Category: Rules Discussion

Time Management

Allow me to be clear; I play modern tabletop games. Pathfinder is my game of choice, and I believe Paizo is a company with the potential to be a driving force of innovation within the gaming industry. I love rulebooks which are heavy enough to break your toe if you drop them, I love having mountains of build options for my characters, and I love a game which has functional rules for making detailed monster builds. Sure it’s a waste of time if you’re doing it for every monster in every game, but who says you need to? And no, modern rules are not perfect. I think I’ve made that clear with posts like The Problem with Feats, and Stuff Which Never Works. I’d like to see some serious revisions to the way modern game developers look at games.

I also believe in the importance of learning from history. Whether you are trying to run a nation, a classroom, or just a game table, history can be your greatest teacher. Our forebears were, believe it or not, just as smart as we are. They didn’t have all the tools we have today, which is why we sometimes forget just how clever they were. But if anything, lack of tools only made them more ingenious, until one of them was so ingenious that they made a tool so that the given task would never be quite so difficult ever again.

Now, do not mistake me: I do not look into the past with rose colored glasses, as some do. Anytime I hear someone rambling about how things were ‘better’ in the ‘old days,’ I have to roll my eyes a little.* More often than not the speaker in question is just allowing nostalgia to cloud their perceptions. However, the fact that things have, overall, improved, does not mean that our very clever forebears didn’t have amazing ideas which never reached us. And the best part about those clever people being in the past is that we can look around and see for ourselves how their ideas worked out. So even though I do consider myself a modern gamer, I frequently look to the works of Gygax, Arneson, and others who worked on games in the early days.

And in reading these early works, I’ve frequently come across the concept of time management. Specifically, that it is important to track time not only in combat, but out of it as well. It is necessary, according to Gygax, for a Dungeon Master to keep track of in-game time throughout the entire session. This is mentioned a number of time throughout the numerous iterations of D&D’s first edition, but nowhere is it more clear than in the original Dungeon Master’s Guide–universally regarded among the most authoritative works on the subject of role playing games.

TIME IN THE CAMPAIGN
“Game time is of utmost importance. Failure to keep careful track of time expenditure by player characters will result in many anomalies in the game. The stricture of time is what makes recovery of hit points meaningful. Likewise, the time spent adventuring in wilderness areas removes concerned characters from their base of operation–be they rented chambers or battlemented strongholds. Certainly the most important time stricture pertains to the manufacturing of magic items, for during the period of such activity no adventuring can be done. Time is also considered in gaining levels and learning new languages and more. All of these demands upon game time force choices upon player characters, and likewise number their days of game life.

One of the things stress ed in the original game of D&D was the importance of recording game time with respect to each and every player character in a campaign. In AD&D it is emphasized even more: YOU CAN NOT HAVE A MEANINGFUL CAMPAIGN IF STRICT TIME RECORDS ARE NOT KEPT.”

-Gary Gygax, Dungeon Master’s Guide

The emphasis, by the way, is not mine. That’s Gary Gygax throwing up caps, because this is that important to him.

When I first read about how important Gary considered time management, I was taken aback. On the one hand, I couldn’t understand how time management was even supposed to work. And on the other hand, I was offended by the thought that every campaign I had run in the past was not “meaningful,” simply because we didn’t keep track of time. I’ve run some damn good games in my years as a GM. Why does the fact that I’ve never even attempted to keep track of time invalidate that?

Then I took a deep breath, remembered that I pride myself on being rational, and tried to stop throwing an internal hissy fit before anyone caught me in the act.

The fact that I’ve never attempted time management before doesn’t invalidate all the good games I’ve run. They were good games, everybody had fun, and nothing will change that. The question is whether those games were good because of, independent from, or despite my lack of time management. And if I’m being honest with myself, I can think of a lot of things which would improve if I was better at tracking in-game time. And even though I can’t think of an easy way to manage in-game time, the fact of the matter is that Gygax did it, and many other game masters do it, so it must be possible. I am simply ignorant of the methodology, and that can remedied with learning.

So I did some more reading. First through Gygax’s Dungeon Master’s Guide, then through the OSRIC manual, since clarity was not always a strong point of Gary’s writing. I also refreshed myself on the movement rules as stated on pages 170-172, 192-194 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, since movement is one of the core elements time management affects. Pathfinder divides movement into Tactical, Local, and Overland, which I think functions as a good basis for a modern system of time management.

