A new species of termite was discovered recently. That, in itself, is hardly news. New species are discovered all the time, and in fact, I recall hearing that there are many thousands of undocumented insect species in particular. But what makes this species worthy of note is that they explode. No, seriously. When the worker termites grow old, they can fill a cyst on their backs with toxic crystals which have been produced throughout their lifetime. Once the ‘backpack’ cyst is full, it bursts, killing both the termite, and any enemies unfortunate enough to be caught in range of his toxic explosive.
My first thought when I read about these was “Wow, all those video games with exploding insects suddenly have a lot more grounding in reality.”
The scientists who documented this find even released some brief video footage of the phenomena. It’s a little difficult to make out, and it only shows the cyst filling, not exploding. None the less, it’s a fascinating discovery, and one which prompted me to finally cover a subject which I’ve been thinking about for several months now.
Animals are strange. Exploding termites aren’t even the most bizarre creatures I’ve heard of. Did you know that many species of shark fight their siblings to death while still growing in their mother’s womb? Or that some species of hermaphroditic gastropods fight each other to determine which one of them has to be the female? And then there’s shit which just looks strange, like the soft shelled turtle. And for me, the strangest part about these creatures, is that I’ve never seen anything in a tabletop game based on them. The world is filled with potential monsters, all we need to do is make ’em big enough to eat an adventurer.
Angler Fish: I’ve linked before to The Oatmal’s excellent description of the life of a male angler fish, but I’m linking to it again, and if you haven’t read it, you should. Anglers are fascinating, and still very mysterious, creatures. You could base a dozen different monsters off of them, but here I’m specifically interested in the fact that the skin of the female absorbs the male, and uses his remains for reproduction. A Pathfinder monster could do the same thing. Except instead of luring the males of the monster’s species, the creature could instead lure male adventurers. Once their skin touches the monster’s flesh, the contact poison the beast secretes would begin to melt the adventurer, until nothing was left but his testicles. (Or, if you’d like to go more creepy and less vulgar, nothing is left but his expressionless face).
Speaking of angler fish, I just noticed…were they the inspiration for the modern design of the Beholder?
Traumatic Insemination: One of the most interesting things about animals is the way they have sex. Often that’s where the truly unique and bizarre aspects of an animal really come out. I’ve made an effort to avoid filling this list with dicks (which was not easy, let me tell you)! But this one has fascinated me for years, and it translates well to a game.
Essentially, many species of invertebrates do not have external female genitalia. Not even a Cloaca. So since there’s no opening, the male’s phallus makes one. It stabs the female in the abdomen with a sharp phallus, and that’s how insemination is handled. It’s gruesome, kinda disturbing, and a perfect way to fuck with your adventurers. I’m not saying your game should be filled with dagger-dicks (though I did once post a dick-dagger…) but why not have a prehensile blade extending from a monster’s chest, or back? The creature gets an extra attack with it, and upon scoring a critical hit, the monster implants a parasitic larva within the victim, a-la the Alien films.
The Almighty Squid Worm I really don’t have anything specific to say about this creature, or how it acts, or the abilities it has. But I marvel at it’s profoundly alien shape. These are the dreams of a mad god.
The Hagfish: Ocean life is often the most unusual. As humans, we’re at least somewhat familiar with what it’s like to live on land. Legs are a good way to get around, warmth is needed to keep our bodies functional, light is useful to help us understand our surroundings, and so on. Creatures which have adapted to living deep underwater need none of these things. And, as such, serve as perfect inspiration for game masters hoping to create interesting monsters.
The Hagfish is one such creature. For starters, it has a skull, but no column of vertebra. To my knowledge, it is the only known species where this occurs, and that is awesome. But far more interesting to potential monster-creators is its slime. Hagfish can exude insane amounts of slime which reacts with the water around it. If the Hagfish is captured, this slime can clog the gills of an attacking fish, suffocating it. And after it does so, the Hagfish needs to literally tie itself into a knot to clean itself off, restoring its own gill function.
Imagine a creature which could excrete goo which expanded into a foam capable of filling dungeon corridors. Or a giant hagfish which waited until adventurers tried to swim across its pool, only to quickly turn the water around it into a thick gooey substance which is impossible to swim through.
Elephants: A long time ago, Elephants captured the imaginations of the western world. They were huge, majestic, and interesting. And because of the way Elephants captured the imaginations of our ancestors, they had become ubiquitous by the time we were born. While we were growing up, we regularly saw elephants depicted in drawings and cartoons. Most of us even saw them up close at a zoo. I personally, find them somewhat boring.
Then I remember that they have a FUCKING THIRTEEN FOOT LONG, PREHENSILE NOSE. WHAT THE FUCK!?
It’s funny, actually, because I have a difficult time imagining a fantasy creature where such a thing doesn’t look goofy. Yet on an elephant it has a certain majesty, appearing almost regal.
Vampire Squid:Vampire is an acquired template which any intelligent creature can gain if their life force is completely drained by another vampire. But if a mer-person gains the vampiric template, surely they don’t turn into a vampire bat, right? So what do they turn into?
This:
Based on what I’ve read, the Vampire Squid is quite unique. Its order is somewhere between that of a squid and an octopus. It is almost entirely covered in a special organ called a Photophore, which can produce light. The creature can either use a quick flash to disorient attackers, or can sustain its light for several minutes at a time. The vampire squid’s “cape” is covered in spines which, while technically harmless, look quite dangerous. When threatened, it will turn its cape inside out, making itself appear larger, and covered in dangerous-looking spines.
This post could keep going on forever. There are hundreds and thousands of creatures with unusual anatomies or abilities ripe for use crafting monsters. I’m sure the subject will come up again in the future–though someone with a better grounding in biology would probably do a much better job than I can.
In the many years I’ve been a devotee of role playing games, I’ve very rarely had a chance to be a player. For the most part that’s fine by me. What initially drew me to the game was the mystique of the GM. He or she is master of the entire world, knows what’s behind every door, understands the desires of every NPC. I like playing that role, which is why I’ve spent almost a year of my life writing about it. None the less there’s something to be said for being a player. GMs never get to experience the game’s most exciting moments in the same way the players do, largely because the GM never faces any real struggle within the game. The player characters might live or die, but the world that the GM embodies is eternal.
I’ve played in perhaps a half dozen campaigns, the majority of which have used D&D 3.5. The most notable among these is the Zalekios game, which has lasted for the better part of a decade, and which I’ve written about several times. Until recently, only one person had ever GMed for me. We’re old friends, and after all these years we’ve got a rhythm going which is always a lot of fun when we get a chance to play together. Much as I enjoy my friend’s games, though, I’m excited to finally have an opportunity to broaden my horizons in my fellow blogger Brendan‘s Vaults of Pahvelorn game. He’s a fantastic game master, and I’ve already learned a lot after seeing his GM style from a player’s perspective.
The other night was our second game session. We had a new member in our group, and returned to the vault to continue our dungeon delving. It was a damned lot of fun, but I won’t bore you with the details. If you’re interested our fighter has already taken care of the session recap, but I’ll skip straight to the important part. The party encountered a number of undead, and eventually came upon a necromancer controlling them. There was a lot of scary stuff on the battlefield, so I didn’t think it was right for me to stay completely out of danger. My party needed me. My character, Margo, hefted a sledgehammer he’d brought along with him. I thought it would be particularly effective against the skeletons. He took a swing, and missed. In retaliation, the skeleton punched Margo in the face.
And that’s how Margo Waggletongue, first level Magic User, met his untimely end. The skeleton’s mighty punch was just too much for Margo’s measly 3HP. And after I failed my saving throw against death, it was all over. The party mourned, and I was already rolling stats to promote Margo’s squire, Higgins. The game went on. And here’s the part I hinted at in the title of this post; my shameful confession:
This is the first time any character of mine has ever died.
How did I feel? I was disappointed and sad! Margo Waggletongue was an awesome character, and I had a lot of plans for him. Like my serious in-game goals of building a tower someday, filling it with books, and being the most educated wizard in all of Pahvelorn. If this setting ended up with any kind of longevity, I wanted future players to encounter Margo the Archmage, and learn spells like “Margo’s Black Disk,” “Margo’s Floating Tentacle,” or “Margo’s Flinging Roof Tiles!” I had a lot of fun character traits I wanted to work into the character as well, such as the fact that his robe was literally just a blanket, or that he was a virgin. But none of that will ever happen, because he was punched in the face by a skeleton, and died. God damn, it was awesome.
Honestly, it was. I’m sad that all of my plans were foiled before they could ever get off the ground, but more than that, I’m exhilarated to know from personal experience just how dangerous this game world is. True, no young magic user will ever shout “Margo’s Floating Tentacle!” in the heat of battle, but if my next character does achieve success on that scale, then that success will be all the more meaningful because I will know I was always just a skeleton punch away from complete failure. And as it turns out, my new character, Higgins Dreadgrin, has an even higher intelligence score than his former master did, so I may not need to scrapall of my plans just yet.
