Flux Space

A pixelated image with figures out of proportion to one another. The main feature of the image is a circular maze made of stone, open at the top. Someone enters the maze. To the side, two figures (a soldier and a woman in a flowing gown) stand next to one another. In the background are cliffs which drop off to the ocean.

Update January 15, 2024: This post has won the Bronze Bloggie in the Gameable category! My thanks to everyone involved. It’s easy to feel like blog posts disappear into the past, forgotten a few days after they are written. Having my work recognized by my peers is encouraging. Thank you for running this year, Zedeck. Also, neener neener, so long as I don’t win I don’t gotta put any work in next year!

I’ve been inspired by my time working with Gus on Tombrobbers of the Crystal Frontier, and want to play at making something similar: a big intro adventure for Dungeon Moon. Something that sells the vibe of the setting, and will allow me an opportunity to think with modes of play that aren’t accommodated by my current campaigns.

Returning to Dungeon Moon will mean returning to Flux Space. It’s an idea that has had a lot of time to percolate in the 6 years since I last discussed it, so let’s begin at the beginning. What is Flux Space?

The Problem

Classic exploration play is great. The referee describes an environment, the players describe how their characters interact with that environment, and the referee tells them how the environment changes. Rinse and repeat until the player’s characters are either wealthy, or dead.

This simple conversational back-and-forth is a good engine for producing fun, but it falters when the characters are exploring spaces which are Large, Samey, and Confusing. The paradigm example is a maze. Mazes work so poorly with classic exploration play¹ that they’ve become shorthand for jokes about bad dungeon design. Yet bad as they are, mazes stick around because they’re romantic. They beg to be explored, even if our tools for imaginative exploration don’t suit them. It’s why kids love solving them on paper, and why people line up for corn mazes every October. The labyrinth of the Minotaur was a maze, and it’s arguably the most fundamental example of a dungeon we have.

Other examples of large, samey, and confusing environments would be a winding network of caves, a dark and dense forest, or a dungeon which fills the entire interior space of an artificial moon created by an inscrutable warlock.

¹ I do actually think this could be fun with a certain set of conditions. You’d need a group of players who were highly engaged in the process of mapping and exploration, as well as some significant pressure to discourage boring-yet-safe play, such as following the left hand wall. So it’s possible, but not suitable for my game or my players.

The Solution

Flux Space is a way of representing large, samey, and confusing environments without mapping and keying them. No maps or keys are needed, because while the characters must trudge through a Flux making meticulous notes and backtracking from dead ends, the players will be “zoomed out.” Time passes very quickly since the players need only make broad administrative decisions. When the characters encounter something interesting the players “zoom in” to engage with it.

Traversing through Flux Space can be regarded as a type of Point Crawl, with the distinction that moving between each point is especially arduous. Once a Flux is solved it can be peregrinated through more swiftly, but solving it will be taxing.

Flux Space is a mix of overland travel and dungeon exploration. It’s for those situations where an environment exists primarily as an obstacle to forward progress, rather than a rewarding location to explore in its own right. Charting the flux gives space for our imaginations to percolate in these environments, and for them to feel as imposing as they ought to, but does so without straining the players’ patience.

System Assumptions

This new Dungeon Moon adventure is intended for use with Errant, so Flux Space must be built to fit into Errant’s mechanics. Because of that, this post will include more system-specific terminology than has been typical for Papers & Pencils. The free, no-art edition of Errant may be a useful reference. What I will call a Flux Turn is a specialized form of Travel Turn, and if you’d like context for all that entails the chapter describing Travel Turns begins on page 120.

Though I’m using a specific system here, I will avoid jargon where possible. Where it isn’t possible, I will endeavor towards clarity. It should not be difficult to adapt the Flux Turn described here to whatever style of adventure play you practice.

A city in an underground cavern. In the background is a mountain which is on fire, and the fire is spreading out into the city.

Flux Space Procedure of Play

Upon entering a Flux, play shifts to Flux Turns, of which there are 6 each day.² During Flux Turns, the party/company generally acts as a group. Their goal³ will be to find a path through the Flux, which they do by Charting.

Each turn spent Charting represents hours of the company moving carefully, dropping breadcrumbs, taking measurements, making notes, and backtracking from dead ends. All this hard work depletes their resources and requires them to roll the Event Die.⁴ At the end of a successful Charting action the company will discover a Point of Interest within the Flux. Play zooms in for classic-style Exploration to resolve the Point of Interest, after which the company chooses how to spend their next Flux Turn. Thus the basic play loop is:

Chart → Deplete Resources → Resolve Event Die →Point of Interest → Choose next action

Each Flux has only a finite number of Points of Interest. Once all have been discovered the Flux is fully charted, and may be moved through more easily.

² Thus a Flux Turn lasts roughly 4 hours, though it’s important not to let that relationship become rigid in your mind. Turns at all scales are abstractions which cannot correlate one-to-one to certain distances traveled by the hands of a clock.

³ Presumably, anyway. Players have strange motivations sometimes, and far be it from me to dictate what their goals are.

⁴ As per normal for Errant, each member of the company who has an encumbrance greater than 4 adds +1 negative event die to the roll.

Depleting Resources

A Flux is generally a dark place which requires the company to carry portable illumination. Each Flux Turn applies 4 Burn⁵ to all light sources. (Thus if the company are using candles, each candle bearer will go through 4 per Flux Turn. If using torches they’ll go through 2. If using lanterns they’ll go through 1 bottle of oil.)

Additionally, some Fluxes may have special resources the company is required to spend in order to chart them. For example, a Flux defined by cliffs or other vertical traversal challenges may require the company to deplete a length of rope each time they Chart, since they must strategically leave ropes behind in order to create pathways for themselves. Likewise a Flux that is filled with water might require potions of water breathing to be consumed for each Charting Action, etc.

⁵ Errant’s Burn mechanic is designed to create interesting lighting situations for exploration play, but does not mesh with the hella-time cost of Flux Turns. I’ve opted for 4 Burn/Turn because it translates into full resource units: 4 candles, 2 torches, 1 lantern oil. Nothing is ever spent partially. As a happy coincidence, this *also* scales to the average amount of Burn players would experience if they played 24 Exploration Turns (the length of a Flux Turn).

Resolve Event Die

If using Errant’s player roles, the referee calls on the Timekeeper to roll a d6. If not, I like to call on a different player each Turn to make the roll:

Encounter
Rest (+1 Negative Event Die) or gain 1 Exhaustion
Deplete all rations or lower all Supply by 1.
Local Effect
Encounter Sign
NPC Chatter

Encounter — While the company is in the midst of their declared action they meet a creature. Determine surprise and disposition for this encounter as you normally would. Play zooms in until the encounter is resolved.

Rest — The company is fatigued, and must make a choice: do they rest, or force themselves to press on? Resting means the company is unable to perform the action they declared for this Flux Turn, and on the next Turn they gain 1 Negative Event Die.⁶ Forcing themselves to press on causes everyone in the company to gain 1 Exhaustion.⁷

Deplete — Everybody needs to eat! Deplete rations and animal feed by 1 for every member of the company. If there are no rations to deplete, or if food sources are plentiful, instead reduce Supply⁸ by 1 for every member of the company. Any ongoing effects or conditions, and perhaps other intangible resources such as an NPC’s patience, dwindle.

Local Effect — An effect occurs that is particular to this Flux. This is discussed in greater detail below under the heading “Construction of a Flux.”

Encounter Sign — The company receives some clue as to what their next encounter might be. Footprints, the sound of beating wings, a figure spotted at the end of a long corridor, etc. The company might want to track this creature down, or they might wish to take special effort to avoid it. Otherwise, the next time an Encounter or Encounter Sign is rolled, it will be an encounter with the creature pressaged by this sign.

NPC Chatter — Nothing of note happens, which means that any NPCs currently traveling with the party get bored and express themselves in some way. Perhaps they talk with one another, sing a little work song, or try to wrangle better wages for themselves out of their employers.

⁶ In Errant, having a Negative Event Die means that your next Event Die Roll is made with 2d6, taking the lower of the two result. Having a Positive Event Die means the reverse. Both types of event die can stack (2 Negative event die = roll 3d6 take lowest), and if the company has both types they cancel each other out. (1 Negative + 1 Positive = roll the Event Die normally)

⁷ In Errant, 1 Exhaustion fills 1 Item Slot. It acts as an extra burden weighing the character down. Exhaustion can only be removed by resting in a comfortable location, which players are not guaranteed to find outside of a settlement.

⁸ In Errant, Supply is a resource that the company will always want to keep well stocked of. If you’re not playing Errant, the important thing to note is that rolling Depletion always causes something to be depleted, even if the party is in a situation where they don’t need to worry about food.

Point of Interest

A notable location within a Flux, comparable to a dungeon room. A Point of Interest might be as simple as a statue the company can choose to ignore, or it might be as involved as a small series of challenges that must be overcome in order for the company to reach the far exit.

Each Flux has two sets of Points of Interest: Shallow Rooms and Deep Rooms.

At the end of each Charting action, after the Event Die is resolved, the referee rolls on a table of the Flux’s Shallow Rooms. These are closer to the entrance, and thus are much more likely to be encountered early. After each room is found it can be crossed off the list.

As the company continues to chart, eventually the referee’s roll will point to one of those crossed out rooms, and the party will discover a Deep Room instead. Deep Rooms are not rolled. They are encountered in order from first to last.

Once all Points of Interest have been discovered, the Flux is solved, and need not be charted any further.

Choose Next Action

Aside from Charting, there are a few other things the party might consider using a Flux Turn for:

Peregrinate⁹ — The company moves from any space within the Flux to any previously discovered Point of Interest. Even from the entrance to the very deepest of the Deep Rooms, if it has been found. Their meticulous charting allows them to travel more efficiently, so they do not need to Deplete Resources on this trip. They still have to roll the Event Die, though.

Make Camp — Spending more than 4 Flux Turns per day on heavy activity causes each character in the company to gain 1 point of Exhaustion per extra turn. When the company makes camp one of the players¹⁰ makes a navigation check to find a suitable campsite¹¹. Each individual member of the company then decides if they will Sleep or Take Watch.

Take Watch — If no characters keep watch, all Event Die rolls of 5 (encounter sign) are instead treated as rolls of 1 (encounter). If only one character keeps watch they gain a point of Exhaustion. If two characters keep watch together, no Exhaustion is incurred by either.

Sleep — Characters who spend two full travel turns sleeping may remove a point of Exhaustion.

⁹ Note that, due to the nature of Flux Space, the Peregrinate action functions a bit differently than it does in Errant’s Travel Turns. Likewise the Explore and Orient actions are not available. Foraging within a Flux is possible, though the DV might be quite high!

¹⁰ If using Errant’s player roles, this should be The Navigator.

¹¹ If the check fails the party must choose between an exposed campsite where encounters are more likely, or an uncomfortable campsite where their rest does not remove points of Exhaustion.

Maps & Local Knowledge

A Flux would not be a Flux if it were well understood. Any few who might know the space’s secrets and byways will guard their knowledge jealously. If a Flux has inhabitants, then keeping outsiders ignorant will be a vital matter of home defense. Even so, it may happen that the company acquires knowledge of the Flux second hand.