Tactical Time is managed in the basic units which we’re all familiar with. A tactical (or ‘combat’) round is six seconds long. In these six seconds, every combatant gets a turn. Ten rounds make a minute, sixty minutes make an hour, etc. Local Time is what you might use if you’re delving into a dungeon, or exploring a town. Taking a page from OSRIC, it seems like the best unit of time for Local Time is 10 minutes. That’s long enough that it shouldn’t significantly slow down the players as they try to get things accomplished in game time, but short enough that it shouldn’t need to be divided further for players to complete small actions. Overland Time is tricky. I’m not sure whether it should be measured in hours, or in days. I think the best solution is to use days and hours both as units of measure, depending on what the players want to do. If they’re just traveling in to a destination, days will work fine, but if they’d like to spend part of their day exploring the area they’re already at, and the rest of the day traveling, then breaking things down into hours could be helpful.

I haven’t tried this yet, so I have no idea how it will play out in a game, but the more I think about it, the more it seems like time management is actually an awesome idea. Casters will actually have to be careful with their spells if the party doesn’t want to stop to rest simply because they ran out of spells within the first few hours of the day. And if a caster does run out of spells, this could give non-caster classes a real opportunity to shine. Potion durations and non-magical hit point recovery become relevant! The players could actually be forced to make decisions based on how much time something will take, or be faced with time-sensitive goals! The very notion that I’ve never done this before begins to seem ludicrous.

I have no idea why modern games stopped emphasizing time management, and why they never developed better systems for implementing it. It seems to be the same problem I discussed a few months ago in my “Why Hex Maps Need to Come Back” post. For some reason, modern gaming developers decided to arbitrarily throw something away without coming up with a replacement for it. And us poor kids who were raised on D&D 3.5 or Pathfinder are stuck with an incomplete picture of how role playings games can best be played, until we start looking back through gaming’s history for guides.

As I stated in the opening of this post, I have a lot of faith in Paizo’s ability to be an important force for innovation in RPGs. They should start by bringing back some of these senselessly abandoned concepts.

*To clarify: this is not always the case. Occasionally people will have well reasoned arguments for why they prefer something old over something new. For example, members of the Old School Roleplaying/Renaissance community have some very solid reasons for preferring 1980s style tabletop RPGs over more modern games. Likewise, I like to think that I have some very solid reasons for feeling that recent expansions of World of Warcraft have reduced the game’s quality in many ways.

Deities Defined

After 100+ posts, it’s a little hard to remember what I’ve revealed about myself and what I haven’t. So I’m not sure if I mentioned this before, but I majored in philosophy in college. Cue all the “blah blah, useless degree, blah blah, enjoy delivering pizzas” nonsense. During my study of philosophy, I often tried to suss out what precisely philosophers do. Which isn’t to say I didn’t know, insofar as an undergrad ever knows anything about their field. But I didn’t have a definition on hand, no sentence-or-two which summed up the task which I was planning to dedicate my life to. I did have a joke answer; “We take things which are simple, make them sound complicated, then con universities into giving us tenure for it.” I’ve found that most people in “useless” majors come up with jokes like that as a means of fending off dickheads who like to question the life decisions of people they don’t know.

I don’t know that the answer I eventually came to would be satisfactory to other philosophers–if I can even call myself that, being a dropout. To me, philosophy is the application logic as a means of attempting to learn the rules of, and to define, that which is considered undefinable, and beyond logical governance. (Kinda recursive if you think about it). Such illogical, undefinable things might include ethics, the fundamental answer to ‘why,’ or even conceptualizations of divinity. And thus do we come to tonight’s subject matter.

Truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever go back to the study of philosophy as a primary pursuit in my life. But that desire to define is still strong for me. So what if I’ve given up the quest to define the concept of divinity? I’m an atheist anyway! And it’s way more fun to codify divinity within Pathfinder. I actually started this project many years ago. Shortly after I got the D&D 3.0 supplement “Deities and Demigods,” I became fascinated with the concept of “divine ranks.” I can’t imagine myself letting my players be gods, even demigods. I doubt I would ever encourage them to fight a god, either. But I still like the idea of codifying what gods are and how much power they have. If, for no other reason, than because it places limits on what gods can do for their followers. So after a friend on Twitter reminded me that I had started this project years ago, it occurred to me that finishing it would make an excellent post!

