. And, of course, if all else fails they could just go find a wizard or priest and ask them.

Resource: Old Maps Online

In an attempt to buy myself some time to work on a side project, I’ll be forgoing my normal Tuesday post. In its place, I have a present for you, gentle readers! One which should be of particular interest to those map-heavy GMs among you: Old Maps Online. It’s a fantastically designed repository of old maps, dating as far back as the 16th century.

The interface is intuitive, and should be relatively familiar to anyone who has ever used google maps, though obviously it works slightly differently without satellite images. You start by zooming in on the part of the world you’d like to explore. As you zoom in and out, the selection of historical maps on the right hand side of the website will change. If you hover your cursor over these maps, you’ll see a highlighted box on the screen which shows the area the selected map details. You can even set a date range for the map between 1000 CE and 2010 (though, as noted, I don’t believe they’ve yet added any maps prior to the mid 1500s). Once you’ve got a map you want to look at, just click it, and you can explore it in all of its high resolution glory.

I’m not much of a cartographer myself, but I would like to improve my skills in that area. And this seems like a marvelous tool! Here are just a handful of samples from the site’s massive collection:

Player Agency

Player Agency is a concept I mention frequently, but not one I’ve ever defined for myself. Other bloggers have defined it so well that it feels arrogant of me to even try. Courtney of Hack & Slash (with whom I share many readers) is responsible a definitive work on the subject. Taken together, his writings on player agency could fill a thick chapter in a textbook for game design. Add to that all of the other game designers who have written on the subject, and putting my own thoughts to digital paper begins to seem redundant.

But lets be redundant. Perhaps it’s a waste of text; but at least the exercise will help me organize my own thoughts. If I’m lucky, two or three other people might even benefit from it!

In discussions of ethics there is a term: moral agency. The term is useful in distinguishing between those who are capable of guilt and those who are not. When an alligator kills a person they’ve really done nothing wrong, but when a person kills a person they’ve committed one of the most heinous acts imaginable. What’s the difference? Murderers have moral agency, alligators do not. A moral agent is one who is able to make meaningful decisions about their actions, with regards to right and wrong.

I bring this up because moral agency is easy for us to understand. Even if a person doesn’t grasp the nuanced “philosopheese” definition of moral agency, they still understand in their gut what it means. And starting from that gut-understanding of moral agency, we can begin to understand the more abstract concept of player agency. Moral agency is to ethics, as player agency is to tabletop RPGs. Which leads us to the following definition:

A player with agency is one who is able to make meaningful decisions about their actions, with regards to the game world.

In practice, this means more than letting the player control the actions of their character. That’s so obvious as to be trivial, and not worth my time nor anyone else’s to discuss. I’m certain there are terrible GMs out there who will casually exert direct control over their player’s characters; but such absolute disregard for the spirit of the game isn’t a problem I’m interested in addressing.

The far more subtle, and far more relevant issue of player agency is that the choices the players make must be meaningful. If the players are exploring a dungeon and reach a “T” intersection, they’ve been presented with a choice of turning left, or turning right. What they experience beyond this intersection mustdiffer based on their choice if agency is to be maintained. There should be a room which is on the right, and a room which is on the left, and those rooms must be the same before the players make their choice, as they are after the players make their choice.

A few ways agency might be subverted in this situation:

Rather than preparing “right” and “left” rooms, the GM has prepared “first” and “second” rooms. Whichever way the players turn, they will enter the “first” room first, and will only be able to visit the “second” room once they’ve already seen the “first” one.
The GM wishes for the players to face as certain encounter here. And while it was originally placed in the room on the right, the GM will secretly move it to the room on the left for the sake of maintaining the ‘flow’ they wish to impose on the game.
An out-of-place door which cannot be opened, unlocked, bashed down, or damaged at all blocks the players from entering the room the GM wishes for them to visit second. It remains impassable until the players visit the room the GM wanted them to enter in the first place.

These are just a few simple options. I’m sure you can think of more. The above scenario is a textbook example of agency robbing behavior. It is constructed so that the loss of agency is obvious. Unfortunately, not all scenarios where the GM is in a position to steal agency from their players are so clear cut. In fact most are quite subtle.