Maps reveal some of a Flux’s Points of Interest, which are treated as having already been discovered. Thus the party gets a head start on their own Charting. A complete map, revealing all Points of Interest, should be an object of exceeding rarity.

Peregrinating to locations the company only knows via the map incurs a negative event die, since they lack firsthand knowledge.

Advice from someone who has traveled in the Flux before grants the party a positive event die for a number of Flux Turns equivalent to the quality of the advice. (Someone who has been there once before can give the party a positive event die for 1 Turn, while a native inhabitant of the Flux could give them advice that’d last 10 Turns or more).

Guides may insist the party wear blindfolds, since they want to protect the secrets of the Flux. If the party then loses their guide, they’ll need to begin Charting from wherever they’re at, and the Flux entrance should be added to the Deep Rooms. (How far down the Deep Room list it is should depend on how far the company was led.)

If the guide doesn’t insist on blindfolds, the party can retrace their steps, but must endure a negative event die. They’re much more likely to take a wrong turn than if they had charted the area themselves.

A screenshot of Castlevania for the NES. It shows the level near the end of the game where Simon must traverse the inside of a giant clock, leaping between cogwheels.

Construction of a Flux

At minimum a Flux needs a Theme which describes the space the characters are moving through; NPCs for the company to Encounter; along with some Local Effects that can occur; and Points of Interest to discover. As with any aspect of play, it’s worth looking for opportunities for Special considerations, though these are not obligatory.

Theme

Hopefully your Flux is not simply a series of grey corridors. Perhaps it’s a maze of stairs which zig zag up and down, or abandoned mines dripping with acidic slime deposits, or a massive clockwork mechanism built by the gods which controls the movement of the stars in the sky. The theme will inform everything else you develop for your Flux, and give you something to riff off of at the table. Instead of saying “After hours mapping corridors and dead ends you find…,” you can more easily come up with stuff like “After hours of climbing spokes and avoiding being crushed by the teeth of titanic cogwheels, you find…” It’s a little thing, but it’s one of the little things that makes moment-to-moment play enjoyable.

Encounter

I would not use the full 2d6 encounter table method for a Flux. The company won’t be in one long enough to make the effort worthwhile. Even if it takes 16 rolls of the Event Die for a Flux to be solved (6 Shallow Rooms + 3 Deep Rooms + 4 Turns of Sleep + 3 Rest results), there’s a good chance they’ll only experience 3 encounters. Instead I will opt for 2d4 encounters per Flux. With a Dragon and Wizard at the two extreme ends of the table, this leaves only 5 unique encounters to concoct.

Because encounters will occur in a nonspecific environment, it may be useful to include a location along with the encounter. (i.e. “d6 skeletons on a narrow staircase”). Alternatively you could write a small table of such environments to be rolled on when an encounter occurs. For myself, I will rely on the theme, and use it to invent an appropriate encounter environment in the moment.

Local Effect

This is how the theme is expressed most directly, and how the environment resists the company’s attempt to control it. Because Flux Space is explored from a zoomed out perspective, local effects must have clear zoomed out consequences. I’ve been able to come up with 4 different types of local effect that will work well in a Flux:

Altered Circumstances — A change that effects all future Turns. It might alter what resources are depleted after a Charting Action, impose a negative or positive event die, or prompt the party to adjust their marching order. For example: “A fierce wind begins to blow, strong enough to send someone tumbling over the cliffs. Anyone who doesn’t tie themselves to the rest of the party will need to make a DV: 2 Phys Check each Turn to avoid falling to their death. Will the scout rejoin the main body of the company, or will they risk it?” Altered circumstances will usually end the next time a Local Effect is rolled. (Instead of, rather than in addition to another Local Effect).
Minor Choice — Some sort of obstacle which requires the company to choose between two or more costs. For example: “The corridor ahead is filled with noisemaking traps. If you set them off a creature encounter is rolled immediately. The company can avoid them all by moving carefully, but this will slow you down and you’ll get a Negative Event Die on your next turn. Alternatively, one character can attempt a DV 8 Skill check to quickly and silently disable all the traps—though failure will count as setting the traps off!”
Attrition — The Flux takes an extra toll on the company. For example: “A flame trap goes off! Everyone in the vanguard of the party takes 2d6 damage, but can make a DV 6 Skill save for half.”
Flavor/Hint — Something about the environment draws the company’s attention without doing them any harm. What they learn may or may not be useful. For example: “Everyone in the company hears a mysterious voice inside their head. It mumbles something about how red is the color of vitality, then fades away.”

Local effects ought to be reusable, so 1~3 is plenty for a Flux.

Points of Interest

For my purposes, d6 Shallow Rooms and 3 Deep Rooms will usually (if not always) be adequate. This is large enough for a Flux to pose a significant obstacle, without wearing out its welcome. Any bigger and it feels to me like all these rooms would be put to better use in a traditional dungeon.

When constructing the Points of Interest themselves…they’re just dungeon rooms. They ought perhaps have a higher conceptual density than standard, since the Flux itself serves in place of the empty rooms. All Points of Interest could easily accommodate monsters, tricks, traps, treasure, and/or special contents if you so desire.

Special

Does Charting this Flux deplete any special resources? Is there anyone outside the Flux who might want the party to do something for them in there? Is there any danger in this Flux which might follow the company when they leave? Do any of the creatures on the encounter table constitute a faction? If so, which Point of Interest do they live in, and what do they want? Is one of the Flux’s Points of Interest a bottleneck, which the company will need to deal with every time they peregrinate through the Flux?

Two women speak to one another, sitting on either side of a circular maze. At the center of the maze, a knight in armor defeats a creature which appears to be human from the waist up. Beneath the waist is perhaps a horse? It is mostly obscured by the maze.

Example Flux: The Zig Zag Staircase Maze

Theme: An Escher painting hewn in stone. Bottomless pits abound, and there is a dearth of safety railings. Gravity reorients itself at fixed spots. As the company charts they may find themselves traversing the same set of stairs several times with a different “up” on each pass. True Up can always be determined by throwing something into a pit and seeing which way it falls. The pits are not truly bottomless. After 900’ there is a wall of magical darkness, followed by a final 100’ in which space loops back on itself. Anything dropped will be stuck looping through the final 100’ forever.

Encounters

Dragon
2d6 Zippity Gloobs: Eyeballs with four razor talons protruding from around their retina. Fly by screaming, though they have no mouths. They gather in wasplike nests seen frequently around the bottomless pits.
1d6+1 Cow Creature raiders. They are collecting loot from the bodies of three dead surface dwellers. Cow creatures can go up stairs, but not down them.
1d6+1 Cow Creature raiders. They’re on the hunt for intruders. Cow creatures can go up stairs, but not down them.
A sludgebelly which wandered out of the Slime Mines, and is now lost. Reaction roll determines how long it has been lost and how hungry & frustrated it is.
Animated suit of armor left behind by a wizard with a bad disposition.
Wizard

Local Effects¹²

(Attrition): The magical gravity doesn’t work properly on this next flight of stairs. In order to Chart it, each character will need to have a kit of Climbing gear with them. Anyone who lacks it must peregrinate to the Flux entrance, buy a climbing kit somewhere, then peregrinate back here in order to continue charting. The climbing gear remains necessary until the next time a Local Effect is rolled.
(Minor Choice): The party comes upon a gap where the stairs have crumbled away. Jumping would be easy to do, but exceedingly dangerous (DV 0 Skill check, but any who fail fall to their death). If the party brought a ladder, or a plank of wood they can use it to cross the gap easily. Improvising a safe way across without proper tools can be done, but will take a long time, and the Company will suffer a Negative Event Die on the following Turn.
(Attrition): The stairs transform into a slide beneath the company’s feet! Each character must make a DV 2 Skill Saving Throw or drop one item of their choice from a Hand or Handy slot. It tumbles away into a bottomless pit.
(Flavor/Hint): The party comes upon a gap where the stairs crumbled away at one point. It has been bridged by a sturdy mat woven from coarse hair, and pinned firmly in place at each end. It will take everyone’s weight easily. (The Cow Creatures placed this here.)

¹² To be clear: There’s no need for each flux to have one of each type of Local Effect. I’m just using this to further illustrate how each type might be used.

Points of Interest

Shallow Rooms (d6)

A tangle of stairs converge into an amphithatre where 16 ghosts are staging King Lear. The ghost playing Kent keeps forgetting his lines during Act 2 Scene 4. Each time, the rest of the ghosts throw up their hands in frustration and begin the scene again from the start. If someone were to stage whisper the correct lines to Kent, the play will finally be able to end. The ghosts will be at peace, and everyone in the audience will receive a blessing: 2 Positive Event Dice for 3 Turns.
A staircase landing, on which there is a gurgling fountain with coins at the bottom. If a penny is dropped into the fountain then the water is supremely refreshing. Anyone who drinks from it can ignore the next Deplete result on the Event Die. Anyone who attempts to drink from it without paying will get stomach cramps and diarrhea. If anyone takes money from the fountain, the water will pull them in and attempt to drown them.
A circular room 100’ across, enclosed by a low wall, and pillars which support a vaulted ceiling. Four broad staircases connect to this room at right angles from each other. Any staircase other than the one the company entered from is a valid exit. At the center of the room is a 9 foot tall marble statue. It will animate and attempt to destroy anyone who enters this room, but will not pursue them beyond it.
Room #3 again, but this time you’re approaching it from a different set of stairs, and must exit using the final set. The statue remembers your behavior from your last visit, and has learned from it.
In the middle of the stairway ahead of the company is an iron gate with a face on it. It’s surrounded by a barrier which extends 5’ out over the edge above a bottomless pit. Dagger blades protrude from the end of the barrier to discourage attempts to climb around the gate. The face animates to ask a riddle of all who approach: “I rise and I fall without ever moving. You may stand on me, though I am neither the ground nor a floor! Though one of me is helpful, you need many of me to accomplish anything. What am I?” If the correct answer is given (“Stairs,” obviously) the door will open. If someone attempts to climb around the outside the door’s face will be offended. It will wait until the climber is in a vulnerable position, then wiggle the dagger blades that protrude from its barrier to try and make them fall.
In a stretch of stairs which spiral around a column, the company comes upon a door with a shingle hanging above it, proclaiming it to be the site of The World’s Greatest Salesperson. Within is a shop filled with models of stairs, diagrams of stairs, and materials for constructing stairs. The woman inside has a big creepy grin on her face, and is convinced the company look like a group who could really use some stairs. It may seem like her services are completely useless. However, if the party pay her a retainer of 50 pennies she will accompany them through this Flux. If they come upon the Local Effect of a crumbled staircase she can quickly build stairs to bridge the gap. After that if the party wish for her continued services they must pay another 50 pennies.

Deep Rooms

The stairs brush up against a rough stone wall unlike any other in this Flux. There’s a hole in the wall: round, four feet across, dripping with acrid slime. Beyond this hole are the Slime Mines, a completely different Flux!
Village of the Cow Creatures, constructed upon the flat top of a column both broad and tall. 35 adult Cow Creatures live here, and are belligerent towards outsiders. One set of stairs leads up into the village, and another leads up out of the village, and because Cow Creatures can only go up stairs one of these is how they enter the village and the other is how they leave it. The company must get through the village by charm, guile, or force in order to explore further.
A great curved arch leading into The Pleasure Palace of Zanator the Opulent! This is a traditional dungeon, and presumably the goal which led the company to enter this Flux in the first place.