Logos
The only truly almighty being, Logos is omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. The power of the Logos is so far beyond understanding that even the mightiest of gods are powerless before it. However, Logos is also non-sentient. It is a vague force which controls the universe according to a logic which no one can possibly comprehend. Perhaps the simplest way to explain Logos is that if the laws of thermodynamics, motion, and conservation of mass are the laws of physics, then Logos is the laws of metaphysics. It is said that the multiverse itself is the mind of logos, and that every event, every insect, every human, dwarf, elf, or god, are all simply the machinations of the Logos’ mind. But this is widely viewed as conjecture.

Knowledge of Logos is reserved largely for those powerful enough to see its subtle workings, which leaves very few besides the gods themselves. Only once has a mortal creature learned anything of Logos. A wizard, whose name and race have long been lost, once learned a single word in the ineffable language of the Logos. The wizard spoke the word, and was so completely obliterated that his soul ceased to exist, and even those who had known him forgot him completely. And through his erasure, the Illumian people were created.

Divine Power
Deific power is gauged by “Divine Ranks.” These ranks define a deities power in a manner similar to a character’s levels, but are functionally quite different. It is a closely guarded secret of the gods that their power is drawn from their mortal worshipers. The greater the number of worshipers, and the greater the power of those worshipers, the greater the god’s own power will be. And while the numbers of mortals are ever-growing, adding more and more potential power for the deities to absorb, the pool of available power between all of the gods is functionally finite. Often, in order for one god to increase their divine rank, another god must lose their own. One might think that a god could simply create more and more worlds, and fill them with worshipers. And, indeed, a god called Hewavaj’Hove did precisely that once. For one brief moment He reigned supreme amongst the gods. Then he was completely obliterated in a fashion which the other gods describe as “painful in a way only a god could experience.” The gods have determined that it is Logos who destroyed their momentary overlord, but have not yet determined which crime was deemed worthy of such a horrible execution.

All gods of divine rank 1 or higher have the following abilities and attributes, both in their primary form, and when represented through avatars:

  • Has access to all clerical spells which would normally be available to that deities’ alignment/domains as at-will powers.
  • Can control weather, landscape, and other physical phenomena within 100 miles of current location for each divine rank. (10 miles/divine rank when represented through an avatar.)
  • Ability to appear in whatever form the deity desires, or to create avatars in whatever form desired.
  • Immortal.
  • Unable to be harmed, save by items which are extremely powerful. Save for a god’s own weapons, anything which could harm a god is likely unique to the god, and a carefully guarded secret.
  • A deity is completely immune to any form of Transmutation, Energy Drain, Ability Drain, Ability Damage, or Mind-Affecting Effect.
  • A deity may, at any time, be aware of everything (including thoughts) which exists within 1 mile of any of its worshipers, holy sites, or other objects or locations sacred to that deity. A deity may also attempt to block the senses of another deity within this range. More information on deity conflict below.
  • Any deity may create a demi-plane. These planes are typically rather small, and can serve as private retreats for the deity.
  • A deity may travel the multiverse as easily as a mortal might walk to the shop down the street.

Any additional power is determined by the divine rank of the god in question.

The divine ranks, as presented here, are infinitely scalable. Each element progresses in a predictable pattern (A deity gains a minor portfolio every rank, gains a domain every two ranks, and so forth.) For my purposes, a maximum divine rank of 10 is plenty.

Divine Details
On the chart above I list five types of powers which progressively grow more powerful as a deity gains divine rank. Domains, Major & Minor Portfolios, Absolute Portfolios, and Avatars.

Domains Any D&D or Pathfinder player should already be aware of what a Domain is, and how it works. When a cleric selects their deity, they choose two of that deity’s domains. These domains represent core values, and sources of power for the deity and their followers. Depending on which domains are chosen, clerics gain access to different spells, and may focus on different aspects of their deity’s teachings. Note that deities below rank two have no domains. This is because they do not yet have sufficient divine rank to grant spells to their followers. They may still have clerics devoted to them, but these clerics draw their power from other sources.