I’ve written before about the importance, and the fun, of character death. But when I did so, I wrote it as a GM. I was drawing on what I’ve read, and what I’ve observed, and what non-tabletop experiences I could draw conclusions from. And now I reaffirm that statement with player experience to back it up: character death is fun. The game would be diminished without it.
By the way: welcome to all my new readers from the Penny Arcade Report. There has been quite an influx of you, and I hope you like what you’ve seen and choose to stick around for awhile.
During my recent Google+ game of OD&D with Brendan, one of my biggest surprises was how little the system surprised me. Prior to that game, the oldest form of Dungeons and Dragons I’d ever played was 3rd edition. So when I logged in to Google+, I thought I was about to encounter something unlike anything I’d ever played before. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent the last year reading OSR blogs, but the truth is, the game worked pretty much how I suspected it would. The mechanics were simpler than Pathfinder’s, but in exchange the game got off of the ground quickly and still had a lot of depth and action.
None the less, I have some things to consider. I’ve already mentioned how I was taken aback by the elegance of the initiative system we were using (which, as it turns out, is actually from Chainmail, not the OD&D booklets themselves). Today I’d like to briefly discuss something else which surprised me: how entertaining it can be to move at a snail’s pace.
If someone had told me a month ago that they’d played a 3-hour game where the party only investigated 5-ish rooms of a dungeon, I would have assumed the game was very boring. Unless those 5 rooms had an immense amount of things to do in them, I couldn’t have imagined enjoying an average of 36 minutes in each room. I was familiar with Game Masters who expected their players to treat every little thing as potentially lethal, and in fact I have a lot of respect for some of those game masters, I just didn’t think it was something I could enjoy myself.
Yet that’s exactly what we did, and I loved every minute of it. I not only prodded things that looked dangerous with my 10ft pole, I also detailed how I prodded them. When I opened the door, I didn’t say “I open the door with my 10ft pole.” I said “The door opens into this room, right? Alright, I stand 10ft away from the door, against the wall on the side with the hinges. Then I use the hook on my 10ft pole to latch onto the door handle and pull the door open.” I played that way because I was easy to hit, had 1hp, and didn’t want to die. And when I didn’t die, it felt like a god damned accomplishment.
I’ve been puzzling over why something which sounds so boring was so much fun, and I think the serious lethality of the game was a major factor. Most of the party had more survivability than I did*, but for my own part, any damage whatsoever would cause my death.** Finding ways to participate while still keeping myself relatively safe was a real challenge, and one I enjoyed. And as I said above, when the adventure was over and I had actually survived it, I felt special.
Another reason I think this style of play worked is that there were very few die rolls to speak of. The last time I ran a dungeon for my Pathfinder group, the rogue commented that he found checking for traps to be tedious. Rolling a D20, adding his modifier, comparing it to a number, over and over again. I talked about this and the problems with it way back in my skills overview. However, the other day was the first time I really saw the alternative in action, and it was beautiful. We only encountered a single trap—a pressure plate which activated a hidden crossbow—but we didn’t find it by rolling any dice. We found it because we said we walked around the room carefully, testing the ground with our 10ft poles as we went. Had I not done that, and found the body on the floor, I fully suspect Brendan would have shot me dead right there.
I also wonder if the simple process of character creation has anything to do with it. The characters were created almost entirely by rolling on tables, and my character sheet was literally written on an index card. Perhaps we were able to enjoy the lethality which necessitated our slow movement because we knew that even if we failed, and died, we could have our next character ready to go within minuets. In a game of Pathfinder, players have already invested so much in even level 1 characters, that a dungeon lethal enough to kill them in a single blow seems like an insane place to enter until much higher level.
It’s funny how something can sound extremely unpleasant until you actually give it a try. I don’t think this is something I could implement in a Pathfinder game. Player characters are too durable for a spike trap to terrify a Pathfinder Wizard anywhere near as much as it would terrify my OD&D Magic User. Still, I wonder if my players would enjoy this as much as I have. I may need to run an OD&D session or two sometime in the future!
*By ‘more survivability,’ I don’t mean much. Everybody started out by rolling 1d6 for their HP, with no bonuses to it based on constitution. On top of that, all weapons dealt 1d6 damage. So yes, any damage at all would kill me for sure. But any damage they took still had a potential to kill them as well. It’s not as though the fighter could be confident that he would be able to survive a few hits.
**I should note that my constitution is high enough that I am allowed to roll a saving throw to be unconscious, rather than dead. But that’s not exactly a safety net I want to rely on.
The other night, I participated in my very first OD&D game, played via Google+ with Brendan as the GM. I could be wrong, but I think Brendan may be only the second person to GM for me. He’s good, and the game went exceptionally well. One of the other players has already written a pretty thorough recap of the game, so I won’t go into too much detail. Suffice to say that I have thus far made a good account of myself, considering that I’m easy to hit, have only 1 HP, and can prepare only a single spell per day. Instead, I’d like to focus on system analysis, specifically with regards to initiative.
In Pathfinder, initiative is mechanically simple. At the start of combat, following any surprise round, each participant in the combat rolls a twenty sided die. They then add their dexterity modifier to the number they rolled, and each of the battle’s participants are ranked. They then begin taking turns in descending order of initiative. There are ways to gain an additional boost, or a penalty, to your initiative, but that’s the system in a nutshell. The mechanic is quite simple.
In OD&D, initiative is handled en masse. The battle’s participants are divided into groups (usually consisting of “the players” and “the stuff which wants to hurt the players.”) Each ‘side’ of the encounter then rolls a single six sided die. Whoever wins the roll is allowed to take their actions first, along with everyone else on their side. Once the winner’s turn is over, the other side takes their turn. Following that, initiative is rolled again to determine which side will go first in the next round.
There seems to be an excessive amount of computation involved in determining the order of combat.
A comment which I now find rather ironic.
The problem is that while Pathfinder’s initiative mechanic is simple, it is not elegant. When my entire game group is all able to get together, I’ve got six players. Even the simplest encounter must include at least one foe for them to face, so that’s a total of seven initiatives to track at a minimum. When I ask for an initiative roll, I need to quickly write down the names and numbers of each person. This is often an awkward task, since I can’t write even simple initials as fast as my players are able to recite their initiative scores to me, and at some point I need to roll and record the initiative for the bad guys as well. Going through this arduous process isn’t just annoying for me, it’s damaging to the player’s experience as well. Deciding to fight an enemy is an exciting moment in gameplay, but when the group spends 30-60 seconds rolling and recording initiative, some of that excitement is drained.
That’s not even the end of it, because once initiative in Pathfinder has been recorded, it must betracked.Since it’s impossible to have the initiative order written down linearly (unless you want to re-write it after initially recording it, thus wasting more time) you need to bounce around on your list and do your best not to skip anybody. The best method I’ve come up with is to quickly draw a “bouncing line” between names on the list. But even this is a pretty hit-and-miss technique.
Comedic overstatement aside, these complaints are not what I would call game-breaking. Until recently, I would have even called them necessary evils. Evils which, frustrating as they may be, are minor in comparison with the benefits the system provides. Using Pathfinder’s initiative, players and player foes get mixed together in the combat order, creating an interesting and chaotic effect for battle. Additionally, it allows for individual characters to be particularly good, or particularly bad, at leaping into a fight. Rogues can move in quickly to attack before their foes are prepared, while a character who used dexterity as a dump stat is forced to deal with the consequences of that choice. Plus, it adds structure to the tactical combat, and I like tactical combat. There’s a lot of good to be said about how the system works.
By comparison, OD&D’s initiative mechanic sounds not only chaotic, but intrusive. At least with Pathfinder, order is determined at the start of combat, after which it only need to be referenced. Plus, when rolling as a group, how does one determine who in the group goes first? It all sounds pretty sketchy in theory.
In practice, however, OD&D’s initiative is simple, and surprisingly intuitive. Who goes first when the player group has initiative? Well…whoever feels like going first, that’s who. I can see how that question might pose a problem if you were running a game for children, but we’re all adults. We’ve stood in lines, waited at traffic lights, and given our bus seats to old ladies. We know how to be gracious, particularly when it doesn’t really matter who goes first. In function, the person who went first was whoever had an idea they were excited to try out. It even turned out to be a large benefit, since one of our players had never played the game before. He was able to wait until last during each round until he gained some confidence in how the game was played.
And since rolling for initiative is so simple, (a single opposed D6 roll, no modifiers), re-rolling it each round didn’t intrude on gameplay at all. If anything, it enhanced the excitement of combat. Remember above how I mentioned that Pathfinder’s initiative allows friends and foes to be mixed in the combat order, which makes things a little chaotic and exciting? That effect is enhanced when either you or your enemies might be able to take two turns in a row!