An illustration of The Lord of the Rings. Gollum is leading Frodo and Sam along treacherous pathways in Mordor.

Example of Play

Referee: After your harsh overland journey the company reaches the passage which leads down into the stair maze you’ve heard about. Before you enter, are you going to use any scouts?

Moss: Nobody is sneaky, so we oughtta stick together. I’ll be in the front, Ajmira you take the rear, everyone else can be in the middle.

Referee: If that works for everyone, I’ll just need to know what light sources you’re using. Including hirelings there are 6 characters in the group, so you’ll need 6 Burn worth of illumination if you want to stay in bright light. That means everyone carrying a candle, three people carrying torches, or two people carrying lanterns.

Suzan: Torches is what we’ve got, and we’ve got plenty of ’em! You said this place was gonna eat through them, so we hired a whole extra guy to carry supply. I’ll carry one of the torches, and Torgul and Erin will carry the other two like usual.

Flux Turn 1

Referee: If anybody wants to discuss further, or make any additional arrangements before descending the stairs, please speak up. Otherwise, Ajmira, I’ll have you roll the Event Die for the first few hours of exploration. D6, please.

Ajmira: I got a 6.

Referee: Torchie—the hireling you employed just to carry extra supply—tries to strike up a conversation with Torgul, Erin’s bodyguard. Torgul responds with grunts. They clearly regard this weakling as beneath their notice, and Torchie eventually gives up trying to make friends.

Erin: I chastise Torchie for distracting my employee while they’re supposed to be keeping an eye out for threats.

Referee: Torchie looks distressed. This is a rough first day at work for her. Time passes in awkward silence as the party climbs up stairs and down again, working to chart a path through this labyrinth. By the end of the Turn all your torchbearers have gone through 2 Torches, so mark those off. Suzan, can you roll a d6 to determine what Point of Interest the party finds?

Suzan: I got a 2.

[The referee describes the fountain. The party argue about whether they should put money into it or drink from it. Eventually they decide to ignore it and just move on.]

Flux Turn 2

Referee: Alright, you spend a second Turn charting. Erin, can you roll the next Event die?

Erin: That’s a 5.

Referee: Encounter sign. I’mma just roll 2d4 real quick…I got a 3 so…um. A screaming sound rises in pitch from somewhere in the darkness behind you, reaching a crechendo just outside the range of your torchlight and fading gradually into silence. Something has passed you by very closely, and moving very fast.

Moss: Well I move to look at it!

Referee: You go back up the stairs that you just came down, towards where you heard the scream. You don’t find anything. Whatever made the sound is gone.

Moss: And NOBODY glanced over their shoulder to see it?

Referee: I assume everybody turned, but it’s dark, and torchlight only goes so far. Whatever made the sound was too far away to be illuminated.

Ajmira: Where did it sound like it was going? It came down the stairs until it was close to us, then turned around and went back up the stairs again?

Referee: No, the sound was coming from off the stairs. Like it was flying straight up out of the bottomless pit beside you, then continued to fly up after it passed.

Suzan: So it’s very fast and it flies. Fuck.

Referee: Are there any preparations you’d like to take against encountering whatever this creature was?

Moss: While we’re moving, everyone remember to keep watch on the pits and the air above us, not just the path ahead and behind.

Referee: I’ll take that into consideration, but remember you’re a bright spot of light in a dark place. You’ll be visible to a lot of things which you won’t be able to see no matter where you look.

Moss: It’s the best we can do. Let’s get a move on.

Referee: Okie dokie. You continue to map your way through the stair maze. Suzan, Erin, and Torgul, each of you mark off another 2 torches from your inventory, or from Torchie’s inventory if you need to get them from her. Moss, give me a d6 to see what the party finds!

[Moss rolls a 4. The referee describes the circular room, statue, and four sets of stairs. When the statue comes to life the party attempts to fight it, but it injures Moss’s character severely, and the party flees down the nearest staircase.]

Flux Turn 3

Referee: You’ve escaped the terrible marble statue with your lives, and can resume your charting. Ajmira could you roll the Event Die for the next Flux Turn?

Ajmira: Thassa 4.

Referee: Local effect! The stairs the company is walking down suddenly snap flat beneath your feet, transforming into a slide! Everyone is sent careening downward at uncontrollable speeds. Everyone roll a DV 2 Skill check for themselves and their hirelings to see if you drop anything as you try to steady yourselves.

Erin: How does this work again?

Moss: Roll a d20. You gotta get higher than the DV, and lower than or equal to whatever your Skill is.

Erin: My Skill is 12, and I rolled an 8. That’s a pass, right?

Referee: Yup!

Suzan: My Deviant has expertise in Fitness. That should reduce this DV by 2.

Referee: That tracks. You can roll this as a DV 0 check.

Suzan: I make it.

Referee: Does anyone fail?

Erin: Torgul and I both did.

Referee: You both have to choose one item from your Hand or Handy slots which has been fumbled into a bottomless pit, and lost forever.

Erin: Both of us were holding torches, so we’ll drop those. Those are cheap.

Referee: It’s time to deplete torches anyway, so you two go through 3 torches for this Flux Turn, Suzan you only mark off the usual 2. How’s Torchie’s supply going?

Suzan: I kinda wish we’d brought two spare torch hirelings, but we’ve got enough to keep going for awhile if these two clumsy oafs stop dropping them.

Erin: Torgul and I glare at you, and will begin plotting revenge as soon as you’re out of earshot.

Ajmira: It’s time to determine our Point of Interest, right? I got a 2.

Referee: Okay! We already rolled 2 earlier—that was the fountain—so instead you discover one of this Flux’s deep rooms…

[The referee describes the village of the Cow Creatures. The party haven’t encountered them before this, and manages to work out a deal with them: for a 10 penny toll per person, they will be allowed to pass through the Cow Creature village in peace.]

Flux Turn 4

Referee: The Cow Creatures seem happy enough to accept your coins, but they glare daggers at you the whole time you’re moving through their village. It looks like some of them would much prefer to just kill you and take all your coins, but they’re obeying the headwoman’s command for now. You put some distance between yourselves and the village. Now between 3 Flux Turns of charting and the 1 Travel Turn it took for you to reach the entrance to the stair maze, you’re all feeling wiped out. If you don’t bed down for the night you’re going to start taking points of Exhaustion.

Suzan: I don’t suppose we could convince the Cow Creatures to take us in for the night.

Moss: I like my skin attached to my body, thank you very much.

Ajmira: Yeah those guys were assholes. Let’s just find a dead end or something where we can make camp.

Referee: I think Suzan has the highest Skill score, so I’ll have you make the navigator check to find a suitable campsite.

Suzan: Well I got a fucking 20, so that’s a failure.

Referee: That sucks bro. You’ve got a choice between an Uncomrotable campsite where you won’t be able to heal, or an Open campsite where you’re more likely to face encounters.

Moss: I’m the only one injured, but it’s not too bad. I’d rather avoid encounters.

Referee: Unless anyone objects, you can all bed down in an uncomfortable campsite. It’s a secluded little landing that’s enclosed on 3 sides, but there’s heaps of loose stone that make it unpleasant to sleep on. In order to avoid penalties 4 characters will need to take a watch—2 for each turn spent resting. Nobody can get the benefits of a Full Night’s Rest, so it doesn’t matter much who sleeps and who doesn’t.

Ajmira: It doesn’t matter so we’ll let the hirelings sleep while the four of us keep watch. Then they won’t be able to complain when we find a comfortable campsite and make them keep watch.

Suzan: Oh yeah! I like the way you think.

Referee: Alright, I’ll assume Ajmira and Suzan are the first pair to watch. Ajmira, can you roll the Event Die?

Ajmira: I got a 3.

Referee: Depletion! Everyone in the party needs to eat something. Everyone make sure a ration gets taken out of the inventory for themselves and their hirelings please.

Ajmira: Hah, so far the Event Die has rolled each result in descending order. Almost like this is a fictionalized account of a game session constructed to demonstrate how each result would be handled in this mode of play.

Suzan: Lawl.

Flux Turn 5

Referee: The watch changes to Erin and Moss. Erin, can you roll the Event Die?

Erin: I got a 5! Darn it, we broke our streak.

Referee: A result of 2 would normally be handwaved away if it occurred while the company is sleeping, so the dice probably wanted to save that for later. Anyway, you’ve rolled an Encounter Sign! Since this is your second one it would normally result in an encounter with that screaming creature you got sign for back on the stairs. However, since you opted to avoid having an open campsite, I will rule that you simply hear a distant screaming. It’s clearly that same creature, but it isn’t too close. You also notice an additional detail on this second occurrence: it’s not one voice, but many small screams in chorus with one another.

And with that it is the next morning! Would you like to get back to exploring this Flux?

Flux Turn 6

Moss: We gotta get this place cleared, let’s get to it. I’ll roll the Event Die…that’s a 2.

Referee: Apparently that uncomfortable campsite was pretty rough on everybody. The company needs to spend some extra time resting. You can choose to push on and everybody will gain 1 point of Exhaustion, or you can stop for awhile and use this Turn to recover and take a Negative Event Die next turn.

Moss: Let’s just push on, c’mon.

Erin: With a point of exhaustion I’ll have 5 encumbrance, and we’ll need to roll a Negative Event die every single Turn.

Ajmira: We should just take the hit and rest.

Moss: Alright, if we have to, but we can rest in the dark, right? No need to waste torches.

Referee: Sure, you can do that. And if anyone wants to use an armor repair kit they can do that. Otherwise I’ll assume everyone takes some time to sit and catch their breath, then you get right back to charting. Ajmira, I think it’s your turn to roll the Event Die. Remember to roll 2d6 and take the lowest, since resting incurs a negative event die.

Flux Turn 7

Ajmira: Aw shit I got a 1.

Referee: That’s an encounter, and since you’ve had two encounter signs it’s definitely going to be with that screaming thing. You don’t have any chance to surprise it because of your light, but since it is a noisy enemy and because you took some precautions against it I’ll reduce its surprise chance to 1-in-6, annd…no surprise!

[Initiative is rolled, and the party does battle with a swarm of Zippity Gloobs. They emerge victorious with minor injuries. Unfortunately the creatures carry no treasure at all.]

Referee: With your foes all dead the group continues to trudge up stairs and down, making notes as you go. That’s 2 more torches used by each torchbearer, and Erin can you roll a d6 for the next Point of Interest?

Erin: I got a 6.

Referee: While the company is heading up a set of spiral stairs around a massive column, you spot a shingle hanging from the wall up ahead, as if there’s a shop in here…

Alternative

If all that is too much, I do have another method for running large, samey, and confusing spaces: Draw a map on a sheet of paper. Give the sheet to your player group, and start a timer at the same time. For every 10 seconds it takes for them to solve the maze, that’s 1 Exploration Turn their characters must spend inside of it. Once the maze is solved and you know how long they’ll be stuck there, you can resolve the resulting Event Dice one by one.