Consider traps, for example. I recently designed a magical trap which I thought was magnificently clever. So clever, in fact, that I included a cryptic hint about how to overcome it early in the adventure. When my players reached it, however, they stumbled through a loophole I had not considered. They bypassed the trap entirely, without ever engaging with the clever mechanisms I had been so proud of.

It would have been a simple matter to force them to engage with my trap. All I would need to say is something like “Your hammer bounces off the glass without leaving a scratch. Some sorcery has made it stronger than steel!” And in fact, that did occur to me, but I held my tongue. The players had outsmarted me. Forcing them to witness the cleverness of my trap would not be better than the sense of accomplishment they would feel from subverting it entirely.

If retroactive changes are made to the game world in order to invalidate the player’s choices, the players have no agency.

And it’s not as though I can’t use the trap again some day. I doubt I’ll even alter the flaw my players found. I doubt other groups would think of the same plan, but if they did, it would be equally impressive.

Having followed Courtney’s writings on player agency for a long while now, I’ve become familiar with a common response to discussions on the subject. I believe I may have even offered it myself at some time in the past, but have since come to view it as incorrect. Rather than wait for it to be brought up in comments, I’d like to address it here in the post.

“My players don’t know what’s written on my notes, so they won’t know when I change something.”

The common response to this is “You may think they won’t notice, but they will.” And there is some truth to that answer. Players are not stupid. When the ogre is taking a sound beating, then suddenly roars and starts hitting the PCs with twice his previous strength, nobody is fooled. Everybody at the table knows that the GM was frustrated that their monster was dying too quickly, and decided to give the creature a last second boost to their stats.

But I think that response is a little simplistic as well. The truth is, the GM probably can fool their players if they’re quick on their feet and have a good poker face. But just because the players don’t realize they’re being fooled, doesn’t mean the game isn’t being harmed. When every encounter is just the right amount of difficult, when the players can never subvert the mad wizard’s puzzles, when the villain manages to escape at the end of every single encounter…the game becomes stale.

Part of the excitement of tabletop games is the chaos and the unlimited possibilities. When I’m playing a video game, I’ve been given a very limited set of ways to interact with my environment. My solution to every problem must stem from those limited abilities I’ve been given. In a tabletop RPG, I can attempt to solve problems in any way I choose! Perhaps I’m too low level to fight the troll king toe-to-toe, but if I can drop a boulder on his head, why shouldn’t I be able to kill him?

In the era of video games, player agency is what makes tabletop games worth playing.

Deadly Dungeons 7: Skeletal Assembly Line

Note that the below describes a single instance of a Skeletal Assembly Line room. It functions on its own, but if one of these rooms exists, then there are likely more of them. Hidden behind stone walls and false book shelves, producing the tools of war and sending them to who-knows-where for who-knows-what purpose. If this room is used, the GM is encouraged to hide several similar rooms. And don’t forget to add material gatherers to the random encounter table!

The secret door was more difficult to find than most; just a sliding section of wall in the middle of a corridor. The players never would have found it if they hadn’t seen a skeleton run by with an armful of old chains, then be gone from sight too quickly to have used any of the visible exits. Even with that to go on, it took the characters an hour to finally find the loose stone which, when turned, unlatched the hidden door and allowed it to swing open freely, revealing a short corridor leading to a room filled with the red glow of a fire.

Within the room was like nothing the players had ever seen. The soundproofing on that door must have been remarkably, because the characters were suddenly assaulted by a cacophony of sound once they stepped through it. Flames roared, hammers clanged, and the omnipresent clacking of bones against steel and stone. The room was filled with skeletons, dozens upon dozens of them, each repeating some mundane task over and over again. And not a one of them paid the intruders any mind.

Right in front of the players as they entered the room was the pile of refuse; dead adventurer’s armor, a thousand goblin spear heads, countless belt buckles and chains and other detritus. All of it steel. Skeletons swarmed over the pile, disassembling each piece, discarding anything that wasn’t steel. Leather, cotton, twine, even gold and gems were tossed into a wheelbarrow held by another skeleton. When it was full, the skeleton would wheel it away down another corridor, out another secret door, to dispose of it. Another skeleton with another wheelbarrow was already there to take the place of the first.