The system isn’t flawless. For example, I’m pretty sure there was a round or two where a PCs took an extra action than they should have, or no action at all. And as an avid player of rogues, I would be pretty disappointed to permanently shift to a system where I couldn’t jump the initiative order by a significant margin. But these are minor complaints. The bottom line is that OD&D’s initiative mechanic is better than Pathfinder’s. As such, I propose the following amendment to Pathfinder’s rules:
Initiative: At the start of combat, separate each of the battle’s participants into groups based on affiliation. (Most battles will be between two groups, but some battles may be between three or more). The member of each group who has the highest initiative modifier rolls 1d20 and adds their initiative modifier. The members of the group which rolled highest take their actions first, followed by the other groups in descending order of initiative.
Once everyone has taken a turn, initiative is re-rolled, again by the group member with the highest initiative modifier. The process repeats itself until combat has concluded.
I considered adding a few other mechanics in there, such as players with the Improved Initiative feat being moved into a separate group, or an incremental decrease in initiative bonuses as the combat goes on. But I think stuff like that would just complicate an otherwise simple mechanic, without adding anything of value to it. Though I might later amend the rule so that initiative bonuses only count during the first round.
I think this should serve as a good compromise between the two systems, and look forward to using it. Though I doubt I’ll be springing it on my current group just yet. I think they get a little confused by my constant re-tooling of the game’s mechanics.
I don’t know about you, but I really enjoyed my post from a couple weeks back about adapting the magic systems from Final Fantasy games to work in tabletop. As you may have noticed, I’ve been giving a lot of my attention to video games for the past few weeks. And while this is strictly a tabletop blog, it’s always more fun to write when I can write about something which is already on my mind, as opposed to trying to force myself to write about something I’m not really interested in at the moment. When I try to force it like that, I just end up doing a half-assed job. Besides: combining tho relatively unrelated things is always a great way to come up with some creative ideas.
I’ve always been a fan of the Zelda games published by Nintendo. And while I lost interest in new titles after literally falling asleep during the endless sailing of Wind Waker, I still regularly go back to re-play the games published before that. And the best among those, as well as my personal favorite game of all time, the The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. I could go on for pages about why this game is so good (and I’m pretty sure I have) but that’s all beside the point. Like most Zelda games, A Link to the Past contains a multitude of items which the player must collect in order to complete their quest. Some are pretty standard fare, while others are so unusual that they never really showed up again in later Zelda games.
I’ve always wanted to play a Zelda themed tabletop game, but never really encountered a group that would be right for it, or a system which would fit it well. (Though I am aware of the D20 Zelda system). None the less, there’s no reason elements from the games can’t find their way into your Pathfinder or D&D campaign!
The bow and arrow are kind of a weak start to this post, since they’re already pretty standard fare in fantasy adventure games. However, in LttP, the player must eventually acquire silver arrows. These are significantly more powerful (equivalent to about two or three times the damage of normal arrows, if I recall) and are required if you wish to defeat the game’s final boss. The idea of a creature which is immune to anything but a certain kind of arrow is interesting. But, I’ll grant you, not particularly special.
Now this is a little more interesting. Boomerangs are a fascinating and exotic weapon which I don’t think I’ve ever seen in a tabletop game before. And while its real-world use is far less impressive than the fantastical variations found in anime and video games, the mundane item is none the less worth thinking about on its own. With regards to the boomerangs specifically show in A Link to the Past, however, they were primarily used for two things. First, when they struck one of the game’s bad guys, the character would normally freeze in place for a few moments, unless it was particularly powerful. Secondly, the boomerang could be used to retrieve items which were out of reach.
That second use might be a little too video-game-y for a tabletop game, but a “Boomerang of Freezing” or “Boomerang of Time Stop” could be a really fun item to give to your PCs. It would allow them to dispose of enemies in a much stealthier manner if they can be quick about it, or could provide an important edge during a large combat. The only thing I would change is that, like a real boomerang, this one shouldn’t return to the wielder if it hits something.
This is probably the single most peculiar item which appears in LttP. None the less it has gone on to become one of the most iconic tools in Link’s inventory throughout the series: the hookshot. In its function its pretty simple; you hold onto the handle with one hand, and can fire a heavy-duty spearhead attached to a chain from one end. The spearhead lodges itself in wood, and some other surfaces, and the chain then retracts, pulling you towards whatever object you hooked on to. It was a lot of fun to use in the game, and was probably the only fantastical item which was mechanical, rather than magical.
In a tabletop game, I don’t think this has quite as much potential. Firstly, the nature of a tabletop game doesn’t really allow for Zelda-style puzzle solving, which is largely what the hookshot was used for. Secondly, while it could certainly still be used as a climbing implement, I think players would probably have some questions about how it works. If the spearhead is buried deep enough into a surface that it can support a character’s weight, then how is the character ever able to remove it?
Maybe that problem could be solved by replacing the spearhead with a magical adhesive which comes un-stuck with a command word? If that was the case, then this could be a game-changing item for low level characters. It’s almost as potent as a fly spell for avoiding obstacles. They could use it to scale walls, cover gaps, easily hide on ceilings, and so much more! Though perhaps a ‘grip’ mechanic would be in order. Something like they can only hold on to it for a number of minutes equal to their strength modifier?
I’m funny when it comes to gunpowder in my campaigns. For the most part, I prefer to avoid guns. I’m sure it can be done very well, but it takes away from my preferred flavor of gameplay. Despite that, I have no problem with cannons, or explosive devices like bombs. I like the idea that a major city might have one or two people in it who make explosive devices, and sell them at a high price. Players would have a difficult time carrying more than a few at a time, but if they could get them into a strategic location, they could blast their way through a dungeon wall, or obliterate a powerful monster.
The magic dust was a bizarre little item. Functionally, it was really only needed once in the entire game, as part of a little side-quest to halve the amount of magic each of your spells consumed. But it also transformed some of your enemies into different kinds of creatures, making them much less dangerous, or even helpful! And that sounds like a blast to me. The players find a small leather pouch which appears to be filled with glitter. Anytime a handful is sprinkled on something, the GM comes up with a random, wacky effect. And after a few handfuls, the pouch is empty, preventing it from becoming over-used.
A rod which shoots fire from it is just about the most mundane magical item I can imagine. But when I think about the Rod of Fire in LttP, I realize that its primary function wasn’t in combat. More than anything else, it was used to light torches, and that I find interesting. What if a fantasy adventure game had a Rod of Fire which was able to shoot a ball of non-magical fire up to a great distance. Maybe 60 feet. If this fire struck an enemy, the damage it dealt would probably be minimal. The primary use of such a rod would be lighting something flammable, like a pool of oil, or a thatched roof cottage. Because of its limited function, it could have more uses than we’d normally allow with a similar item. Perhaps 10 uses per day, or 20, or even an unlimited number.
The ice rod in A Link to the Past is (obviously) very similar to the fire rod. So I see no reason why it shouldn’t be converted in the same way. It shoots a blast of freezing air up to 60ft, and covers anything it touches with a layer of ice. The trick with this is that it might be far more useful, or far less useful, than the fire rod, depending on what the GM wants ‘a layer of ice’ to mean. If it can actually freeze an enemy solid, then it should probably have more limited usage than the rod of fire. If its not powerful enough for that, but could instead be used to trip an enemy on a ice-slicked floor, then it could have unlimited uses as with the above.
Um…I’m not really sure what to do with this one. Or with any of the medallions, actually. They cause some extremely powerful magical effects. In the game, the Bombos medallion causes a pillar of fire to spiral outwards from your character, followed by dozens of explosions which kill absolutely everything on the screen. If I were to include these three medallions in a game, I think the only way to do it would be to boost their power way up, but make them extremely difficult to use–and probably more likely to be in the hands of a villain. The Bombos Medallion, for example, can only be used during a lunar eclipse. It causes a pillar of fire to descend from the sky, and spiral outwards from the location of the caster until the end of the eclipse. Its destructive force could easily level a city. This is the hydrogen bomb of a fantasy world.
Interestingly, the Bombos medallion is the only one which actually has a powerful effect. The other two medallions have impressive animations, but are functionally single-use items, which are needed to enter certain dungeons in the game. When you use the Ether medallion, lightning comes down from the sky to strike your sword, and a dozen orbs of light start to spin around your character. In the game, all this does is allow you to is illuminate invisible walkways. It also opens the entrance to Misery Mire, but that’s not very easy to translate.
In a tabletop game, the Ether medallion can only be used during a solar eclipse. It creates 12 balls of light which can be moved only by someone holding the Ether medallion. These balls of light are permanent creations, and can never be unmade. The light they emit functions as a True Seeing spell, destroying any illusions or invisibility spells which may exist in the area.
In the game, this is even less useful than the Ether Medallion. It literally has only one function: opening the entrance to the Turtle Rock dungeon. Given the fact that it not only causes a massive earthquake, but also creates lightning which arcs across the ground, I am not sure why this item doesn’t harm enemies. Well fuck that, we’re changing it.
The Quake Medallion can only be used when all of the planets are aligned. When this happens, the wielder can create a titanic earthquake which will devastate the landscape, and cause one major geological shift. By exerting a great force of will, the wielder can attempt to control what form this geological shift will take. Perhaps a towering mountain range will rise from the earth, or a dizzying crevasse will open at the wielder’s feet. Truly powerful wielders could even use it to create a permanent intersection with the elemental plane of earth.