Major & Minor Portfolios A deity’s portfolio is what they are the god “of.” For example, my favorite god, Vecna, might have in his portfolio; Knowledge, Secrets, Magic, and Undeath. Any special powers Vecna has would be derived from these portfolios, and he would certainly have a certain amount of control over items in his portfolio. The difference between Major & Minor portfolios is one of scope, rather than power. (In fact, perhaps “Narrow & Broad” would be better, but we’ll stick with what I have in the image above for now).

A major portfolio is something broad. For example, “Magic,” “Insects,” or “Knowledge.” Whilst a minor portfolio is something more specific, like “Transmutation,” “Beetles,” or “Secrets.” The line which separates major and minor portfolio items can be vague. However, without listing ever possible portfolio item, it must be left to good judgement to determine whether a portfolio item is major, or minor.

Major and minor portfolios may conflict with each other, if the minor portfolio fits within the major portfolio. For example, if a god of magic attempts to exercise their power over transmutation spells, a god of transmutation spells may resist the god of magic with a +2 bonus to their deity check. Likewise, if the god of magic is attempting to affect a conjuration spell, the god of transmutation may still attempt to resist the will of the god of magic, but takes a -4 penalty on their deity check. More information on deity checks is below.

Absolute Portfolio Drawn from the same lists as minor portfolios, an absolute portfolio is a realm over which a deity is considered to have absolute dominion. A deity with secrets in its Absolute Portfolio may have greater control over that realm than a deity who has secrets as a minor portfolio. For example, while a “Secrets: Minor” god may be able to learn any secret which they desire, a “Secrets: Absolute” god might already know every secret, even to the point of learning of new secrets as they are created.

Minor and Major portfolios may still conflict with Absolute portfolios. However, an Absolute portfolio is treated as having a +20 to its deity check, along with any bonuses or penalties a minor portfolio would receive in a given situation, as described above. If, perchance, two Absolute portfolios ever come into conflict, then the loser of the check has their Absolute portfolio permanently transformed into a minor portfolio. A “Supreme” portfolio may exist, which would be similar to an Absolute portfolio, but would apply to Major portfolios rather than minor ones. However, this is a level of power which I don’t want within my games.

Avatars Being within the presence of a god, even a minor one, would be enough to drive lesser mortals mad. Besides–gods do not leave their realms lightly. To remedy these problems, gods may create an avatar. Avatars are small fragments of a god, which operate completely independently. Given the tremendous willpower of a god, they may give their full attention to all of their avatars simultaneously, without suffering from any distraction or deterioration of abilities. In this way, gods may be in two or more places at once.

Special Aside from the powers listed on the chart above, which grow more powerful as a god gains more and more divine ranks, there are a number of powers which gods attain as they rise through the ranks. Once a power is attained, the god retains the ability to use this power for as long as they remain at or above the divine rank at which the power is acquired. These powers do not become greater as deity gains more divine ranks.

  • Any deity of Divine Rank 2 or greater can create any type of creature they desire, but these creatures cannot breed, or be replicated in any quantity sufficient to begin a new species. Such creatures are sustained by the deity, and will be destroyed if the deity loses their divine ranking.
  • Any deity of Divine Rank 4 or greater can create new species of animals, or other unintelligent creatures. These creatures will continue to exist even if the deity is destroyed.
  • Any deity of Divine Rank 6 or greater can create any type of new creature species they desire. These creatures will continue to exist even if the deity is destroyed.
  • Any deity of Divine Rank 8 or greater can create new worlds, or layers to an existing plane.
  • Any deity of Divine Rank 10 or greater may create new major planes.

Divine Conflict When deities engage in a battle for divine control, a deity check is used to determine the outcome. This is a very simple check: 1D20 + Divine Rank. Note that a deity check is not used any time deities combat one another, but only when two deities attempt to use their same divine powers affect the same thing in different ways. If, for example, one deity wanted it to rain on the city of Niston, and one wanted the city of Niston to enjoy a bright sunny day, the two deities would make a deity check to determine what kind of weather Niston will see that day.

Divine Rank 0
Divine Rank 0 is special. A new deity typically starts at Divine Rank 1, as a demi-god. Rank 0 is reserved for those gods who have failed to retain enough followers to maintain their divinity. A god at 0 has been forgotten. Perhaps their followers were slaughtered, perhaps the god was simply lazy and did not bother to answer any prayers. A few faithful may remain, but even mortals are sometimes worshiped by a paltry few thousand. That does not make them gods.