The steel that was left over was piled into another cart on a small rail. Whenever it was full, it was rolled up a ramp and dumped into a boiling vat of liquid metal. When the steel was ready, the skeletons at the vat would tip it forward, spilling the steel into a mold where it was shaped into the component parts of blades. A half dozen skeletal smiths cooled these parts in a communal pool of water, and hammered each piece into the proper shape before other skeletons take them to sharpen on a whetstone, before finally dropping them onto the conveyor belt.

Still more skeletons standing on either side of the belt deftly assemble the swords component pieces into usable weapons. Leather strips for the sword handle is periodically carried in by a blood-covered skeleton who probably comes from a similar room elsewhere in the dungeon. Given the denizens the players have encountered in the dungeon so far, they can only imagine the leather comes from goblins, orcs, or human adventurers like themselves.

The belt is turned by a skeleton with crank in hand, who moves it at a perfectly efficient speed to allow all of the work to be finished before it reaches the end of the belt, where the completed swords are dropped into a mysterious chute. The swords can be heard sliding against the stone for a long while, descending to some unknown depth for some unknown purpose. Who, the players wonder, could possibly need so many swords?

At least they have one clue to that riddle. The final step before the swords are dropped into the chute is for a strange symbol to be engraved on each blade. The players don’t recognize it, but perhaps someone else will? At least it’s something to look out for as they delve deeper into the dungeon.

The skeletons will continue to ignore the players indefinitely. Even if the players attack one of the skeletons, it will do whatever it can to continue working at its task for as long as possible. A disruption in the production chain will be noticed, however. The skeletal assembly line is a well oiled machine. And the moment any given skeleton no longer has a task to perform, they will immediately attack any living thing in the room, whether it’s a rat, or an adventurer.

Picture Thursday 14: Sandwich the Drow Paladin by Slants

EDIT: Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

This was probably the most verbose entry in the Picture Thursday series I’ve ever written. Most of the time I just put up a 200-300 word assessment of the art. For this piece I had written some 600+ words on why it’s not a cliche, what the piece means to me, and the history of the character. Everything was fine last night, and I checked the post several times. Yet somehow when the post went online this morning, everything but the art itself was gone.

I honestly can’t rewrite what was here. I could try, but by the time I was off of work and free to do so, this post would be 10 hours old, and it’s doubtful anyone would see the revisions. Plus it would make it more difficult for me to get Tomorrow’s post written.

I’m sorry about this. Perhaps I can share Sandwich’s story some other time; for now you can explore her origins on her 1d4Chan entry.

If I can find the missing info, I’ll update this post again.

Pathfinder Class Analysis 5: Fighter

*Valeros is better than Regdar and Tordek put together. I will fighter you on this.*

Core Concept: Nobody will agree with me, but fighters are the most fundamental class in Dungeons and Dragons. Every other PC class could be dropped from the game, and it would still work just fine. Of course, the game is better with several classes to choose from. Suffice to say that I approve of the Fighter’s core concept.

Which is part of why the Fighter’s treatment in D&D 3.x was so disappointing, and why the class’ revitalization in Pathfinder remains (in my view) one of Paizo’s greatest triumphs in designing that product. In fact the fighter class is so close to perfect, that I fear this post may end up being really short.

Bonus Feats: There are problems with the feats system, and since “moar feets” is a class feature of the fighter, the fighter inherits some of these problems. However I’ve already written at great length about the feat system in Pathfinder and what I think should be done with it, so I won’t re-hash old content just to pad out this post.

What I will say is that the fighter feats tend to be some of the stronger feats. Most of them improve upon an ability which is explicitly already available to all players; such as two weapon fighting, improved bull rush, and combat expertise.

So while Fighters certainly suffer from the failings of the feat system, those failings are not as severe as they might have been for a different class.