Truth be told, in the game, the only use for the ‘magic’ hammer is to pound in giant pegs which block your path. I guess they must be ‘magic’ pegs, which nobody can climb over. I can’t think of a good way to convert this to a tabletop gaming system, but there’s no reason to ignore the idea of a magic hammer. It’s a cool idea. Just use it to smash walls, or giant rocks, rather than pegs.
While the Ocarina would come to play a central role in the Nintendo 64 Zelda games, in A Link to the Past, it was a pretty minor item. After the player completed a relatively simple side quest, the flute could be used to summon a miraculously strong duck which could whisk Link to a number of set locations on the world map. While that, again, is pretty video-game-y, I think the idea of a musical instrument which summons animal companions has a lot of potential. Not only is it flavorful, but it has the potential to grow more useful over time. Lets say that the flute has a simple song inscribed on it, which will summon a horse for the character to ride. But if the character decides to invest more time in the instrument, he can discover other songs which summon other types of animals to come to his or her aide.
The hammer is an ostensibly magical item which turns out to be pretty mundane in function. The opposite is true of the bug catching net. Supposedly it’s just a mundane net, owned by a kid who likes to study insects. But clearly it’s quite a bit more than that, since it can be used to deflect balls of magical death fired at you from sorcerers.
No, seriously.
While I don’t see that being really useful in a tabletop game, one of its other uses in LttP was catching faeries. In the game these are used as an ‘extra life,’ but in a tabletop game their use could be more grounded. Perhaps faeries are required to cast a single spell for anyone who captures them? Could be a fun alternative to always telling your players that they need to find a wizard.
I’ve already written absofuckinglutely extensively about language, so I won’t return to that concept here. The Book of Mudora allows Link to read tablets written in ancient Hylian, which often causes a big effect. Since it apparently magically allows him to read a different language, what about a book which does that same thing? Either the book allows the wielder to read one specific language, or all languages. It functions by touching the book to a sample of writing which you would like to read, then opening the book. Whatever page you open to will have that same writing on it, but you will magically be able to read it.
While the Hookshot is definitely the most peculiar item to appear in A Link to the Past, I think The Cane of Somoria is probably the most interesting. At least in terms of its potential tabletop applications. Using the cane creates a block, very much like a standard stone block which might be found in numerous locations throughout the game. The block can be pushed around, or even picked up and thrown. Only one block can be created at a time, but if the cane is used while a block is already created, the block is destroyed, sending blasts of energy in four directions.
Now, a tabletop game is never going to be able to support puzzles the way a zelda game can. Putting blocks on top of buttons, or pushing blocks around so you can use them to climb, is simply not interesting in a tabletop game. But that doesn’t matter, because the ability to create a block out of nothing is both strange, and useful. Players could find a multitude of applications for it, even if you were to remove the ability to cause the block to explode. Though, regarding that, I think perhaps instead of beams of energy, the exploding block should simply send shrapnel 10ft in all directions.
The Cane of Byrna is, unfortunately, not as interesting as its red counterpart. At the cost of rapidly draining your magical energy, it makes you invulnerable to any kind of damage. I suppose the best way to adapt this for tabletop would be to make it usable only by casters. Upon using it, they become invulnerable to any kind of damage for 1 minute, at the cost of the top half of their remaining spellcasting ability for the day. As an example, if a Wizard has three 1st level spells and one 2nd level spell remaining for the day, they lose their second level spell, and one 1st level spell of the GM’s choosing.
If I had to give A Link to the Past one criticism, it would be that some of the items should have been more useful, and had less overlap. Functionally, the Magic Cape is identical to the Cane of Byrna. It drains magic extremely quickly, and in turn makes you invulnerable. The only difference is that it also makes you invisible, and allows you to pass through a certain kind of in-game hazard called a ‘bumper.’
Capes of invisibility, or capes which allow you to pass through walls, are hardly ideas foreign to fantasy adventure games. I have nothing of value to add.
The Magic Mirror was part of the game’s central mechanic. In order to work properly in a tabletop game, the entire campaign would need to be designed around it. (Or, at least, the entire adventure where the mirror was featured). Essentially, A Link to the Past had two similar world maps: the ‘Light World’ which was the game’s primary setting, and the ‘Dark World’ which had been corrupted by the villain. Many of the game’s puzzles involved strategically traveling between the two worlds, which the mirror allowed the player to do–though only in one direction, from the dark world to the light one.
I think it would be really fun to build an entire campaign around the concept. Have an alternate universe where everything is much worse. For example, in the game’s main world, a dragon is attempting to destroy the kingdom. The same is happening in the dark world, but on top of it, the king is a tyrant. The players could find a way to gain audience with the goodly king, then use the mirror in his throne room to change realms, and take the tyrant by surprise!
Again, tabletop games are not well suited to Zelda style puzzles. So you can’t have a ton of rooms in your dungeon where the players must use their shields to reflect a beam of light onto the right spot. However, in LttP, the mirror shield is largely used to deflect lasers, which got me thinking: what about a shield which can ‘bounce’ a spell back at the caster?
It couldn’t work 100% of the time, of course. The wielder would need to identify that a spell was being cast, and they’d need to get between the caster and the target for it to work. And perhaps the shield would only work 1-5 times per day. But it could be a very interesting magical item for a party to have. Fighting an evoker? No problem, bounce those fireballs right back. Doing battle with a necromancer? Bang, she just finger-of-death’d herself.
The Pegasus boots allow link to charge up, and dash quickly in a straight line, which is a little more interesting than boots which simply make you move more quickly. Perhaps these boots could double the effectiveness of a character’s charging maneuvers?
Note that the power glove (lol, obscure product placement?) doesn’t necessarily increase Link’s carrying capacity, only what he can lift. I find that much more interesting. Sure, with enough bags of holding, encumbrance stops being a problem for players. But they can still only lift so much weight. But with these amazing gloves, they could lift boulders equal to four times their weight! That would be pretty cool.
This post ended up going on for far longer than I intended, so I’ll wrap it up quickly here. I will note that there are a handful of items I skipped because I honestly can’t think of anything to say about them. I mean…the lantern? Whoop-de-doo. It’s a lantern. They cost 2 silver pieces and are part of most adventurer’s starting gear. But if you can come up with a neat way to adapt the lantern, or the jars, or the flippers, etc. to a tabletop game, leave it in the comments! Or if you’ve got a better idea of how to adapt one of the items listed above, leave that too!
EDIT: Oh, holy shit, this is my 200th post. Go me!
For the past few weeks, my mind has been wandering. Other projects and hobbies have been pulling at my attention, and I’ve devoted much less of my time to tabletop than I normally do. Aside from installing new shelving and reorganizing my apartment, I’ve enjoyed several evening spent playing Cthulhu Saves the World. It’s a game created in the style of classic 16-bit RPGs like Chrono Trigger, Secret of Mana, and of course, the Final Fantasies 4 through 6. It celebrates their artistic style and gameplay, while incorporating new ideas to improve upon the failings of those older games. The whole thing is very ‘Old-School Renaissance’ in its style.
Playing this game over the past week or so has got me thinking about the games I wasted my youth on, and the Final Fantasy series in particular. I know it’s the hip thing to pretend we all hate the Final Fantasy series for one reason or another. But I’ve never been very hip. Partially because I still use terms like ‘hip.’ The Final Fantasy series has always fascinated me, particularly the way that each game starts largely from scratch. The series does have a formula, and a number of traditional elements which show up in each game, but each installment in the series always tries something new. The magic system for each game is an area where this is particularly evident.
Magic systems in tabletop games also fascinate me. Perhaps because magic has no real-world analog, it’s much easier to be creative about how magic is accessed by characters in a game world. So while my mind is adrift, I thought I’d use this post to examine the magic systems in the first 10 Final Fantasy games. Specifically with regards to how adaptable they might be to a tabletop gaming system. Let me be perfectly clear: most of these will probably not translate well to a tabletop system. This is intended primarily as a thought experiment, and not as a serious attempt at game design.
Final Fantasy: In the first game of the Final Fantasy series, players must choose four classes to make up their party. Among the available classes are a few different types of mages, which can each learn a different array of spells. Most towns in this game’s world have a white (healing/protection) and black (offensive) magic shop, where spells can be purchased and taught to members of the appropriate mage class.
This idea would adapt easily to a tabletop game, you wouldn’t even need to change anything about it. All you need to do is come up with prices for spells, and roll some random inventories for shops. The only potential problem I see with allowing players to access magic this way is that PCs often become ludicrously wealthy, and might be able to purchase all the spells they want. But that could be easily handled by restricting what spells are available, and pricing spells so as to drain your player’s coin purses.
I could honestly see myself using a system like this.
Final Fantasy II: Spells in Final Fantasy II were purchased in much the same way they were in the original game. However, they could be taught to any character in the party, as opposed to only those who were mages. Most games in the series would follow suit, allowing any character to learn spells. Additionally, only basic spells were available for purchase, and the spells ‘leveled up’ separately from the character, based on how frequently they were used.