Additional Reading

Pointcrawling Ruins Revisited, by Chris Kutalik
tbh a lot of stuff in the Pointcrawling Series Index, by Chris Kutalik
An Incomplete History of Mazes in RPGs, by Dwiz
How Do You Handle the “Inside” of a Hex?, by Dwiz
Bite-Sized Dungeons, by marcia
Hexcrawls ARE Pathcrawls, by Ava Islam

Structuring Encounter Tables, Amended & Restated

A screenshot from Final Fantasy VIII/8. Quistis, Squall, and Rinoa face a mechanized lizard creature in a random battle. The words "SO RANDOM" are printed on top of the image.

This post is an update to my 2017 essay “Structuring Encounter Tables.” It’s intended to replace that earlier version, and thus includes a bit of self-plagiarism.

In order for an environment to feel dangerously alive it must intrude on the player’s desired activities. For any activity in my game, there are increments of fictional time which require the players to roll the Event Die. Each face of the Event Die corresponds to something, but the most complex and important result is an Encounter, which then calls for a roll on my Encounter Table.

All my encounter tables are 2d6 tables¹. The bell curve allows me to vary the likelihood of different encounters. The ones that are most likely can be a little mundane, so that even as they intrude on the player’s desires they also serve to establish what is normal in this place. The less frequent encounters can be the zanier stuff that’s fun to write, but would make the game feel disjointed if they were omnipresent.

¹ The methods I describe here could easily be adapted for use a 2d4 or a 2d8. I have occasionally used 2d4 myself when I was running smaller campaigns with fewer expected sessions. In general, though, I find that 2d4 doesn’t give me enough room for all the variety I like to pack into a table. Conversely, 2d8 tables are too big. They take too much effort to write, and the odds of uncommon results occurring are too diminishingly remote for my preference.

2 is always a dragon

Because all of our games could use more dragons in them. The game is called “Dungeons & Dragons,” yet in my experience, the appearances of dragons end up being exceedingly rare when contrasted with how often dungeons show up. They don’t need to be these hulking colossal beasts capable of stepping on PCs as though they were ants. They don’t need to be impossible to defeat, so long as they’re scary. A lizard the size of a car with 8 more hit dice than that party’s average, multiple attacks each around, and a big breath weapon is more than enough.

When my players encounter a dragon there’s a 1-in-3 chance that it’s hungry and wants to gobble them up. In this mood a dragon can’t be reasoned with, you’ve got to fight or flee. The other 2/3rds of the time the dragon will simply demand tribute from anyone who crosses its path. Anyone who refuses to pay tribute is gobbled up on principal as a warning to people who think they’re allowed to say ‘no’ to a dragon. Each of my dragons has a preferred form of tribute (perhaps unique books or fancy bottles of booze) but will also accept money of a certain amount per person.

12 is always a wizard

Because all of our games could use more wizards in them. Because wizards are the coolest, fuck you wizard haters. A wizard doesn’t need a complete spell list and inventory of magic items. All they need is the ability to do something really weird and scary, and an escape plan. Wizards know they’ve got a d4 hit die, so they’ve always got an escape plan.

Wizards, being a few steps closer to humanity than dragons, are slightly less likely to want to eat people. Like all my encounters, they’ll be pursuing some specific activity when the party meets them—though because they’re wizards that activity may be completely inscrutable. Capable-looking passers by may find themselves press-ganged into doing something strange, and a lucky party may earn a boon. Though, it’s just as likely that what a wizard wants is something the party would never willingly give up. “The foot of a traveler” is a desirable component for certain spells.

My private rule is that it’s not possible for the party to become friends with a wizard, because wizards do not have friends. Wizards divide people into three categories: people they hate, people who are useful, and people who are beneath their notice. That third group is definitely the safest one to be in.

Wizards and Dragons are each factions of one. They’re individuals with enough personal power that they don’t have to worry about rules or territories. They usually have a few minions, but they control them at their whims rather than by any formalized structure. When encountering either of these creatures the party should be in great personal danger, but clever play could also bring them great advantage. If a wizard or dragon is slain, there are consequences. Allegiances shift, power vacuums appear and are filled, and valuable treasure hoards are left without their most powerful guardians.

7 is usually Recurring Characters.

I maintain a separate list of these, populated with NPCs the party has had some fun dealings with but who would not otherwise have any reason to recur. I rotate people off that list whenever this result causes them to appear, then rotate them back on if the list ever gets too small. In most other circumstances I prefer the purer randomness of a creature that can appear over and over again while some other creatures never do. For recurring characters though, who are mostly friendly to the party, that has often felt tedious to me. It’s fun bumping into an old friend in the grocery store. It’s awkward when you keep bumping into them in every aisle.

The Major Half of the table

8, 9, 10, and 11 are for universal threats. Stuff that could appear anywhere and any time without being out of place. The further they get from 7, the more wild they can be. So while 8 might be a rabid dog or a hungry bandit, 11 is going to be something like a void vampire or a spell-starved lich.

The Minor Half of the table

6, 5, 4, and 3 are for threats tied to specific locations. In On a Red World Alone that usually refers to the factional territories the party must travel through in order to get anywhere in the Dome, but it might also mean levels of a dungeon, regional biomes, depth beneath the surface of the sea, etc. Whatever boundaries are important for the players to understand in your setting, you can help emphasize them with this. On one side of a boundary the players fight goblins, on the other they fight flying devil sharks with tornado breath weapons.

Thus my encounter table ends up looking like this:

Roll a Dragon
[Territory]
[Territory]
[Territory]
[Territory]
Roll a Recurring Character
Six giant slugs demanding taxes in the name of the slug king. Who the hell is the slug king?
Starving Dire Bear, recently escaped from an abandoned moleman zoo deep underground.
21 Gnomes (the ideal number). A numerological cult. They’re insulted by the number of buckles on the party’s clothes.
A talking book that is horny to be read from. It makes things weird right away. (The text is about the history of obelisks).
Roll a Wizard

Kobold Territory

The party spots a pit trap. They’re supposed to spot it. There are 7 kobolds waiting to ambush them as they edge around it.
17 goblins in full armor, here to raid their kobold foes, and willing to raid anyone else they meet.
A kobold merchant traveling to the lands of the slug king to trade. Has a minotaur bodyguard, and doesn’t trust outsiders.
4 young Kobold bravos, all drunk, looking for an opportunity to prove their toughness.

Boneboy Territory

A great big rolling skull that can shoot fire out its eyes. Trying to win a marathon race. Would be furious if anyone delayed them even a moment.
A giant serpent. Unseen are 3 boneboy hunters stalking the serpent, who may ambush the party if their encounter with the serpent presents a useful advantage.
A whole company of boneboys (24!) out on marching maneuvers. They’re raw recruits. This is their first day. All but their commander will panic at first sight of the enemy.
2 boneboy warriors sitting in a small camp, polishing one another’s bones. They will be angry and embarrassed to be discovered.

By breaking the table down this way, generating 11 options becomes a much more manageable task. And adding a new location only requires generating 4 new options, rather than a whole new table. So the only task left is to actually fill the table, and the question becomes: what makes a good encounter table entry? First I ought to specify that for my purposes, an encounter is (almost) always an agent of some sort. An NPC, animal, or monster. I’ve got other tools for managing random locations or environmental hazards. Encounters are things that have their own desires and the ability to pursue them.

The first step is just to come up with something that feels cool to me. It’s easier to turn a weak encounter into a strong encounter than it is to conjure a strong encounter fully formed in my imagination. I pull ideas from anywhere. If I’m on the Minor Half of the table I try to stick to something that represents the factions and situations of the region, but otherwise I let my imagination roam widely and trust that I’ll figure out how to make it fit during play. Sometimes I’m fired by the sort of creative energy that drives me to invent a unique monster, other times I just flip through one of the monster manuals I’ve got on my shelves and pick out the first thing that looks fun. Once I’ve got everything down in a way that interests me, then I can go back over the table to figure out if the entries meet the criteria of being a good encounter. There are two wrinkles that each encounter needs in order for me to be satisfied that I’ll be able to run it quickly at the table.

Wrinkle 1

All of my Encounters are doing something specific. Even if they’re a group of 2d6 generic mooks, they need to be up to something when the party encounter them. For this I wrote a “What is the Encounter Doing” table. My original intent was to roll during play, in conjunction with rolling the encounter. In practice that slowed down play too much, so I’ve taken to using it during session prep, and its been a delight having those details at my fingertips when I run. Roll a d30 for intelligent creatures, and a d12 for animal creatures.

Lost
Hurt
Trapped
Sleeping
Eating
Sick
Tracking Prey
Lying in Ambush
Mating Behavior
Starving
Returning Home
Fleeing
Plotting
Holding Captives
Scavenging
Building a Camp
Demolishing
Doing drugs or drinking
Artistic pursuits
Spying
Committing a crime
Searching
Religious ritual
Setting, putting out, or fleeing a fire
Weeping
Excreting²
Bathing
Socializing
Gloating
Something that isn’t on this table.³

² “Why is this in the intelligent creatures only part of the table?” I hear you ask. Because excreting NPCs are only interesting if it means they can experience shame.
³ For a table that is meant to be re-used over and over again, it’s nice to have something that forces me to reexamine it from time to time.

Wrinkle 2

At this point an encounter often doesn’t need further tweaking. However, I’ve noticed a bad tendency in myself towards encounters that don’t demand the party’s attention. I construct something that I’d be interested in engaging with for its own sake, but when I describe it to my players they just say “Alright, we keep going.” And that’s…fine. Ignoring an encounter ought to be possible sometimes, but it shouldn’t be quite so simple. Encounters ought to intrude on the players attentions more than that. Ignoring them is possible, but doing so ought to be an interesting choice with interesting consequences.

So in my final pass over an encounter I ensure that the majority of them will make some undesirable demand on the player’s attention. This can mean defending themselves from violence, or slander; figuring out how to soothe an aggrieved person, how to cope with a stolen item, or even just deciding whether or not they want to stand by while those things are happening to a sympathetic victim right in front of them.

One exception to this guideline are the Recurring Characters, because their purpose is different. Most encounters are meant to give the party little problems to solve. Recurring characters are meant to give the world a sense of history and interconnectivity. When you meet someone interesting, you might bump into them again. Usually these are friendly characters, since antagonistic character recur in other ways that will present themselves more forcefully. (i.e. plotting elaborate revenges against the party). That being said, recurring characters still ought to invite the party’s attention in some other way. Maybe they need money, or they have a quest to offer, or they’re running a shop and have something to sell. They may even have a gift for the party.

Restocking

Restocking is an essential and constant process when each entry is as specific as I’ve described. I don’t want to understate how burdensome that can be: it does mean I spend time between every single session going back to these tables and adding to them. I’ve managed to make that practice into a routine which I have not yet fallen behind on. I genuinely find it to be the easiest form of inter-session prep I’ve ever committed myself to, but I wouldn’t blame anyone for preferring somewhat more generic and reusable encounters in order to save themselves that constant effort.

Two things make Restocking easier. The first is that, on occasions when I have more ideas than I need, I make sure to record those ideas under the encounter table, where the extra entry will be ready to sub-in when an old one gets sliced out. Second, and much more important, is that restocking rarely means coming up with a new idea from scratch. If the party encounters “4 young kobold bravos, all drunk, looking for an opportunity to prove their toughness,” then all I need to do to freshen it up is create a variation on that basic theme. This time it’ll be 8 kobolds of various ages. I roll on the table above and discover they’re building a camp. So I mash those ideas together and restock the entry with “7 kobold bravos erecting tents, while an elderly kobold sits on a nearby rock and criticizes their work ethic. None have their weapons immediately to hand.”