Bravery: On any other class, I might call this a filler ability. It has all the hallmarks of one: it’s a minor bonus which only applies in a very specific situation. It’s the kind of ability which Paizo added to many classes in an attempt to remove all of the ‘dead levels’ where players didn’t receive any interesting upgrades.

A +1 to saves against fear every four levels doesn’t seem as trivial on the fighter as it would on another class, though. Perhaps that’s because I like the way the fighter is put together, and am thus inclined to view everything about it in a more positive light. I wouldn’t completely discount that idea, but I have an alternative theory.

The fighter has much fewer abilities than other classes in the game. Counting the bonus feats, fighters have a grand total of 6 special abilities. Compare that to the Druid’s 14! When a fighter gets a +1 to saves against fear, it’s special. It represents the fact that the character has spent a lot of time in the very thick of combat, and cannot easily be frightened.

When a Druid gets +2 to Knowledge(Nature) checks, it’s just another piece of class-related minutia that gets tossed upon an ever growing pile of stuff the player will forget to use when it’s relevant.

Armor Training: This is a perfect ability. I know I linked to it, but I’m going to write it out here for all of my non-Pathfinder playing readers, that they might admire its elegance”

“Starting at 3rd level, a fighter learns to be more maneuverable while wearing armor. […] reduces the armor check penalty by 1 (to a minimum of 0) and increases the maximum Dexterity bonus allowed by his armor by 1. Every four levels thereafter (7th, 11th, and 15th), these bonuses increase by +1 each time, to a maximum of -4 reduction of the armor check penalty and a +4 increase of the maximum Dexterity bonus allowed. In addition, a fighter can also move at his normal speed while wearing medium armor. At 7th level, a fighter can move at his normal speed while wearing heavy armor.”

To sum up: fighters gain an expertise with armor which goes beyond simple proficiency. They can dance a jig in full plate and look good doing it.

In 3.X, fighters suffered from being essentially a blank slate of a class. The designer’s intention was that each player would build their own fighter, and I can respect that idea. But they inadvertently made a class which had no personality whatsoever. And it didn’t help that they severely underperformed according to the rules as written.

Armor Training is an ability unique to the fighter. It’s the kind of ability other classes become envious of, and it was accomplished without increasing the armor’s AC bonus even a tiny bit. That’s the kind of ability which makes the game interesting to me.

Weapon Training: While I think this ability is a great addition to the fighter class, it’s much more pedestrian than armor training. The longer I play tabletop games, the less interested I am in performing basic arithmetic.

Functionally, it’s nice that a fighter can become specialized in a certain group of weapons, and grow ever more proficient at using them. It just doesn’t get me excited. As I may have said before in this series, I like dramatic abilities. The type which sound game-breaking when you read them. Some potential alternatives to numerical bonuses, off the top of my head:

When attacking with X weapon, treat all enemies as flat footed.
When attacking with X weapon, all attacks are touch attacks.
When attacking with X weapon, a roll of Y or higher is always a hit. (The monster’s AC is 30, but I’m using a longsword, which is my specialty, so all attack rolls of 25 or higher hit).
Unique benefits related to the weapon group. Bows allow +50% range increments, flails grant an automatic success on attempts to grapple a foe with the weapon. Blades can have the numerical bonus, so it’s still available to those who want it.

Armor Mastery: I like the idea of armor as damage reduction anyway, so this works fine for me.

Weapon Mastery: This is the kind of thing I’d like to see for Weapon Training; but it’s a perfectly adequate capstone ability.

I guess this didn’t end up being all that short after all. I should never underestimate my own ability to blather.

Pathfinder Class Analysis 4: Druid

Core Concept: Druids are a class which I can take or leave. I understand that they’re a favorite for many people, but I’ve never felt the slightest draw towards playing one, nor have I ever GMed for one. That’s not to say I’d like to see the class removed from the game. Truth be told there’s only one of the nine core classes which I honestly think the game would be better without. The druid is fine, it’s just not my bag.