This is not as simple to convert to a tabletop format. Tracking the level of multiple spells implies a lot of bookkeeping on the player’s part. More bookkeeping than I think most players would enjoy. Though, perhaps, a system could be set up where all of a magic user’s spells start at a basic level. Each time the character levels up, they can select a certain number of spells in their repertoire (perhaps equal to their relevant spellcasting ability modifier) to ‘level up’ with them. Assuming this number remains relatively static, the player is given an interesting choice: would they like to have only a few very powerful spells, or a larger number of moderately powerful spells?
Final Fantasy III: I must be honest, I did not play this game past the opening, and thus don’t have any personal experience with the magic system. My understanding is that spells were learned by characters of magic-using classes as they leveled up. I believe characters were able to change their class, but aside from that, this isn’t particularly unusual. So I won’t expound on it further.
Final Fantasy IV: Unlike Final Fantasy III, this game stands as one of my favorites in the entire series. I’ve played through it several times, and every time I cheer when Cecil becomes a paladin, and get teary eyed when Edward crawls from his sickbed to save his friends. I even adapted the game’s Dwarven Tanks for use in Pathfinder. However, the magic system is very dry. Characters who can cast spells learn them at per-determined levels (or, occasionally, during story events). It works well enough in a video game, but in a tabletop game it would just be boring.
That being said, one of these days I will grant a character the ‘Meteo’ spell during a dramatic moment, just for kicks.
Final Fantasy V: The fifth game in the series was focused on multiclassing, and it was pretty complicated. So complicated, in fact, that it was intentionally never released in North America because it was assumed American gamers would not be smart enough to understand it. There were a large number of classes to choose from, and characters could switch between them easily. Anytime a character’s class was changed, the player could select one ability from another class which they could continue to use. So if, for example, you chose to level a character in the Black Mage and White Mage classes, then when the character was a Black Mage, you could give them the ‘White Magic’ ability. The game had a vast array of different magic using classes, which might be compared to the different magical schools of a game like Pathfinder. Often these different casting classes learned their spells in different ways, and those spells had vastly different effects.
Consider Pathfinder’s various magical schools. Abjuration, Conjuration, Evocation, Necromancy, etc. What if a system forced you to specialize in one of these schools, and when specialized, you could only cast spells from that school? However, once you attained a certain level of mastery in that school (lets say, Necromancy), you could begin studying a secondary school (lets say, Enchantment). While studying the Enchantment school, you would still be able to cast Necromancy spells. However, the maximum level of spell you could cast would be reduced by half.
So a Necromancer able to cast 8th level Necromancy spells could then begin to study Enchantment, and learn to cast 1st level Enchantment spells, but he could not cast any Necromancy spell above 4th level. I suppose the character could go on learning as many new schools as the player wanted, but they would only ever be able to cast from two schools at a time: the school they were currently learning, and one other school they already know, reduced by half. As a flavor explanation, perhaps the caster needs to carry a gem of a certain type in order to access each school, and the gems interfere with each other when in close proximity.
Having written that out, I don’t know how interested I would be in playing such a system, but it’s an interesting idea none the less. Maybe if the exact numbers were played with a bit, it could be made more serviceable for a tabletop environment.
Final Fantasy VI: This game is, in my opinion, the best in the series, and its magic system represents that. The world of FFVI is one of technology, but early in the game the characters are introduced to Espers. Espers are magical beings from another world, many of whom have been killed by the villains of the character’s world. By equipping ‘Magicite,’ which are stones left behind when an Esper dies, the characters can gradually learn spells associated with that Esper as they defeat monsters and gain exp, and retains these spells even when a different magicite is equipped. Additionally, characters can summon the spirits of their deceased Esper to aid them in battle occasionally. Though, unlike spells, this ability does not stay when the character switches to a different magicite.
Despite the apparent complexity of the system, I think it would translate easily to a tabletop environment. Every magic user would have a necklace, or a ring, or some other device where they could mount a magical stone. These stones would be the remains of powerful magical beings that introduced magic to the world. Each magic user would start with one, but after that they would need to obtain them through adventuring. Only one stone can be used at a time, and the stone which is being used grants the magic user access to a magical ability.
Each time the magic user levels, they gain spells (and other abilities, perhaps) based on the stone they currently have equipped. But each stone only has enough magic in it to support perhaps one or two levels of advancement. So it is important for magic users to seek out new stones, so they can continue to advance in power.
The cool thing about this system is that it is not only flavorful, but could have interesting game effects. Magic users would be desperate to never advance a level without possessing a stone they could learn from. If the GM chose to make such stones scarce, the search for them would drive every magic user to take risks in the pursuit of them. The system could certainly use a lot of polish, but I think this could be fun to use.
Final Fantasy VII: Seven attempted to give magic a bit of a scientific twist with its Materia system. Materia are gems formed within the earth which allow characters to access unusual abilities, such as summoning blasts of fire, healing wounds, etc. Each materia starts out weak, but gains its own kind of experience over time. Materia slowly level up, and can give characters access to more powerful effects. What is interesting about this system is that materia can always be traded between characters. So if a character starts with a “fire” materia which can barely conjure a spark, but levels it up until it can summon a conflagration, they can easily hand that materia over to someone else and allow that character to summon a conflagration.
Essentially, this is a system with no magic users. Everything is handled by naturally formed magic items, which level up over time. If you wanted to run this, you could just adapt Paul’s magic item leveling rules and run with it. Surprisingly simple.
Final Fantasy VIII: This was the pinnacle of the series’ complexity, and for the record, I loved it. Each character was able to use a turn during battle to ‘draw’ spells from the enemy creatures, and spells were treated as a shared resource between everyone in the group, with a max number of 100 per each type of spell. The spells could then be ‘junctioned’ to an individual character’s various statistics, giving that statistic some property of the spell it was juncitoned to, with an effect proportional to the number of spells of that type. So if you junctioned 10 “fire” spells to your attack, then your attacks would deal a small amount of elemental damage. Whereas if you junctioned 100 fire spells, your attacks would be entirely elemental in nature.
I honestly don’t think this system has any chance of being adapted for tabletop. Not unless everyone at your table is much better at doing mathematical caluclations than I am.
Final Fantasy IX: While I did play Final Fantasy IX a great deal, I find it very difficult to remember how the game’s magic system worked. From what I’ve read online, it seems as though it was very similar to the Esper system of FFVI, where players learn spells by equipping an item. The primary difference being that abilities are learned from items such armor and weapons, rather than the remains of magical creatures.
Like Final Fantasy VII’s system, I think this would work best in a game with no magic users. Where every character has the potential to learn spells as they level up. Finding a magic suit of armor would offer characters more than just additional protection. If they found it and wore it until they leveled up, then they could permanently learn a spell such as Cure or Magic Shield.
Final Fantasy X: The sphere grid. This was a huge deviation from leveling systems we’d seen before in the series. Truth be told, I’ve never seen anything quite like it, before or since.
Every character starts at a predetermined location on a massive, interconnected grid. Characters gain levels very quickly, and each time a character levels, they can spend that level to move themselves one ‘space’ along the grid’s paths. Each space has a single ability or attribute bonus on it which the character can learn.
The interesting thing about the system is that it simultaneously established characters as certain Archetypes (Lulu, pictured left, is a Black Mage) but at the same time allowed each character to develop in any way the player desired. As an example, Lulu’s starting location on the grid is surrounded by Black Mage abilities; spells, extra magic power, and so on. But if the player so chooses, they can gradually move Lulu out of the Black Mage area of the grid, and into the White Mage, or Warrior areas.
If we were adapting this for a tabletop game, I think the first step would be to drop everything but spells from the grid. Using a system like this for for general character advancement would be both too complicated, and too limiting for a tabletop RPG. But if the entire grid is nothing but spells, it could be a very interesting way of representing a magic user’s advancement and specialization. Instead of different areas of the grid representing different classes, they could represent different schools of magic. Players would need to select a starting spot in one of the enchantments, and spend their first few levels learning spells from that school. But as they moved through the sphere grid, they could guide their progress towards secondary, and tertiary schools.
The only downside I can see is that it would be next to impossible to model the system at the table. In order to track a character’s progress along the grid, it needs to be small enough for each player to have a copy, which means it would need to fit on an 8.5″ x 11″ sheet of paper, or thereabouts. Perhaps each space on the grid could be three spells, instead of only one?
Final Fantasy X+: When it was announced that Final Fantasy XI would be an MMO, I lost interest in the series. The god-awful failure that was Final Fantasy X-2 only solidified that feeling for me. I haven’t played any of the games since X, and cannot make an honest attempt to adapt magic systems I don’t know.
Let me know if you have any thoughts. This is just random brainstorming for me, so input would be fun.