The way I run the game, the encounter die is the primary driver of play. It’s how I introduce adventure hooks to the players. It’s how I communicate the details of the world, big and small. It’s how I give weight to the passage of time, which in turn enables me to run a game where the players really can go anywhere and do anything, because rolling encounters gives me a chance to gather my notes and prepare details. It’s a multifaceted tool, and I happily put this much effort and thought into my Encounter Tables because the dividends they pay as play aids makes it worth the effort.

Additional Reading

My original post from 2017
Hazard System v0.3 on Necropraxis (Any post under the Hazard System tag is worth a look!)
Combined Encounter Checks & Tables Using d% on Traverse Fantasy
Encounter Checklist on Prismatic Wasteland
Impact on Goblin Punch
In Search of Better Travel Rules on Rise Up Comus
Monster Design and Necessity on Dungeon of Signs
Sticky Goblins on False Machine

How Do You Hexcrawl?

Note: This post, as well as the seven others which will follow it next week, were originally written about two years ago. They were intended to be nothing more than a short series, building on my then-popular Cool Stuff in the Wrong Direction posts. The idea quickly caught fire in my imagination, and I started to develop and expand it beyond the original 8-post run.

Before I knew it, I’d written an entire book. Literally. For over a year now, I’ve had 150+ pages sitting on my hard drive while I work on gathering art and saving money to pay for a proper layout. My plan was to hold these posts in reserve until it was time for a big marketing push. The thought was that I’d post all of these, then after the last one went up I’d say “Didja like that? Well guess what, it was just the first draft of a book that is on sale right now!”

I don’t think it was a terrible plan, but the further out I get from originally writing these posts, the rougher my rough draft starts to look. At this point I don’t think they’re very representative of the quality of the book. Which isn’t to say they’re bad posts–I wouldn’t post them if I thought they were bad–but I don’t want to hold them in reserve any longer. It’s time to get these out of my drafts folder, and out into the world.

Enjoy!

It’s entirely possible that I’m just stupid. There have been many times when I felt certain that what I was looking for didn’t exist, only to be proven humiliatingly wrong the moment I opened my mouth about it. Having said that…

I’ve never seen a good explanation of how the nitty gritty of hex crawling is supposed to work. In the past when I’ve said this in a public space, I’ve been given links to some ostensible explanation. However interesting these links might be, they tend to focus on how a hex crawl ought to work in theory, and have never satisfied my curiosity about the practical, at-the-table mechanics of running one. I’m sure there are people out there who know exactly how a hex crawl should run in practice, but unless any of them want to explain it to me, I need to make the rules up myself. Just for the sake of being comprehensive, I’m going to start with the absurdly basic stuff.

Each hex is 6 miles across. The terrain type shown on the space accounts for the majority of the hex’s terrain. But just because a given hex shows plains doesn’t mean you can’t find a copse of trees there. Plains dominate the space, but the world’s environs aren’t actually broken down into hexes. The hexes are an abstraction. The straight lines between one environment and another actually represent a gradual, uneven transition. Saying “The trees become more spares, giving way to plains over the 6 hours you travel West” is fine. The map itself may be ugly, but since the players will be describing their movement in terms of how many hours they walk in a given direction, a more detailed map doesn’t really improve your ability to manage the campaign much. Though, there’s no harm in taking a prettier map and slapping a hex grid on top of it, that works just fine as well.

It has occasionally been pointed out that a 6 mile hex is ludicrously huge in size. Video games noted for their vast playing space, such as Oblivion or Skyrim, are small enough that the entirety of the game world would fit within a single hex. This vastness is actually beneficial in several ways:

It means that no matter how often the players travel through a given hex, you can always justify finding something new there. Barring significant effort, this ensures that a given wilderness environment never becomes safe and mundane.
The math for converting hexes into miles is very simple, if for some reason you ever need to do that.
It allows you to portray vastly different political situations, environments, and cultures, without forcing you to manage an unwieldy amount of game spaces.

Moving on: the most confusing thing about hex crawls for me has always been how to translate what the players say into what is happening on the hex map. In the past I’ve tried giving players a blank hex grid of their own so they could fill in spaces and tell me which edge of the hex they wanted to explore out of, but I don’t like how this feels. Players already have an idea of how to communicate movement in the wilderness using the cardinal directions. The hex map can be a great referee tool, but I’d prefer not to make the players think about the world in terms of hexes. Unfortunately, cardinal directions don’t always give you a good idea of what hex the players will move to.

If your map were drawn on this hex grid, it would be easy to know what to do if the players say “we go East,” or “we go West.” But what about the North/South axis? Do you choose to skew them slightly to the East, or slightly to the West of where they wanted to go? You could just determine it randomly, then remember to skew back in the other direction if they keep going. That would keep them moving in vaguely the right direction, and is probably the best choice for maximum simplicity. It’s not unreasonable to think they meander a bit as they travel.

If you’re more ambitious, you could try to keep an idea of where your players actually fall within their hex. This requires more granular tracking of how far your players move at a time, but it does have the benefit of making their time expenditure more meaningful, and of making it more clear what hex to move them into next. The geometric simplicity of a 6 mile hex, along with the fact that LotFP’s daily movement rates are all divisible by 6, should make this a feasible task. Though I can’t imagine doing it without constantly marking little travel lines on my hex map. I’d probably tend towards the simpler option myself, at least until I’m more confident running hex crawls than I currently am.

Which brings us to terrain difficulty. You can’t just have characters moving through mountains at the same speed they move along a road. Some hexes are more difficult to get through than others. There’s a whole range of methods, with varying degrees of complexity, that you could use to determine just how much travel is slowed on rough ground. For now, I’d like to keep it super simple. There are three types of terrain:

Normal. Players move at a normal rate through most terrains. If it doesn’t fit into either of the other categories, it’s normal.
Difficult. Players move at half speed. This is anything that would present a significant challenge to movement, like mountains or swamps.
Roads. Players move twice as fast so long as they’re walking along a road.

Hand in hand with terrain type is encounter checks. How do those work? How often do you check for them? Again, I say keep it simple. Check once per hex. Twice if the hex’s terrain is difficult, and once every second hex if the players are on a road. (That’s once every 6, 3, or 12 miles respectively). Commensurately, I’d probably place relatively uninteresting encounters along the roads. (After all, anything interesting will have been found), and more interesting encounters in difficult terrain. That creates a nice risk-reward dynamic between fast travel with no loot, and slow travel with tonsaloot.

So what are these encounters, and how are they determined? I’m a big proponent of Brendan’s overloaded encounter die. In ORWA, I use three different encounter die charts based on how frequently a check is required. This is what I use for my 4-hour checks, which I think should translate well to once-per-hex checks.

Encounter.
Location.
Spoor
Rations.
Lost
Safe

Encounters are stuff like wandering monsters or NPCs. They’re rolled on an overall list that covers multiple hexes, like an entire cluster of forest hexes, or maybe even just a whole hex map. There’s between 4 and 8 entries on this table, and nothing is too specific. I don’t want to have to restock it. The point of the encounter table is to provide a sense of cohesion. No matter where you go within the domain of the Goblin King, you might encounter a goblin war party.

Locations are the beating heart of the hex map. They’ll require some extended discussion, so I’ll do that below.

Spoors are hints. They’re footprints, eggs, nests, or a dropped note. They let you know that something exists nearby which you haven’t encountered. When you roll a spoor, you should flip a coin to determine whether it’s an encounter or a location, then roll on the appropriate table to find out what the spoor points to. Once you know that, you can tell the players what kind of spoor they find. Then it’s up to them to interpret it, and choose how to respond.

Rations means the players are tired and need to rest and eat. If they don’t, they’ll take whatever penalties tired and hungry characters suffer. (Personally, I call it a flat -1 to all rolls). This result can be dismissed if it comes up more than once in rapid succession, but having it attached to the encounter roll is a lot easier than tracking rations separately. A+++++ highly recommended.

Lost means that the players are lost. The referee doesn’t tell them that they’re lost, but you roll 1d6 to determine which direction they start moving in. Of course, if they’ve got some means to avoid getting lost, consider this a “safe” roll. Means do avoid getting lost would be following a road or river, having a guide who knows the area. or even just having a compass.

I’d actually be interested in exploring the idea of getting lost in greater depth, since it’s fairly easy to avoid it. Maybe compasses should be a lot more expensive than they usually are? A high level luxury, perhaps. But that discussion is for a different post.

Safe means nothing happens. Sometimes you move from one hex to the next hex without anything exciting happening.

Alright, so, Locations. Locations are tied to individual hexes. When the encounter die rolls a location, you have to check to see what hex the players are in, and then what locations exist in that hex. If a hex map were a dungeon map, the locations would be the room descriptions. But unlike a dungeon, the “rooms” are so vast that there’s only a small chance of seeing the description each time you pass through a hex.

Locations can really be anything. Of course they can be actual locations, such as villages, dungeons, altars, statues, magic trees, whatever. But they can also be something more transient. They can be wandering wizards, recently summoned demons, or a big scary monster. These are things you might normally think of as encounters, but they’re unique, so you don’t want to put them on the encounter list, which is meant to be more general.

How many locations should a hex have? From experience I can confirm that it’s easy to underestimate just how large an undertaking stocking a hex map really is. There’s no need to create a table of locations for each hex. It’s not like players are going to spend a ton of time exploring a single hex and run through all your work. Hexes are made for passing through. After a session of hex crawling, you can just go back through and restock all the hexes where the players discovered locations with new locations. That keeps the work a lot more manageable.

If you want to be safe, you could push it and put two locations in each hex, but honestly I think it’s fine putting just one location in each. Though that’s not to say you should feel bound by whatever your standard is. If one of your hexes is special for some reason, put as many locations in that hex as you like. Overall, though, it’s best to keep the standard number of locations per hex as low as possible.

Finally, what other information should be included in a hex crawl? I’d probably throw an overview in the front with a brief description of the region, its history, and the forces that are at play there. Something to keep short and sweet, since most of the flavor should be communicated through hex content and encounters. This is also where I’d make note of any particularly important and well known locations, like a large city in Hex XXX. The sort of thing everyone the players meet would be aware of, and which the players themselves might be on their way to reach.

I’d also write about any notable environs, particularly if they span multiple hexes. If the cluster of 8 forest hexes in the south of the map is “The Forest of Doom,” where gremlins sneak about through a persistent chest-height pink mist, that’s something the referee should be warned of up-front so they know to mention it as soon as the PCs enter that hex, even if they don’t think to check the hex’s information.

That’s everything I can think of for now. I don’t know if this has been a useful document for anyone else, but I have to say the process of writing it has made me feel more confident about preparing and running hex crawls, which is something I’m in the middle of doing right now.

Next week will be the first in a 7 part series of posts where I stock a hex map. In point of fact, this post started its life as a footnote on the first entry of that series.

It got a little out of hand.