I actually quite like druids as NPCs. Given how the class’s priorities are described, I have no idea why a druid would ever accompany the party on any non-wilderness adventures. It isn’t hard to make up a reason, but any reason I can come up with is a special circumstance. Every other class has a very clear reason for adventuring. Either they’re out for fame and fortune, or they’re seeking knowledge, or challenge, or the destruction of evil.

But not the druid! The druid’s explicitly stated, number 1 priority is the protection of nature. How is that goal served by exploring a dungeon, or sorting out problems in a city? The only time a druid isn’t out of place is when they’re in nature, which seems like a terribly restrictive campaign to me.

Spells/Spontaneous Casting/Orsions: My thoughts on these abilities are not significantly different from my thoughts on the cleric abilities of the same names. So just read that, if you haven’t already. (The druid flavoring of Spontaneous Casting is kinda cool, though.)

Bonus Languages: The idea of a special Druidic language which only druids know has been around for as long as I’ve been aware of the class; but to my knowledge nothing really cool has ever been done with it. I don’t dislike it, it is flavorful, but I don’t really see the point of it. Druids can speak with other druids in secret? Whoop-de-doo.

I don’t think it would bother me so much if the game didn’t place so much emphasis on the absolute, sacrosanct secrecy of the language. What’s so important about it that teaching it to someone is verboten? Perhaps the druidic language allows a character to speak with trees or animals? That would be pretty cool.

Nature Bond: One of the many changes Pathfinder made to the classes as they were presented in D&D 3.5 is that many classes now include a choice at low levels. It’s a change I’ve never been able to make my mind up about. I like choices and I like customization, but I don’t like the excessive decision making that Pathfinder requires of players before they start to play the game.

In this specific case, Nature’s Bond allows the druid to choose between gaining a cleric domain to supplement their spellcasting, or gaining the services of an animal companion. If you’re a smarter gamer than I, you might notice that all of the ‘either/or’ abilities which were added in Pathfinder allow the player to choose between a cool ability for themselves, and a companion of some kind.

It would seem that this was done because companion creatures are complicated, nearly doubling the bookeeping work that the player must do on their character. Turning companion creatures into a choice is a clever way to allow players who like such creatures to keep them, while allowing players who don’t to play the class without the hassle of maintaining a second character sheet. It’s an elegant solution, but I may have an even more elegant one: make companion creatures simpler.

I realize it’s simplistic of me to say that as though it’s an easy matter, or as if everyone would agree with me, but I’m serious. My wizard’s familiar does not need feats and skill points.

Nature Sense/Resist Nature’s Lure: Both of these are filler abilities, and I hate filler abilities. They provide minor bonuses in strange edge-case situations, and nobody ever, ever remembers they actually have them when they need them. The only time anybody remembers what “Nature Sense” does is 20 minutes after they failed a saving throw against a fey creature’s spell-like ability.

Shit like this hurts the game. The rules of the game should support the players as they face the challenges of the game. The rules should not, in themselves, be a memory challenge.

Wild Empathy: While I really like this ability, I’m always a little frustrated by it because it relies on Pathfinder’s diplomacy check. And the diplomacy check is a pretty weak system already. Perhaps redesigning that ought to be a priority for me in the near future.

Woodland Stride/Trackless Step: These two abilities form an interesting parallel to the two bullshit filler abilities noted above. It’s difficult to really judge the relative strengths of abilities which are completely different from one another, but I think it’s fair to say that Woodland Stride and Trackless Step are roughly equal in ‘power’ to Nature Sense and Resist Nature’s Lure. But while those two abilities are frustratingly specific and impossible to remember, these two abilities are not. Lets briefly examine why.

Woodland Stride and Trackless Step are both strongly thematic abilities. “+2 save v. spell like abilities from fey creatures” is somewhat related to being a druid, but it’s not really something you think of when you think of a druid. On the other hand, moving swiftly through thick underbrush without leaving any tracks is exactly what you expect from a nature-themed fantasy character.
Both of these abilities are absolute. There’s no rolling involved, no bonus bonuses or penalties to take into consideration. They are very simple. You always move through heavy underbrush at full speed. You never leave tracks unless you want to. More abilities should be like this.