In April, after watching some people play a board game called Small World for the first time, I was struck by what I considered to be a pretty novel idea. What if a character’s race, and a character’s class directly affected one another? Rather than having the two be mutually exclusive like some games have done in the past, or having them be completely independent from one another as some modern games do, what if there was a middle ground? I wrote a detailed post on the idea, which I titled A Twist on Race as Class. The idea is thoroughly explained there, so I won’t recap it any further here. If you haven’t read that post, it may help you understand where I’m coming from with this one.
I recently noticed that I have a lot of posts–such as that one–which deal with ideas and theory. That’s because I like ideas a lot! (I did major in philosophy, after all). But it becomes problematic when those ideas are never put into practice. I have a bad habit of thinking that once I’ve satisfactorily expressed an idea, I can set it aside and move on to something new. (Again: philosophy major). The truth is, though, that ideas don’t have a lot of value if you don’t follow through with them. So this is me attempting to build on my ideas. For the twist on race as class, I figure my first step is to draft a very simplified version of the system, and see if I can root out its flaws.
For this experiment, I’ve created four classes: Fighter, Wizard, Cleric, and Rogue. They each progress through five levels, and have abilities that are a cross between what you’d find in Pathfinder, and what you’d find in an oldschool game like first edition D&D. They are not what you would call ‘fleshed out,’ but they don’t need to be. They exist to provide a framework, not to be playable.
Fighter
1st level: Select a combat bonus. 2nd level: Select a combat bonus. 3rd level: Select a combat bonus. 4th level: Select a combat bonus. 5th level: Select a combat bonus.
Wizard
1st level: Ability to cast 4 first level spells. May select a specialization school, must select one ‘banned’ school which can never be cast from. 2nd level: Can summon a familiar. Ability to cast 5 first level spells. 3rd level: Ability to cast 2 second level spells, and 5 first level spells. 4th level: Ability to cast 3 second level spells, and 5 first level spells. 5th level: Ability to cast 2 third level spells, 4 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.
Cleric
1st level: Ability to cast 4 first level spells. 2nd level: Ability to turn evil. Able to cast 5 first level spells. 3rd level: Ability to cast 2 second level spells, and 5 first level spells. 4th level: Ability to cast 3 second level spells, and 5 first level spells. 5th level: Ability to cast 2 third level spells, 4 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.
Rogue
1st level: Move silently in any environment. 2nd level: Able to pick locks and disable traps. 3rd level: Can hide in shadows. 4th level: Able to climb sheer surfaces. 5th level: Backstab.
As I said above, none of this is fancy or well balanced. Though, I must confess, I am kind of in love with the idea of a rogue gradually gaining all of their sneaking abilities before they learn how to backstab. Teaches newbie rogues how to play correctly!
To combine with these four classes are three races: Human, Elf, and Dwarf. Again, little to no attempt has been made to balance these abilities, but I did make sure to utilize meaning-first design for each of them. My goal was first to envision what a paragon member of each race/class combination would be like, and then to design towards that. For example, an elven fighter is never going to be a brutish, axe wielding warrior. But elven grace lends itself well to a more refined fighting style. In some cases this was difficult, such as with the dwarven wizard, but I’m relatively happy with what I came up with there.
Elf (Medium creature, 30ft base land speed, Enhanced Hearing, Enhanced Sight)
Fighter
1st level: +2 Dexterity 3rd level: When using a ranged weapon, the range increments of that weapon are increased by 50% 5th level: The critical range of light weapons (such as a rapier) is widened by 1.
Wizard
1st level: +2 Intelligence. 3rd level: Able to cast one additional spell of each spell level known. 5th level: If a specialty school was selected, that school now casts as if the character were one level higher than they are. If no specialty school was selected, select any one school of magic to receive this bonus.
Cleric
1st level: +2 Wisdom 3rd level: Healing spells have their effects doubled in a forest environment. 5th level: A number of times per day equal to the character’s wisdom modifier, they may command any natural animal to obey them.
Rogue
1st level: +2 Dexterity 3rd level: The character gain the ability to camouflage themselves perfectly. They can hide in a natural environment as effectively as they can hide in shadows. 5th level: +10ft to movement speed. The range of the character’s hearing is doubled.
Dwarf (Medium creature, 20ft base land speed, Darkvision)
Fighter
1st level: +2 Constitution 3rd level: The character is much more difficult to knock over. Any attempt to intentionally knock the character over are made at a -6 penalty. 5th level: +2 to any attack roll made with hammers, axes, or other heavy weapons.
Wizard
1st level: +2 Constitution 3rd level: The character is able to resist spells as though they were a wizard 2 levels higher. 5th level: The character is able to craft magical items as though they are 1 level higher than they are.
Cleric
1st level: +2 Wisdom 3rd level: Healing spells have their effects doubled while underground, or in a mountainous environment. 5th level: Dwarven clerics may smite characters of the opposite alignment, adding their wisdom modifier to attack rolls, and their cleric level to damage rolls made against such creatures.
Rogue
1st level: +2 Strength 3rd level: The range of the character’s darkvision is doubled. Additionally, they can sense vibrations through the ground. This allows them to detect footfalls up to 20ft away, and they can detect more substantial disturbances to an even greater distance. 5th level: The dwarven rogue eventually develops a kind of sixth sense for precious minerals and stones. The character can detect the presence, and the direction, of gold, silver, or gems, up to 10ft away.
Human
Fighter
1st level: +2 Strength 3rd level: Any time a combat bonus requires the fighter to select a type of weapon for the bonus to apply to, the human fighter may select two types of weapons. 5th level: Human fighters recruit followers as though they were 2 levels higher.
Wizard
1st level: +2 Intelligence 3rd level: If the human wizard chose to specialize, they can still cast spells from their blocked school as though they were 1 level lower. 5th level: Human wizards gain one additional spells slot for each spell level known.
Cleric
1st level: +2 Wisdom 3rd level: +2 Charisma 5th level: Human clerics recruit followers as though they were 2 levels higher.
Rogue
1st level: +2 Dexterity 3rd level: +2 Charisma 5th level: The character is able to charm their way past many social obstacles. NPCs start react more favorably to the character than they otherwise would.
And that’s what I came up with on my first attempt. Conclusions? Well, as with all things, making it work in practice is more difficult than simply coming up with the theory was. Some race/class combinations just seem preposterous. I have no real archetype to draw on for elven clerics or dwarven wizards. I actually reconsidered whether such unusual combinations should be ruled out entirely. But I stand by my belief that players should be able to choose any race/class combination they want.
The biggest problem, surprisingly, turned out to be the humans. In retrospect it makes sense. Elves and dwarves are each an archetype unto themselves, while humans can fall into a wide array of archetypes. That’s why race as class existed in the first place: because humans could fill many roles, but non-human races each fill a specific role. I’m not quite sure how to work around this issue yet, but I think it can be done.
I would very much like any criticisms my readers have to offer. As it stands, I know this is not ‘good,’ and it would be helpful to be told precisely why it’s not good.
A lot of emphasis in Pathfinder is placed upon magical weapons and their properties. Since acquiring such weapons is one of the primary goals of adventurers, this is good and proper. But put magic aside for a moment. Magic can do anything, and it doesn’t really matter (save, perhaps, thematically) what type of weapon serves as a vessel for which magical effect. When we take the magic away, what are the fundamental differences between weapons? Why would a level 1 adventurer choose a spear over a trident, or a scimitar over a falchion?
As it stands, mundane weapons all have a few simple attributes:
Price, which may or may not matter. Personally I’ve been much happier since I started enforcing starting gold more strictly. But for many years I allowed players to select any mundane equipment they wanted, and I do see the appeal of that method.
Damage, separated into Small and Medium, to reflect the various sizes of player races.
Critical range, and multiplier.
Range, for projectile weapons, or weapons which can be thrown.
Weight, which nobody I’ve ever met, not even the grognardiest of grognards really seem to care about. Encumbrance is important. The difference between 11lb and 12lb isn’t.
Damage type, which can be bludgeoning, piercing, or slashing damage. Sometimes a combination of two is used.
Hands Needed, which can be Two, One, or ‘light.’ (One handed weapons can be used with two hands optionally, while light weapons cannot.)
Complexity Category, which Pathfinder uses to help determine proficiency. The categories are Simple, Martial, and Exotic.
Some weapons have special properties, such as being ‘reach’ or ‘brace’ weapons. Other weapons are easier to use with certain combat maneuvers, such as tripping or disarming.
It’s not exactly a comprehensive representation of the differences between various weapons, but aside from overly precise weapon weight, it works well. After all, Pathfinder is a game, and everything needs to be simplified to help the game run smoothly. Excessive realism has a way of making a game tedious. None the less, I wonder if mundane weapons could be made more varied and interesting.
Below is a list I’ve compiled of weapon mechanics. Some are ready to be implemented, while others would need their mechanics refined. Individually, I think each could be included in a game without making in overly complex. Collectively, however, they would probably be too much. I’d like to hear more ideas in the comments if you have any. I’m particularly curious to know if other games have mechanics I didn’t think of.