Structuring Encounter Tables

Update (September 23, 2022): After many years of playing with this method, I’ve iterated on it many times. You may want to check out “Structuring Encounter Tables, Amended & Restated.”

A couple weeks back I shared how I handle factions in my ORWA campaign. People seemed to like it. I like it when ya’ll like things. So in an effort to experience more of your approval, I’m going to tell you how I construct encounter tables. Once again, I don’t think I’ve got anything particularly revolutionary on my hands here. It’s just a method that I’ve put together over the last few years, which works well for me.

First off, all my encounter tables are 2d6 tables. The bell curve allows me to define some encounters as more or less frequent than others. The most frequent encounters can be a little mundane, and I’ll use them to create a feeling of place for the players. (More on that below). The less frequent encounters can be the zanier stuff that I love to include, but would end up making the game feel disjointed if they were omnipresent. You could, of course, get a similar effect with a 2d4 table or a 2d8 table, but I personally find the former too restrictive, and the latter too excessive.

2 is always a dragon, because we need more dragons. The game is called “Dungeons and Dragons,” yet in my experience, the appearances of dragons end up being exceedingly rare when contrasted with how often dungeons show up. They don’t need to be these hulking colossal beasts capable of stepping on PCs as though they were ants. They don’t need to be impossible to defeat, so long as they’re scary. A 10 hit dice lizard the size of a car, with a bite, two claw attacks, and a breath weapon, is more than enough.

These dragons can be interesting social encounters where the players try to figure out how to not get eaten. Dragons can also create a situation where the players feel they have to flee from combat. Both of these first options allow the dragon to become a recurring villain for the players, which may eventually drive them to seeking the final option: fight the dragon. And sure, there’s a good chance it will kill them. But there’s also a slim chance it won’t, and then they’ll have all of the wealth and glory that slaying a dragon will bring them.

Honestly I could write about dragons all day. I’m literally writing a book about dragons and how important they are to include in D&D. I’ll leave it by reiterating my thesis here: on the encounter table, 2 is always a dragon.

Likewise, 12 is always wizards. Because we need more wizards. Not because the game is called “Dungeons & Dragons & Wizards,” but because I fucking love wizards, and you know that you do too. Much like dragons, you can justify a wizard being pretty much anywhere, so there’s rarely any reason not to have a wizard in the 12 spot.

To facilitate this for myself, I wrote a d4 table of wizards. It’s a pretty short table, which has served me for about a year of real time without needing to be expanded, or have any of its entries replaced. Like dragons, I prefer for these to be frightening encounters, but not impossible to overcome by parley, flight, or combat. This requires a little beefing up from the standard magic user, which hey, look, I wrote a table to help you do that. I also usually include a retinue of devoted servants, which I presume most wizards of prestige would have.

7 is recurring characters. This isn’t as imperative to me as “2 is a dragon” or “12 is a wizard,” since it doesn’t always make sense for recurring characters to show up no matter where the players are. But I do like to include it wherever possible, because it’s a lot of fun.

I maintain a separate table for recurring characters, which I roll on whenever this comes up. There are basically two ways for an encounter to end up on that table. The first is to be a friendly NPC that the players enjoyed interacting with. For example, in ORWA, the players once visited a market, where they bought Giga Zucchinis from a guy with a crazy Russian accent who swore they would make your penis “better.” (Not bigger. Better.) The players had a raucous good time with him, so I threw him in the recurring character table, and he has become a kind of mascot for the game. Every time he shows up the players spend a good 10-15 minutes talking with him, and new players are inculcated into the joke.

The second way to get on the recurring characters list is if I think an antagonistic NPC has “unfinished business” with the party. Maybe they want to get payback, or maybe they just want to beat the party to the punch on completing some quest or another.

Recurring characters make the game world feel more interconnected. It’s not just a linear series of events, it’s a world where you can bump into an old friend, or discover that your past actions had unintended consequences.

I should note that I never put wizards or dragons onto the recurring character table. That would wreck the whole point of sticking those two options at the extreme ends of the table in the first place. They’re supposed to be rare, and scary. They can still recur, they just do it when a 2 or a 12 is rolled, rather than a 7.

6 and 8 are there to build a sense of place, as I mentioned above. When put together, these two results have a greater chance of coming up than any single result on the table. So, if you stick encounters that are emblematic of the environment’s theme in these two slots, it will make that theme more concrete and meaningful for the players. Which brings me back to ORWA’s factions.

Each of ORWA’s factions controls a territory, and each territory has its own encounter table. So when the players are in The Fighting Mongoose territory, an encounter would be rolled on The F.M. encounter table. But once they crossed over into another territory, encounters would be rolled on that territory’s encounter table. To create a sense of place, I want a good number of the encounters on each table to remind players of what territory they’re in.

So, while in Outsider territory, 6 and 8 might both be “2d6 Outsiders.” I might vary it up a bit, by having 6 be “2d6 outsiders on foot, without any urgent business” while 8 is “2d6 outsiders on mounts, who have a serious purpose.” Either way, 6 and 8 are usually pretty mundane. It feels boring to write, but in play it’s nice to have a little contrast with the weirder stuff you might encounter.

So with 2, 12, 7, 6 & 8 all assigned, that leaves a mere 6 “free” spaces that I have to get creative with. And while all of the above are meant to be infinitely repeatable, I like to make these remaining 6 spaces specific enough that they have to be re-stocked if the players kill them. I also like to divide them roughly 50/50 between weird encounters that support the sense of place, and weird encounters that are just plain weird.

I don’t feel like I need to explain weird encounters that are just plain weird. It’s literally whatever crazy shit you can possibly come up with. But what is a weird encounter that creates a sense of place? Here are some examples.

The Rulers Beneath the Black are religious fanatics. In their territory, one encounter might be an archbishop of the faith whose fanaticism is even more wildly out of hand than most. He’s calling down the powers of his god to smite people for wearing shoes on the wrong feet, or parting their hair incorrectly. Another encounter might be a street preacher surrounded by a prostrate crowd. A third might be someone practicing a minority faith in secret because they’re afraid of retribution from the establishment. All of these encounters remind the players of where they are in the world.

Another example is the territory of the Comet Callers. They’re all Wizards, which is why it’s one of the few places in my game where 12 isn’t a wizard, because both 6 and 8 are wizards. (Comet Caller territory is dangerous as shit.) In their lands, encounters will often be things that were obviously done by a wizard who isn’t currently present, such as an “undead work site,” where skeletons have set up fleshy equipment to perform some complex task with an obscure purpose. Perhaps the players will come upon a failed homunculus with wings and insect legs sticking out at random angles. Or maybe they’ll come upon a chain gang sifting through sand looking for some ancient jib-jab that a wizard believes to be here.

If I’m out of ideas and I just need to fill space, “open X monster book to a random page” is always an option. I’ver certainly got enough monster books sitting around, and there’s no reason I can’t do an on-the-fly monster conversion from Pathfinder to LotFP. Another good option that works pretty much anywhere is “2d20 raiders from the nearest opposing faction.”

One last thing I’d like to mention is that the dangers on the table should reflect how dangerous an area is supposed to be. Regarding ORWA, as I said in my previous post: unless you’re in the very heart of a faction’s territory, you’re never more than 2 steps from chaos. But that doesn’t mean that some places aren’t more or less dangerous than others. Certainly all of the major factions try to keep their territory safe. The Redstone Lords are notably better at it than anyone else is, so their encounter table is a little less dangerous than average. Meanwhile, places like No Man’s Land, the Sewers, or the territory belonging to The Friends of Needletooth Jack have much much more deadly encounter tables.

There’s nothing wrong with encounters that are more likely to end peacefully. They can still be interesting. As mentioned, the Redstone Lords are pretty good at keeping their territory safe. So instead of encountering a rampaging mutant monster, the players might encounter a political candidate looking to secure votes. They might stumble onto unique locations, like a slave market, or an announcer reading out a new law to a crowd.

And that’s how I write my encounter tables.

The End.

Hex Crawling Encounters

*(Order of the Stick courtesy of Richard Berlew)*

In Monday’s post on making overland travel more engaging, I discussed how a hex crawl might work in practice. As I noted, the whole concept seems rather dull until you add two elements: survival, and random encounters. I was only able to touch on these concepts briefly in that post, so now I’d like to delve more deeply into the idea of random encounters on a hex map, and how they can work within the context of Pathfinder. I’ll try not to simply repeat Trollsmyth on this issue, since he also covered it in Hex Mapping 17: You’re Everything that a Big Bad Wolf Could Want. Though, while I’m on the subject: if you’ve read my posts and you’re becoming interested in hex maps, read Trollsmyth’s entire series on them. He recently posted part 20, and each post has been thought provoking and informative.

So we’re all at least somewhat familiar with encounter tables, right? They’re not as common as they once were, but sourcebooks are still full of charts to be rolled on, and we’ve all played video game RPGs where walking will suddenly result in a blast of noise and a transition to a battle screen. You’ve probably even had a GM at some point who said they needed to ‘check for random encounters,’ followed by some behind-the-screen dice clattering. But like Vaarsuvius says, these are boring. And it’s true. When the GM “fades to black” anytime the party travels anywhere, random encounters are boring. It’s like being a cardboard duck in a shooting gallery: you’re moving, and you might get hit by something, but you don’t really have much say in it either way. Random encounters only work when the player is in control of their own movement, which in the wilderness, means that random encounters only work when there’s a hex crawl.

Self determination (i.e. PLAYER AGENCY) is not all which is required for a random encounter to be compelling. Before leaping into the construction of an encounter table we need to get two misconceptions out of the way. First, it’s essential to realize that random encounters are not random. There is an element of random determination involved, but whoever creates the encounter table controls the probabilities of each encounter type. Not only that: they control what types of encounters are even possible. It’s not as though you’re obligated to pull monsters from the bestiary without rhyme or reason once you decide to build an encounter table. That would be ridiculous. You populate your encounter table with encounters which make sense. If orcs and trolls are fighting for control of the forest, then the encounter table for the forest will be variations on that theme. There can be troll hunters, orc worg riders, 1d4 trolls on patrol, a battle between orcs and trolls, a wounded orc separated from his fellows, the list goes on. Who knows? Maybe the half-assed “trolls vs. orcs” story will pique your player’s interests. Maybe they’ll take it upon themselves to settle the forest feud.

That’s what you want. Trust me: no matter how brilliant you think your game’s overarching plot is, you will never have more fun as a game master than you will when your players start making up their own quests.

The second misconception about random encounters is that all encounters are combat. Apparently the only reason we’re rolling at all is to determine what type of monsters are encountered, and how many of them there are. If possible this idea is even more ludicrous than the first one. There’s so much to encounter in the wilderness! Abandoned buildings, the bones of a long dead adventurer, a lost child, an undelivered letter, a magical fountain the list could go on. Adventure and exploration have a lot more to offer than hostile creatures in need of a good skewering.