Wild Shape: The core ability of the druid class is, embarrassingly, one I don’t really have anything to say about. It works just fine as written. I suppose the only thing I would change is that druids being able to transform into elementals isn’t thematically consistent, I think. The elements != nature. The two are closely related, but while druids are depicted as being creatures who wish to preserve the balance of nature, elementals are depicted as creatures who care only for whatever element they represent. Fire elementals would be just as happy to see the entire world on fire; water elementals would love to see the world flooded, and so on.

But we’re pretty deep into opinion territory on that one. I wouldn’t call it a serious critique.

Venom Immunity: This is…fine. Druids are one with nature; so they eventually become immune to poisons. Somebody should tell Batman that Poison Ivy is a level 9 druid.

A Thousand Faces: I honestly don’t see how this is relevant to druids at all. It’s kind of a baffling ability, actually. Why do druids gain the ability to change their appearance? Is it because they can transform into animals and this was the next logical step? Is it because druids are secretive? I could really use some fluff here, but the class descriptions are almost entirely crunch in Pathfinder.

Timeless Body: So let me get this straight. Druids revere everything about nature. They revere its neutral disposition. They see beauty in fungus, predation, and decay just as much as they see it in a beautiful tree or a crystal lake. And once they become really really good at revering nature, their reward is to become removed from it?
If anything this seems as though it should be a wizard or sorcerer ability. It doesn’t make any sense for druids.

A Defense of Crafting

Shortly after posting the first iteration of my alternate Pathfinder crafting system last week, I was perusing the blag-o-cube, and encountered a relevant essay over on 1d30. The post is primarily about the general pointlessness of NPC classes (something I heartily agree with), but briefly diverges into an argument against the very idea that players should pursue crafting within the game. It’s written in a very amusing fashion, and I recommend you take a minute to follow the link above. Upon first reading it my own feelings were conflicted. On the one hand, I’ve always enjoyed crafting within the game, and to have that pursuit demeaned bruised my ego a bit.* On the other, I found the author’s comments (forgive me, I do not know his or her name) compelling. They’re not just spewing vitriol at something they dislike; they’re making strong points against the inclusion of crafting.

Add to that a twitter exchange which occurred the next day on my personal account, after I shared Jack’s analysis of my crafting posts. My good tweep @Grimnir_, it seems, shares the opinion of 1d30.

It had honestly never occurred to me before that there were people who didn’t think crafting was a good part of the game. It would seem that a defense of the crafting skill is in order. There are several issues which have been raised, so I’ll address each in turn.

*Only for a moment, mind you. It’s a fool who ties their ego into the game they play; but that doesn’t mean I don’t have moments of foolishness.

Crafting is a distraction from the game.

It’s true that crafting is not a core element of D&D or its descendants. It’s difficult to define precisely what the core of D&D is, but if I were to attempt it, I’d say that “D&D is a game where the GM describes an environment containing challenges and rewards, which must be navigated by the players, who each control an individual character.” A lot of different scenarios can fit within that description, but crafting items is not one of them. So it would follow that if crafting items is not part of the game’s core element, then it either supports the game’s core element, or distracts from it.

Obviously, items and equipment support the game’s core. Swords and armor are required to overcome certain types of challenges, while rope and 10′ poles are required to solve other types of challenges. Further, I would argue that modifying those items, or coming up with new items entirely, is very much a core element of D&D. Navigating the challenges of the game environment is an exercise in creativity, and creating new tools to accomplish tasks better is a big part of that. For example, my 10′ poles often have a small pocket knife mounted on one end, and a large hook mounted on the other, because I’ve found that modified version of the tool to be much more versatile than a 10′ long piece of wood. Of course, an NPC in town can take care of that for me for a handful of coins. But I, like many players, prefer to be self sufficient when possible.