Two-Handed Damage: In Pathfinder, a weapon wielded in your off hand gains half of your strength modifier to its damage, one in your main hand gains your full strength modifier, and one in both hands gains 150% of your strength modifier as damage. Calculating the strength bonus with decimal places is both unnecessarily complicated, and insufficient to influence the player’s decision. Make it simple: Offhand weapons get no strength bonus, main hand weapons get full strength bonus, and two handed weapons get double strength bonus.
Throwability: Pathfinder’s throwing weapon status is binary. Either a weapon is meant for throwing, or it is not. It could be fun if there were three options. A dagger or javelin can be thrown with no penalties. A rapier or a scythe would take a full -6 penalty on any thrown attack roll. Some weapons, like a spear, battleaxe, or longsword would take only a -3 penalty to throwing them. They’re not designed to be thrown, but they’re similar enough to weapons which are that it’s a feasible tactic. Weapons like whips and flails should be un-throwable.
In Pathfinder, Finesse is a feat which allows characters to use their dexterity instead of their strength to modify an attack roll when using light weapons. Cleave is a feat which allows a player to attack multiple enemies in a single turn. The idea here is to remove both feats, and instead make them an intrinsic property of certain weapons. A rapier or dagger, for example, would always have its attack rolls modified by dexterity rather than strength. Likewise, a two handed waraxe would always enable a character to take a swing at 2 or 3 enemies at a time, so long as all of them could be hit with a single arcing swing.
Speed: Each weapon would have a speed number associated with it. That number would be the amount of iterative attacks it was possible to make with that weapon on a given turn. A two handed war hammer, for example, might have a speed of 2 or 3 at most. While a dagger might have a speed of 10. Note that these iterative attacks are not entitlements, they are maximums. A character would need to work hard and level up before they were able to make multiple attacks during a single round, but a two handed war hammer would never be able to make more than 3 attacks, no matter how high level the character became.
Space To Use: A two handed axe is not the best weapon to have in a 3ft wide cavern. You can make some use of it, but it would be at an extreme penalty. I suggest three types of weapons. First, those which require only personal space. These would work anywhere that a character could fit comfortably, and would include weapons like a dagger, blowgun, or rapier. Weapons with a 10ft space to use would require an area at least 10ft wide to use comfortably, and in smaller spaces they would take a -4 penalty to attack rolls. This would include any weapon like a longsword or axe, which requires a wide swing. Finally there would be 15ft or larger weapons. These would mostly be weapons with reach, such as a whip, spiked chain, or trident. They would take a -4 penalty in spaces less than 15ft wide. In some spaces they might be impossible to use. A whip, for example, is completely useless if you don’t have room to swing it. And a 7ft long trident isn’t much use when you’re attacked from behind in a corridor 5ft square.
Both Speed and Space to Use are included in AD&D 1st edition. I am not very familiar with the relevant rules, however, so the above are concocted from my own suppositions on how such rules might work in a game.
Strength/Dexterity To Use: Composite bows already do something similar to this. Each composite bow has a strength rating, and a character must be at least that strong in order to be proficient in the weapon. This would apply the same concept to other weapons. Using a rapier or whip proficiently, for example, would require a dexterity of no less than 14. While a two handed warhammer would require a similar amount of strength. A character without a sufficient ability score could still used the weapon, but they would never be able to become proficient in it.
Training Time: This would replace Pathfinder’s weapon proficiency system. Each weapon would have a pair of training numbers indicating how long it takes to become proficient in the weapon. A dagger, for example, would be 2/4. If a character wishes to become proficient with a dagger, they simply need to take it with them into battle. The character is considered non proficient with the weapon, and all attack rolls are made with a -4 penalty. Anytime the character gains at least 2 experience* from a battle where they successfully dealt damage using the dagger, they put a tally mark next to the weapon. Once they have a number of tally marks equaling the first number (in this case, 2) their attack penalty is reduced to -2. Once they have a number of tally marks equal to the second number, they are considered proficient with the weapon and no longer take any penalties associated with using it.
Each class starts out already being proficient with a number of weapons. For fighters, all training times are reduced by half (rounding up).
Weapon Vs. Armor Type: This is another 1st edition rule which I know very little about. I like the concept, and would be interested in seeing it in play, however I have no real original ideas on how to implement it (yet). Instead, I would direct you to a post over at Delta’s D&D Hotspot which proposes pretty much what I think I would come up with. (I seem to have a tendency to reduce everything to 3 groups).
Hold at Range: A few weapons, like a spear or a trident, naturally lend themselves to keeping someone at range. At the end of each turn while using such a weapon, the player may indicate that they would like to keep a foe they just attacked at bay. When the character does this, they gain a -2 Dexterity penalty to AC against all other enemies. If their designated enemy attempts to move closer, then the character gets an automatic attack of opportunity against their foe. If the attack succeeds, then the foe’s movement is halted and they cannot move any more on that turn.
Parry Bonus to AC: I’m not 100% convinced that this is a good idea. To some degree, the parry is already included in a character’s AC as part of their dexterity. However, some weapons lend themselves better to defense than others do. Neither a very short weapon, like a dagger, nor a very long weapon, like a scythe, would be well suited to aiding in defense. This, I think, has the potential to be the mid-sized weapon’s biggest advantage vs. smaller faster weapons, and larger harder-hitting weapons.
Weapon Damage and Repair: This is hardly a new idea, which never seems to survive long because tracking weapon damage is too much hassle. I’m not sure how that problem could be resolved, but I would very much enjoy seeing this element in a game if it were possible. It would be particularly interesting when combined with my new crafting system. (Which, I swear, I’m going to post eventually).
Alternate Attack Surfaces: The party encounters a band of skeletons. This is unfortunate, because they’ve all come equipped with spears and tridents. Since they only have piercing weapons it will be difficult to kill the skeletons, who have DR 5/Bludgeoning. Then the bard has a wacky idea: what if they turn their weapons around and hit the skeletons with the shaft instead of the points? Many weapons seem as though they would be simple to use in other ways, to achieve a different type of damage. It’s pretty difficult to use a weapon when you’re striking with the flat of the blade or the pommel, so I could understand if many weapons did not have alternate damage types. But what could be simpler than using a spear as a quarterstaff, or a scythe as a piecing weapon?
This is the sixth installment of my continuing series on the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide, written by Gary Gygax. This post begins with the section “Combat” on page 61, and continues through “Special Types of Attacks” on page 70
Encounters, Combat, and Initiative: Here is the first place where Gygax brings up the fact that AD&D uses a 1 minute round. This has been discussed in the comments section of previous Page by Page posts, but I think it deserves a proper mention here. To his credit, Gygax writes a lengthy explanation and defense of the one minute round. He makes a few very compelling points about the importance of abstraction, and how more granular combat is inappropriate in a game which does not focus on combat. As a sabre fencer myself, I can appreciate the fact that it would be impossible to really represent swordplay in the tabletop RPG format. None the less, I view the 6 second round as a major improvement. I simply think the game becomes more engaging when the players have more granular control on what happens in combat. I wouldn’t really argue that one method is inherently better than the other, it’s a stylistic preference.
Gygax also explains exactly what hit points are meant to represent in this section. If I’d had this quote on hand in the past, I would have been able to settle a lot of silly arguments:
“Damage scored to characters or certain monsters is actually not substantially physical–a mere nick or scratch until the last handful of hit points are considered–it is a matter of wearing away the endurance, the luck, the magical protections.”
Initiative: I like the fact that Initiative is only rolled if there is no element of surprise to consider. I do not like the idea that initiative is recalculated each round. There seems to be an excessive amount of computation involved in determining the order of combat. This excess becomes even more prevalent later in this reading.
Morale: I thought I had mentioned this before, but apparently I have not: morale is a good idea. I don’t understand why developers decided to cut the morale mechanic out of the game. These days, most enemies simply fight to the death, which is not only silly, but harmful. If the monsters never run away, then players will never realize that running away is an entirely valid strategy for survival.
Encounter Reactions: I’ve never liked rolling for reactions, but that may be because I’ve never liked entirely random environments. Which isn’t to say I don’t have a healthy respect for the role of random generation in RPGs. It is not only useful, but essential. However, I prefer a kind of directed randomness. When I roll for a random monster, I’m rolling on a list of monsters for which I have already created worldviews, and reasons for being in the area. My players have repeatedly told us they appreciate this, because it means that random encounters are not meaningless encounters. Every random encounter tells them more about the world around them, and could potentially lead to adventure.
Missile Discharge: I had never considered before that a missile (such as an arrow) might be destroyed by a spell (such as a fireball). The concept is fascinating, and I’m curious to give it a try. I’m also somewhat wary of it, however. The player firing an arrow into a group of enemies is already having less of an impact than the guy casting a fireball into that same group. It seems mean to make the two mutually exclusive.
Also in this section, I gained a new appreciation for the modern rules of firing into a melee. These rules are ridiculously convoluted.
Missile Fire Cover and Concealment Adjustments: In an amusing turnaround, I think the cover and concealment mechanics are actually more simple than they are in modern games. A flat boost to AC rather than an extra d% roll to determine miss chance.