The first step in creating an encounter table is to determine what area it covers. Presumably you’ve already got your hex map, so unless your game world is a homogenous lump, you can look at it and see plains, forests, mountains, rivers, deserts, and so forth. Within each of these biomes, a countless number of interesting encounters are potentially hiding, and the manner of those encounters will likely be completely different in one part of the world than they will be in another. While traversing the planes of Gibbledy-Gop, your players might encounter mighty centaurs, but while in the forest of Creepyscaryeek they’re more likely to encounter orcs. And, if your players go south of the river Fishnstuff in the forest of Creepyscaryeek, then they’ll encounter ogres instead, since the orcs are afraid to cross the river. It’s up to you, as GM, to determine how large an area your encounter table will be used for. If you’re working on creating a fully developed world, you may even want to create a second map with color-coded outlines of areas, based on which encounter table that area uses. If you wanted to get fancy, you could even have some areas which were under the effects of two separate encounter tables.

Once you’ve marked your encounter table’s “Area of Influence,” you need to determine what’s going on there. This will inform your decisions later on when it comes time to populate the encounter table. Above I gave an example of a forest where trolls and orcs fighting one another, and that’s as good a place to start as any. But it needs more detail. Let’s say that there’s a number of elven ruins from an ancient forgotten civilization which the two groups are fighting over. Given that trolls are much stronger than orcs, there’s likely going to be many more of the latter than of the former, or else the trolls would have won the ware a long time ago. And, just for kicks, lets say that the orc leader made a deal with a high-ish level wizard who is now supplying the orcs with some basic magical equipment.

At this point we have enough information to start sketching out what the encounter table will look like. There are a number of ways you can set up the chart, using any number of different dice, but I like to keep things simple: 1d20 to determine the type of encounter, and then another 1d20 do determine the specific encounter. This provides enough options that it’s pretty unlikely the players will exhaust all of them within a few hours of gameplay, but so many that it becomes unwieldy to deal with. Of course if you’re working with larger or smaller areas–or longer or shorter amounts of time the players will spend in those areas–it may be prudent to use a more or less complicated chart. If you really wanted, you could roll 1d100 to determine which of 100 charts (each with 100 options of their own) you would roll on. Or you could just roll1d4 to determine which of four different encounter types your players will face. It’s entirely up to you and what you need, but the “1d20 twice” approach provides a nice healthy average, so that’s what I’ll use here.

The first d20 roll, as I mentioned above, will determine the type of encounter, or whether there is an encounter at all. It’s important to make sure that there’s a relatively good chance of the players not encountering anything. Otherwise the hex crawl will slow to…well…a crawl. The players are on an adventure, yes, but they likely also have a goal in mind. Excessive distraction from that goal will annoy them. I like to have about a 50% chance of nothing happening. The nice thing about the d20 is that each number on the die has a 5% chance of being rolled, so if we want to create a 50% chance of nothing happening, we assign the numbers 1 through 10 to “nothing.” And that range can be altered to increase or decrease the probability somewhat, but I would advise not straying too far from the 50% median. Too many random encounters can become frustrating, and a serious drain on the party’s resources. Likewise, too few random encounters makes the hex crawl boring.

50% of the die is left to assign, so lets do combat encounters next. Since the forest is a Trolls Vs. Orcs warzone, combat encounters should be relatively common. 25% seems like a good probability, so we’ll assign numbers 11 through 15 on the d20 to “combat.” Unlike “nothing,” other types of encounters can vary as wildly as you like. The peaceful plains near civilization may only have a 5 or 10% chance of combat encounters, while a party venturing deep into the territory of an evil empire may face a 30 or 40% combat rate.

With 50% assigned to “nothing,” and 25% assigned to “combat,” that leaves only five numbers left to assign, and there are a plethora of things we could put there. Interesting locations, traps, side quests, treasure, dungeon entrances, as with many things in tabletop RPGs, the limit is your imagination. For this encounter table, I think 16-17 (10%) will be Interesting Locations, 18-19 (10%) will be Special, and 20 (5%) will be Side Quests. And there we go, the first roll on the encounter table is taken care of. Rolling 1d20 will either result in “nothing,” or in one of four different types of interesting encounters. But the type of encounter is only half of the equation. Now we need to populate the second half of the encounter table, where we’ll determine specifics.

Combat: The combat chart should include a variety of different combat encounters. The obvious two are a band of orcs, and a band of trolls, but we can be more creative than that. And, more importantly, since combat encounters have a 25% chance of occurring, we need to be more creative than that. Since players are likely to encounter combat a number of times, we should have maybe 15-20 different possibilities on this table. They can include any number of things. The players could stumble onto a battle already in progress between orcs and trolls, which they could decide to participate in or not. They might encounter orcs riding worgs, or trolls carrying orc prisoners. Normal forest danger, like dire bears,can be on the list as well. Though your players will probably have more fun with the encounters that have a story behind them.

Interesting Locations: We’ve already mentioned that the orcs and the trolls are fighting over some ancient elven ruins, so those should be on this list. If you were so inclined, you could even include a number of different types of elven ruins: homes, government buildings, etc. Perhaps one might hide a dungeon entrance. Other types of interesting locations could include an orc village, a troll village, a reclusive wizard’s tower, an illusory copse of trees that one of the players accidentally walks through, or even just a meadow where the players can refill their water rations.

Special: Special is where you can put all the oddball stuff which doesn’t fit in your other categories. You might include a wounded orc warrior who was left behind by his comrades, or a fellow adventurer who got separated from their party and is now lost. If you are so inclined, you might even give your players a chance to find a treasure chest filled with gold which has been covered with dirt and leaves, or a powerful magic item dropped by some long past adventurer. Finding random treasure should probably be pretty uncommon though, and you may want to require a perception check to notice it.

Side Quests: You may not want to include side quests, but I think you should. First, the main questline is never quite as engaging to the players as we GMs would like to think it is. Providing them with occasional hooks to go off in a different direction lets them know they have alternatives. More importantly, showing that the world has a variety of tasks for them to handle, not all of which are related, helps encourage the players to think of your world as a living, diverse environment. Possible side quests include finding the entrance to a dungeon, finding a dead messenger with an important letter for a nearby king, or finding a village which needs the party’s assistance. And if you’d really like the players to continue on with the main quest before handling the side quest, you can always give them a time limit. E.g. “The world will blow up in 5 days and the dungeon where you can stop it from happening is 4 days away.”

A few final notes on using an encounter table:

How often? Once you’ve got the chart made, determine how often you’re going to roll on it. You could roll once per hex, once per hour spent within the hex, once per day, whatever you want. Personally, I roll each time the party enters a hex, and roll once more during the night when the party is at rest (ignoring any results which are not capable of self-mobility, such as an ancient ruin.)
A Gazebo Appears! Encounters should not simply “appear,” as though you’re playing a console RPG from the 90s. Take a moment to figure out how the players encounter whatever it is that you rolled. If it’s a location, do they see it in a valley as they reach the crest of a hill? Can they see it from a distance, or is it obscured by the treeline until they move closer? If it’s a monster, who sees who first? Perhaps you could figure out a simple third roll to determine whether or not the party is surprised. Trollsmyth has an excellent method for determining what a monster is doing when it’s encountered in the same hex mapping post I linked above.
Wow, this forest sure has a lot of wizards… Some things ought to be taken off the encounter table once they’ve been encountered once. For example, if your players have already encountered one reclusive wizard’s tower in the forest, you may not want them to find another. In these cases, re-rolling is fine. However, you might also consider that encountering something twice could lead to an interesting story that you never intended. For example, perhaps the wizard’s tower exists in several locations at once, or teleports around the forest at random, or maybe there are two wizards here who don’t like one another very much. All those options could end up being way more fun than simply re-rolling.

Making Travel More Engaging

As of late, I’ve been pondering how I can make travel more interesting for my players. It’s something I’ve always struggled with in my career as a Game Master. Sometimes I’ve tried just fading to black between points of interest, but that’s no good. If the players don’t somehow experience the travel, then there’s no tangible metric for how distant various locations are. And even if that’s not a problem for you (which it should be), it also deprives players of the opportunity to experience the game world outside of towns and plot events. Imagery of adventurers traveling together through a forest or desert fuels our imaginations, we can’t simply gloss over that part of an adventure because it’s difficult to present in an engaging manner! We can, of course, try to give the illusion distance by determining that a certain journey will require X days to complete, but even if you try to spice that up with random encounters, the players will get bored. After an unfortunate extended hiatus, my group is finally going to be able to get back together for a new adventure soon. The one I’m preparing will have a great deal of traveling in it, which has brought this problem to the forefront of my attention.

Of course, utilizing a hex map helps solve many of these problems, which I’ve talked about before. Making the players responsible for choosing each 6-mile step of their journey helps engage them in travel, because progress towards their destination won’t continue without their input. Giving them these choices also increases their player agency, which will always increase their engagement. And, as an added bonus, once you start asking your players to make choices, they’ll start making choices on their own. Before you know it, your players will be directing the course of their own adventure, and that’s when you know that you’re a good game master.

But how does it work?

I mean, when the whole group is actually sitting around the table, and you’ve got your filled-in hex map behind the GM screen, what happens next? How precisely do the players interact with the hex map. How do they know where to go? Does a single player just point to one hex after another until the end of the day? How are you going to describe each hex when the players enter it? These are questions which need to be considered, lest we be caught with our pants down at the table. We’re the GM after all, we need to give the appearance that we’re prepared for anything the players throw at us.

Step one is figuring out how the players are going to keep track of the map as they uncover it. Of course, I have a filled-in hex map which I’ll keep behind the screen, but there’s no reasonable way for me to show it to them without revealing information they have not yet earned. My map, after all, has notes on it indicating the locations of dungeons, treasure, and towns. So the players need a assign one of their number the duties of mapmaker, and that player will need a blank map which they can fill in as they play. A quick google search for “print hex graph” turned up a site which creates hexagonal graph paper for you. I printed off 25 or 30 sheets myself, just to keep on hand. I also have a very nice hexagonal battle mat which was given to me as a Christmas gift by a friend. It’s wet-erase, so I can actually have a nice visual “world environment” for my players as they explore. The only drawback is that the mat needs to be erased at the end of each session, so the players will need to keep a map as well.

As with most party decisions in RPGs, reasonable adults won’t need any GM guidance with respect to making a group decision. In my experience, a party leader most often emerges naturally, and when it doesn’t, players don’t have trouble coming to a consensus on issues like “which direction do we walk.” If getting the party to agree on things like this is a problem for your group, then your problems are outside the scope of this post. Likely outside the scope of anything I will ever write about, because I’m not from the “here’s how to handle your friends…” school of GM advice.

With that out of the way, the second step becomes determining the best way for players to interact with the hex crawl. What is the conversation that takes place between the players and the GM as they move from hex to hex on the way to their destination. For my purposes, in the upcoming game I’ll be running, the players will receive some very basic instructions. The first leg of their journey will first require them to travel in a certain direction until they reach a river, then they’ll need to follow that river until they reach a village. Pretty straightforward. Straightforward enough that it might end up being boring, but I’ll get to that later.

As the players begin to prepare for their journey, the GM should figure out what the slowest party member’s movement speed is. This will be the movement speed for the entire party, unless the faster party members are willing to leave someone behind. If the players are on foot, the slowest will likely be whatever character is a dwarf or halfling. If the players have mounts (which suddenly become a lot more appealing once you’re hex crawling) their speed will significantly increase. Remember also to consider whether the characters are encumbered or not. If you’re like me, you’ve probably never used encumbrance rules before. However, if we’re trying to make travel engaging, then using encumbrance rules gives the players something they’ll need to pay attention to lest their pace be slowed, and that’s too valuable to pass up. If Pathfinder’s encumbrance rules are too complicated for you, I did a mock up of an alternative a few months back which may be more to your liking. I haven’t got around to putting any spit or polish on it, though.