At this point I’m dangerously close to constructing a straw man, so lets be clear. Crafting rules aren’t about adding a hook to your 10′ pole, they’re about creating rings of invisibility and swords that shoot lasers. But aren’t those, also, tools? If a player comes up with a great plan which they’re really proud of, but it requires a magic item they don’t have, then should that plan be abandoned? I’d prefer my players didn’t abandon an interesting idea just because they lack one of the necessary tools. Should I then support them by placing the item they need in a treasure hoard? I’d prefer not to do that either. I don’t think players should be able to dictate what items are found. The problem could potentially be solved if players are able to purchase magic items off the shelves in a magic item shop, but I have no interest in allowing such shops to exist in my game.

That leaves only crafting; either by commission from a craftsperson, or by the player’s own hands. The former method is great, and I’ve used it many times myself. But if the player wishes to be more involved in the process, I can’t think of a good reason why I would deny them the right to try.

All of that being said, though, the argument that crafting is a distraction is a strong one.

Crafting takes time away from other players.

I’m not certain if this argument is based on a difference of GMing styles, or a misunderstanding of when crafting would be handled, but it is not a problem. The other players generally aren’t around when crafting is going on. In my games, there are set periods of ‘down time,’ which normally take place between gaming sessions. Unless a session ends in medias res, then the next session will begin a week or so later. Adventurers need time to rest and recuperate, after all. This is particularly useful for wizards; who even in the absence of crafting have a lot of time consuming tasks to perform; Scribing scrolls, researching new spells, etc.

I like to use this time between sessions as a resource which the players must manage. They have a number of tasks available to them, all of which will take at least a day or more to complete. These tasks don’t require the player’s direct involvement, so there’s no need for more than a sentence or two letting me know which task their character is engaged in. Perhaps they’re carousing, or searching for a new hireling, or trying to learn a new language…

…or crafting.

Regardless of what task the character engages in, I can say from experience that it does not take up undue game time. And, in fact, it has the added benefit of keeping players in thinking about the game during the time between sessions.

Crafting requires a great deal of study and practice; study and practice which an adventurer should not have time for.

Strictly speaking, this is true. Adventurers are not ‘weekend warriors’ who delve into dungeons deep and caverns old on Saturday/Sunday, then ascend to the surface so they can return to their tailoring shop the other 5 days of the week. Learning to be a master craftsperson is a major undertaking which can require a lifetime of dedication. It’s not something an adventurer would have time for.

And I’m going to be very blunt: I don’t care.

If others do care, that’s fine by me. Different people are comfortable at different levels of verisimilitude. For myself, I can suspend my disbelief and accept that a 12th level fighter also has mad swordmaking skills.

Players who are trying to make money with crafting are bogging the game down with pointless, boring minutia.

Honestly, I’ve never once encountered a player who wanted to use the crafting skill as a means of making money. But personal experience is only anecdotal evidence, and I’m sure such people exist. And wherever they are, I’d like to tell them to stop being stupid.

If your players are actually trying to turn D&D into a manufacturing business simulator, then you can slap them with my blessing. Just once though.

Allowing players to create items unbalances, and reduces the importance of finding treasure.

This is an entirely legitimate concern. If crafting allows players to gain access to items too easily, then the entire dynamic of challenge/reward which is at the game’s very core could be upended. Fortunately, a solidly build crafting systems can avoid this pitfall in a number of ways:

Crafting is a huge money sink. Players will need to adventure for a long time in order to afford the materials for their fancy magic sword.
Each individual crafting skill is limited in its range. A fighter can be an armorsmith, so they can make plate or chain armor for themselves and their allies. But they can’t make weapons, nor can they make leather armor for the rogue, nor can they make magic rings, nor any of the other things adventurers need.
Make crafting at least partially dependent on treasure. In the next treasure hoard, the players find schematics for a marvelous weapons. If they are not craftspeople themselves, they can commission the sword from a sufficiently talented NPC.

I think that just about covers the arguments I read on the subject. I hope everyone feels that their views were represented fairly, and that my responses were soundly reasoned. After thinking about these arguments, I can see why someone would want to exclude crafting as an option from their games; even though I have no interest in doing that. I still think crafting is pretty fucken’ awesome!