Grenade-Like Missiles: I find it a little terrifying that Gygax thought such complex rules were necessary. I’ve always handled grenade-like missiles using a very simple system. They have a range increment of 10ft and use a ranged touch attack. Standard damage is dealt to anyone hit by them, and splash damage is dealt to anyone in an adjacent space. If you miss, roll 1d6 (for hexes) or 1d8 (for squares) to determine which direction the object landed in, and roll 1d4 to determine the total number of spaces away from the intended target it landed.
Spell Casting During Melee: I love this idea. I’ve written in the past (twice, actually) about ways to nerf the wizard without losing any of its flavor, and the rules presented here seem like a great method for partially accomplishing that goal. An AD&D a spellcaster cannot crouch or lie prone while casting any spell that includes somatic components, and loses their dexterity bonus to their AC while casting such a spell. If they are attacked or jostled while casting a spell, that spell fails and is expended for the day. No concentration check, no nothing. There’s nothing wrong with wizards wielding powers vastly beyond the abilities of a fighter or rogue, so long as the fighter and rogue are still needed to keep the caster alive while they cast.
It’s also sounds like most AD&D spells have much longer casting times than Pathfinder spells do. Not only would implementing that as a house rule improve game balance, but it would lend spells a sense of gravitas.
Turning Undead: There are some really interesting concepts here. First, I love the idea that a cleric can only continue to turn undead until he fails once. You might say that if a cleric fails to turn undead, it’s because his faith faltered for a moment. And upon seeing the undead continue undaunted by his god’s power, the cleric’s faith in that power is broken until they have a chance to rest and pray. I also like that more powerful undead ‘shield’ less powerful undead from being turned. If a cleric encounters a vampire and five zombies, they must turn the vampire in order to attempt turning the zombies.
Counter-Affecting: I very much would like to see a good and an evil cleric fighting for control of a group of undead. That sounds awesome.
Closing to Striking Range: Perhaps I’m failing to understand something. I haven’t read the AD&D player’s handbook, so I lack a basis which many of these sections assume I have. However, it sounds like you cannot close to striking range, and strike, in the same turn. Why ever not? That just seems silly.
Weapon Speed Factor/Other Weapon Factor Determinants: The more I read about the AD&D combat round, the more it seems like a jumbled mess to me. Again, perhaps this is because I lack information found in the PHB. But figuring out who gets what actions in each round, and then determining which actions occur simultaneously with other actions, is enough to make my eyes glaze over. That doesn’t happen very often! I love reading about mechanics. But halfway through Gygax’s example about a fighter using a sword and a magic user casting a fireball, I realized I simply did not care.
At this point my view is that AD&D combat is filled with interesting ideas which could be useful in a modern game, but that modern combat is still an overall improvement. That may change once I have an opportunity to actually see these rules in action.
Pursuit and Evasion of Pursuit: This is a good, simple breakdown of pursuit rules. I wouldn’t call it great, but it actually answers a lot of questions I’ve had (and heard) about how to run a chase scene well. I’m convinced it can be done better, but I don’t have any real ideas on how that could be accomplished.
I do really like how the GM is not supposed to provide fleeing characters with enough information to create a map. So the cost of running away from a monster is being lost in a dungeon.
Number of Opponents Per Figure: I find it highly amusing that AD&D is noted for functioning without a battlemat, but still needs to utilize squares and hexes to determine how many monsters can attack a single character at a given time.
Often on this site, perhaps too often, I construct posts by comparing or contrasting my gaming philosophies to those of the OSR community. Most likely, this is because all of the gaming blogs I read have an OSR slant to them. Is it just me, or does the OSR have a huge blogging presence? Anyway, this post isn’t any different. It’s about dungeons, and how my views on them compare to the OSR community’s.
Most OSR blogs I’ve read are strongly of the opinion that dungeons do not need to have a logical layout. I agree.
Most OSR blogs I’ve read are of the opinion that dungeons do not need to have an origin story. I disagree.
Most OSR blogs I’ve read are of the opinion that the creatures which exist within the dungeon don’t need any particular reason to be there. I disagree again.
There. I figured we might as well expedite the process for this post, since it’s late and I’m somewhat tired. I’m going to focus on the second point here: that I believe dungeons should have an origin story. Even if the dungeon’s layout is completely randomly generated, it’s valuable to have a few solid facts about the dungeon in mind. Where the dungeon came from can provide insights into what the dungeon looks like, and what can be found there. A 40ft long corridor in an ancient prison might be simple stone, while the same corridor in a crypt might have burial shelves at regular intervals. Below are the various dungeon origins I’ve come up with.
A Wizard Did It
I think it was Gary Gygax in the “Underworld and Wilderness Adventures” booklet who attributed dungeons to “Insane Wizards.” And while I’d hardly call it a sufficient explanation for every dungeon, it’s a great starting point. A wizard might construct a dungeon as a personal fortress, or as a way to contain their magical experiments. A truly insane Wizard could be responsible for some of a world’s most twisting and hazardous dungeons.
A dungeon created by wizards is also, in my mind, a great excuse to be showy with the unusual architecture and traps. Rooms where gravity shifts, or invisible bridges between towering cliff faces are exactly the kind of thing an arrogant wizard might create just to show that they could.
Heracles Will Get to it Later
We all love Greek mythology here, right? When the Olympian gods imprisoned the Titans, Gaea (mother to the Titans and grandmother to the Olympians) bore two final children: Typhon and Echidna. These monstrous gods had numerous monstrous children together, including Cerberus, the Hydra, the Chimera, and the Nemean Lion. The Olympians eventually put a stop to the parents, but decided to let the children live, ‘as a test for future heroes.’
There is ample mythological precedent for the gods intentionally creating challenges for no purpose other than to test the limits of mortal heroism. While the Greek gods did this by leaving monsters around to be defeated by a bunch of guys who were mostly demi-gods anyway, the gods in a Pathfinder campaign setting might choose to test heroes by crafting dungeons to be explored.
Natural Phenomenon
A natural dungeon, or cave, is nothing new. It is none the less important to mention. Dungeons like these are created by the flow of water through the earth, by volcanic eruptions, and burrowing animals. But in a world of magic, could not that also play a part?
For the last few years I’ve been intrigued by the concept of ‘wild magic,’ magic which either exists naturally, or which exists as a kind of “nuclear fallout” from a once mighty magical civilization. In my Negune campaign setting, the isle of Argania is absolutely filled with this kind of thing. I see no reason why wild magic couldn’t also create a dungeon.
Perhaps tens of thousands of years ago, a civilization developed an urban development spell. One which built roads and houses and sewers and aqueducts. The spell effect was permanent, and has continued long after the civilization collapsed. After thousands of years without maintenance it builds corridors and rooms seemingly at random. Often it creates areas which are exceedingly dangerous for humans. And while it mostly ignores areas once it constructs them, occasionally an older area of the dungeon needs to be demolished…
Ancient City
Ancient cities tend to be distinct among dungeons, because they often follow a more logical structure. However, there’s no reason an ancient civilization couldn’t have had some very strange architectural choices. Particularly if it was something like ancient dwarves, whose cities are carved from stone anyway.
And don’t forget all the cool ways in which an ancient city can be damaged over the centuries. It can be partially underwater, or partially hidden under a blanket of volcanic rock. A particular favorite of mine is the city which has fallen into the earth, creating a very strange amalgam of natural and man-made hallways and chambers.
Crazy Creepy Cult
Cults do all manner of wacky things, and not all of them are secret. Much like in real life (See: Jim Jones, David Koresh, etc) cults will often want to completely separate themselves from the world and form their own self sustaining communities. In a game like Pathfinder, there’s no reason why these isolationists wouldn’t decide to build a dungeon to live in. Some cults might actually view the endless expantion of their dungeon to be a medetative act of prayer.
Cosmic Fender Bender
Every one of the numerous planes of existence is no doubt filled with citadels, towers, and dungeons of their own. And if two planes intersect just slightly, a dungeon might be thrown from one world, and into ours. This is a great way to add a hint of planar travel to your campaign, without going all the way and sending your players outside of the material realm.
Extradimentional Trap
Lets say the players are raiding a wizard’s tower. Upon opening a drawer, a flash of light engulfs them. Next thing they know they’re in the middle of a labyrinth filled with monsters and traps.
Dungeon in a Drawer: Keeping thieves away from your silverware.
Old Standbys
There are some classics which I can’t really add to, but I feel like I ought to mention them none the less.
A literal dungeon, built beneath a castle. Monarch after monarch added on to it. Even if the castle is still inhabited, nobody really knows how far down it goes, or what was done down there.
A prison. While this is basically what a dungeon beneath a castle was used for, it is distinct because there’s no castle on top of it, and second because we rarely think of dungeons in a literal sense any more. ‘Dungoen’ can mean anything with lots of monsters and treasure in it.
A crypt where the dead are buried. This could be anything from an Egyptian Pyramid, to the Catacombs beneath Rome.