For simplicity’s sake (and also because this is likely what I’ll have in my game) lets say that the party is made up entirely of unencumbered humans, which have a movement speed of 30. According to Pathfinder’s movement rules (found in the Core Rulebook, on pages 170 through 172), this gives the party a daily movement speed of 24 miles. Now, if you like, you can simply say that since each hex is 6 miles, and 24 divided by 6 is 4, that means that a party may travel 4 hexes in a day–and that’s fine. However it fails to take into account that some terrain is more difficult to travel through than others. Fellow blogger Brendan recently wrote a post entitled “Wilderness Movement Costs,” (which itself was based on a post by Delta). In it, he outlines a basic system for tracking a party’s hex crawling movements which I’ve decided to rip off and adapt for Pathfinder/my own purposes.

Movement Points: Convert the number of miles the party may travel in a day into “points.” So, it the party can travel 24 miles in a day, they have 24 “movement points.” This may seem like a ridiculous extra step. However, its function is that it turns the party’s movement budget into an abstraction, rather than a literal unit of distance. This will help players understand the less-than-literal possible uses for movement points.The party can spend movement points on couple different things:

Travel: Travel is the most obvious function. (That is, after all, kinda the whole purpose of this post). The table below shows the cost in movement points for each of the four terrain difficulties. Since the players won’t know if the next hex will put them over their movement cost, it’s up to the GM to warn them when they’re about to do it, and let them know that continuing forward would constitute a forced march, meaning the players would not be able to move as much the following day. Note that traveling on roads actually allows the party to move at a faster speed than the standard rules would allow. This way, roads have an actual in-game purpose much closer to their real life one.

Terrain	Examples	Movement Cost	Becoming Lost
Easy	road	4	No Check
Average	clear, city, grasslands, trail*	6	Survival DC: 10
Moderate	forest, hills, desert, badlands	8	Survival DC: 15
Difficult	mountains, jungle, swamp	12	Survival DC: 20

*There is no Survival check required to avoid becoming lost when following a well marked trail.

The movement cost happens to be evenly divisible for our band of unencumbered humans, though it may not be for all parties. If a party has some movement points left at the end of the day, but not enough to enter the next hex, give them some extra time to spend on other activities. Remember that in Pathfinder, a “traveling day” is 8 hours. So if you divide their total allotment of daily movement points by 8, you can determine how many movement points are spent during each hour of travel. From there you can easily figure out how much time they gain. For example, if you divide the human’s daily allotment of movement points, 24, by 8, you get 3. That’s 3 miles every hour. So if they have 3 movement points remaining, they have an extra hour to spend on tasks such as crafting, foraging for food, or researching spells.

Searching: A six mile hex is huge. A character could spend a week or more in the same hex without discovering everything there is to learn there. Every time they enter a hex, they see only a tiny fraction of what the hex has to offer. By spending one half of the movement points required to enter the hex, they can explore a roughly equivalent fraction of the hex. For example, a character entering a forest hex spends 8 movement points to make a beeline through the hex. If the party would also like to spend 4 more movement points in the hex (for a total of 12) then they can explore a little bit on their way through. They certainly won’t see everything, but they’ll earn themselves a second roll on the encounter table. Maybe they’ll find nothing, maybe they’ll encounter monsters, or maybe they’ll find something worth searching for. See below for more information on encounters.

That covers how the party’s movement through a hex crawl is handled, but how is it entertaining? At this point all we have is a mini game where the players point to a hex, and the GM tells them whether or not they have enough movement left, or whether they need to bed down for the evening. This is a structure, but without putting some meat on that structure, the whole thing ends up being completely monotonous, and players will leave. That’s where the final two elements of engaging travel come into play: survival, and encounters.

Surviving in the wilderness won’t be easy. First off, each party will need to rely on the survival check of one of its members. Each time a hex is entered, that player must make a survival check to avoid getting lost. If the character fails their survival check, then when the party attempts to move on to the next hex, the DM should roll 1d6 to determine which hex the party actually travels to. A roll of one means the party travels to the hex they intended to travel to (though they are still lost). Rolling a 2 indicates that the party travels to the hex one-space clockwise of their intended hex, rolling a 3 indicates they travel to the hex 2 spaces clockwise, etc. The party remains lost until their guide can succeed on a survival check upon entering a new hex. Items such as a compass or a map can help characters improve their survival checks to avoid getting lost. Once a character is an experienced enough traveler, their survival skill will likely rise high enough that becoming lost is no longer an issue.

Players will also need to monitor their rations in order to survive in the wilderness. If you’ve never forced players to keep track of their food supply before, now’s the time to start. Once the players run out of food 4 days into a 10 day journey, you’ll find they’re much more engaged in figuring out how to reach their destination before they die of starvation. Foraging and hunting are always options, but what if they can’t find anything? Will they eat their mounts? Will they eat…each other? That’s the fun! And don’t forget the elements. If the character’s journey takes place during the colder months, they may regret not spending the encumbrance points on those extra blankets when it begins to snow, and they start to freeze to death.

Lastly, there’s encounters. There are all types of encounters your players can have, which you can roll on a random chart. I won’t take the time to come up with a chart here, but I would say the chart should probably be about fifty percent “nothing,” which will allow the players to avoid getting bogged down in every single hex. The other half of the chart should be some combination of combat encounters, and ‘other.’ Other types of encounters can include walking in on a druidic ritual, finding the entrance to a random dungeon, coming upon a village of friendly or neutral wilderness dwellers, discovering a magic well, or any number of things you can come up with on your own. And for those times when combat encounters are rolled, there’s no need for them to be as boring as the standard “monsters appear” nonsense. Whose to say whether the monsters notice the players or not–or whether it’s a few monsters, or an entire village of them! Trollsmyth once posted an excellent chart which GMs could use to determine what monsters were doing when they were encountered. And don’t forget my Spicing Up the Battlemat series of posts to help make these combat encounters more interesting! (I really ought to do another of those. The last one was in December!)

As I’ve said a million times, keeping your players engaged is the number one duty of a game master. And whether want it to or not, travel is likely going to make up a large part of your game. You can either ignore it, or you can try to use it as another opportunity to challenge and entertain your players. After writing this post, I for one feel a lot more confident about running travel for my players in our upcoming game.

Why Hex Maps Need to Come Back

Above is a selection from the wilderness map created for “The Endless Stair,” a TSR module for 1st edition Dungeons and Dragons originally published in 1987. Prior to the release of third edition D&D by Wizards of the Coast, maps such as this were commonplace. With that release, for reasons unknown to me, Wizards of the Coast apparently thought it was best to completely sever the connection between D&D and the noble hexagon. As a tabletop role player who started with D&D 3.x, I spent a number of years vaguely aware that some people liked hexes, but had to context as to how they could be beneficial.

It was Trollsmyth’s superb series of hex mapping posts which finally drove home for me the importance of hex maps. They are not intended as a replacement for maps constructed using squares, but rather, are intended to supplement those maps in situations where squares are less appropriate. Squares work best for dungeons and other structures, where walls and rooms and corridors often snap neatly into a square grid anyway. In fact, the module I mentioned above, The Endless Stair, contains a number of dungeon maps printed on a square grid.

What hex maps are intended for is the outdoors. Squares have no place measuring nature. If any of my readers are old enough to have played the original Dragon Warrior game for the NES, they know what I mean. The game was great fun, but the squared-off overworld map looked silly even in those days of primitive technology. And while the righteous hexagon may not necessarily be a more ‘natural’ shape, it certainly approximates a natural shape more efficiently than its brutish cousin the square. Through the use of its two additional sides, the hexagon is more uniform in size than the square. The the distance between the center of a hex, and the center of any adjacent hex, is equal for all six sides. Whereas the square, with its 8 adjacent spaces, allows characters to travel much greater distances when moving diagonally than when moving up, down, left, or right. The only way to compensate for this extra distance is to penalize a character somehow for moving diagonally. And while this may be a simple matter on a small scale map (each space moved diagonally is counted as 1.5 spaces.), it becomes more difficult on a larger scale.

Which brings us to the next point regarding hexes: scale. Maps of dungeons or other areas which utilize squares are generally done on a small scale. The most common measurement is that 1 square is equal to 5 square feet. It’s simple, and when a room is only thirty feet square, it’s effective. However, wilderness travel require a larger scale by definition. No one in their right mind would try to map a forest, a mountain range, or a continent, in five-by-five foot increments. To even attempt it would be ludicrous. The standard size for a single hex on a wilderness map is six miles across from flat side to flat side. While a GM can use any scale he or she pleases, the six mile scale has a good balance. It’s small enough that overland travel can be measured in a meaningful way (with most characters being able to travel between 12 and 18 miles in a day), but large enough to allow a good sized continent to fit on a piece of 8 1/2 by 11 graph paper.

The largeness of a six mile hex comes with other benefits as well. At over 30 square miles*, it’s impossible for a party to fully explore every hex. They can mark down the primary terrain, and any items which they come across, but there will always be more. This means that even a hex which has already been explored can offer new challenges for players. From wandering monsters which they didn’t encounter the last time, to dungeon entrances, or perhaps an entire community or fortress which was 2 or 3 miles away from the route the party took last time they passed through. The blog “I Waste the Buddha With My Crossbow” has a great post which gives you an idea of just how large this scale is.

For all the arguments I can make demonstrating the benefits of hex maps, there’s one which I keep returning to time and again. An argument which, in my mind, is irrefutable proof that the D&D community needs to re-embrace hex mapping:

We don’t have anything better yet!

It baffles me why Wizards of the Coast would abandon a perfectly good system without at least attempting to provide a replacement for it. But they did nothing of the sort! Wilderness travel was downplayed significantly in 3.x, and that hasn’t been remedied in Pathfinder. On the rare occasion that wilderness maps are included in adventure modules, the best they can do is indicate scale with a measuring stick. Take a look at this map from one of my favorite D&D 3.5 modules, “The Standing Stone:”

What about this map is improved by the lack of a hex overlay? Nothing! Refusing to include an overlay of mighty hexagons forces the GM to add measuring tape to the already cluttered area behind the GM screen. And while it may be argued that the map is too small in scale for six-mile hexagons to be of use, I would reply that the map is perfectly scaled for three-mile hexagons. Wizards of the Coast had better options. Options which they chose to ignore for reasons I cannot even begin to guess at.

Hex maps provide us with the metric which makes world exploration possible. Without it, completely open-ended, sandbox exploration can seem like a daunting task to players and GMs alike. I know I certainly never had the guts to provide a world exploration game to my players before I learned about Hex mapping–despite being very proud of the maps I’d created! Nor have I ever been given much choice as a traveling player. Travel is always handled by indicating where I’m going, and then fading to black as I travel there. And you know what? That’s sad.

As the old saying goes: “The journey is more important than the destination.” Isn’t that the essence of an adventure?

*Yes, I am aware of the irony of using square miles as a measurement in a post decrying the use of squares as a unit of measure. Stop mocking me!