Deadly Dungeons 6: The Fallback Corridor

Each of the three “Against The Giants” modules, which I recently picked up as pdfs, serve the player with a similar task. Assault the fortress of some giants–be they of hill, frost, or fire variety. This presents an odd problem if the GM is attempting to portray the giants intelligently. What’s to stop every giant in the place from descending on top of the players, swarming them with more foes than they can handle? And if the players need to retreat to tend their wounds, why wouldn’t the giants fortify their positions against further invasion, thus making it difficult or impossible for the adventurers to return?

After all, a fortress isn’t like a dungeon. A dungeon is simply filled with monsters, who may or may not be working in conjunction with other creatures in the dungeon. But at best a given creature will control only part of a dungeon. A fortress is a different matter entirely. The nature of a fortress is that everyone within is working together to mount a singular defense against outside intrusion. Gygax recommends that, once the players have the giants on the defensive, the giants will set up ambushes and traps. I can’t help but wonder why the Giants don’t use their time to, ya know, lock the door. Maybe bar it from the inside.

Perhaps an analysis of NPC “A.I.” is in order, but that’s for another post. Lets imagine that the players never left the fortress in the first place Or they did, but they’re very skilled at scaling walls and shuffling through air ducts. The giants can’t keep them out for whatever reason, so they’re forced to come up with a trap which will be effective, and can be ready to go before the PCs get back.

I came up with the fallback corridor, which doesn’t require much. The most important element is a hallway with pillars, or anything a sizable number of folks could hide behind. Everything else the trap requires should be easy to locate in any local: a large, thick tarp or blanket, weights, and rope.

The blanket, with as much weight attached to its edges as possible, is suspended from the ceiling. Ropes are used to form a crude trip line mechanism which will release the tarp from its suspension, dropping it on whatever unsuspecting interlopers are snooping about below.

Once the blanket falls, the adventurers will be blinded to anything around them, while remaining highly visible (as big lumps) to attackers. I would say that disorientation & the weights on the tarp will prevent the players from acting for at least 1 round. After that, they’re entitled to a dexterity check (In Pathfinder, DC: 14) to escape on the 2nd round. If that is failed, the players can automatically free themselves by the third round.

While the players fumble to escape from the ridiculous prison, the giants hiding behind the pillars will have ample time to step out, fire a round from their crossbows or hurl a boulder, then flee down the corridor and around the corner. Of course, there ought to be some chance for them to miss, but I don’t think it should be too high. Perhaps 30% concealment at most. The trapped adventurers should probably not receive a dexterity bonus to their armor class either.

The trap is stupidly simple, but should be an effective way of waging guerrilla war against the guerrillas who invaded your fortress.

Some options to make the trap more interesting or deadly:

Secret doors behind the pillars allow the giants to escape quickly.
Instead of using a tripwire, one of the giants has mounted a mirror high on the wall where it is unlikely to be noticed. It allows him to spy on the corridor without poking his head out, and if enemies wander by, he can manually release the tarp by tugging on the rope.
Even if the players have a difficult time getting out from under the tarp, they will likely see the giants flee (assuming there are no secret doors). The giants would recognize this, and assuming the players give chase, they could be led directly into a second trap.

Picture Thursday 13: Worm That Walks by Wayne Reynolds

The best monster artwork is an inspiration to GMs. When we look through the monster manuals and bestiaries, we instantly know which monstrosities we want to feast on our player’s corpses. And for me, the Worm that Walks from the Epic Level Handbook has always been inspiring. It’s a fresh take on the physical corruption of magical pursuits. One distinct from the lich. If the monster has origins outside of D&D, I don’t know them. All I know is that they haunt my dreams, and I want them to haunt the dreams of my players as well.

I’ve actually repeatedly found the D&D 3.0 Epic Level Handbook to be one of the best supplements ever produced for 3.X. It is one of the very few supplements which focuses less on player options, and more on helping GMs to run their games better. The generator of 100 quest hooks, for example, is very good! The monsters presented are top notch, even if many of them are more powerful iterations of lower level monsters.

I’m kinda surprised I made it 13 weeks without posting anything from Wayne Reynolds before. That dude is prolific, and influential. Pathfinder goblins are his bath sponge.

No, really, they are.