An entity at divine rank 0 is in danger of losing their place among the gods forever. They are reduced To but a handful of divine abilities. They cannot be harmed, maintain their immunities, can travel the multiverse, and are able to cast divine spells matching their alignment as a 20th level cleric would. The entity is given one thousand years to regain enough followers to become a Demi-God. If they fail to complete this task, the entity fades away forever.

What precisely happens to these forgotten gods is not known. Given that they are forgotten, documentation on their activities is understandably lacking. A few gods claim that their most powerful angels were once forgotten gods. Some adventurers have discovered intelligent items which have claimed to be the remnants of a forgotten god. And then, of course, there is the rare individual who shouts at his fellow tavern patrons “I was a god once, you know!”

Of course, this might simply be cases of bragging gods, self-important intelligent items, and crazy drunks. There is no way to be certain.

NPC Reactions

Fair warning: the job that pays for my rent has been exhausting lately. I fell asleep immediately after coming home last night, and didn’t wake up until morning. I had a rough outline of this post prepared already, but don’t have as much time as I’d planned on to actually put it together.

Non-player characters pose a real challenge for me, as a game master. Much as I pride myself on improvisation as a general skill, I am not at all satisfied with my ability to conjure up interesting NPCs on the spot. Over the years I’ve found that I default to a handful of naming conventions (Um…it’ll start with a P…”Hello traveler! My name is…Pyort!” *Players all crack up*) and that all my voices, personalities, etcetera start to sound suspiciously similar over time. An entire world full of Pyorts is not a good idea, let me tell you.

To try to remedy this failing of mine, I’ve tried coming up with a number of tools. I once spent a good six months working on a PHP script which would randomly generate a bunch of “seed” information for an NPC. The idea was that you could hit a button, and be given a race, class, personality type, mood, name, etc. All of which were suited to my campaign setting. The whole project had the added bonus of helping me hone my sloppy PHP skills. Unfortunately I had to move just as the project was gaining momentum, so it’s been on the back burner for going on three years now.

The project may have been overly ambitious in the first place anyway. These days I’m convinced that there must be a simpler, more elegant way to make NPCs distinct from one another. One which doesn’t require that I have a laptop behind the GM screen. There are, after all, a number of identifiable things which modify a person’s attitude and behavior. Cultural traits, for example. There have been some interesting studies about how culture modifies a person’s behavior, even within the united states. For example, as a statistical average, people in the south are more likely to be polite, but they’re also more likely to become violent if they feel they’ve been insulted or marginalized. Whereas my experience in the pacific northwest for 24 years has led me to expect that people are largely passive aggressive about their feelings. That’s a pretty big difference, and it’s the same species within the same country. Imagine a world like Pathfinder’s where there are literally different races. (In fact I did look at that question just recently.)

Over the last few days, however, I’ve been thinking much more about what makes people act the way they do in my own life. If I go outside and talk to my neighbors, or to my girlfriend, or to my coworkers, or to my friends, what will affect the way they act towards me? We’re all the same species, and we all live in the same area, so ostensibly we would have the same basic rules about social interaction. Yet even day to day a given person can change the way they act. So what’s going on, and how can it help me make a better NPC? The way people act around one another is heavily influenced by their mood, their reaction to your mood and appearance, and a myriad of other tiny details which could be placed on a simple random chart for quick NPC generation.

  • Just received good/bad news/experience This can be small news, like receiving a discount on an item at the shop, or stubbing one’s toe. Or it can be bigger things, such as when a merchant arranges a deal which will ensure long-term profits for them, or when a farmer learns that his neighbors farm has been ravaged by locusts and fears he may be next. People are more likely to be helpful and friendly when they’ve received good fortune, and more likely to be unhelpful and dour when they’ve received bad. And, of course, the level to which their mood affects them is proportional to how good or how bad the news is.
  • Looking forward to something with anxiety/excitement Anxiety and Excitement can manifest themselves very similarly to having just received good or bad news, but in either case a person is likely to be preoccupied with something which is going to happen soon, and may not have as much time for strangers.
  • First impression of you is good/bad People have many standards by which they judge a person. The aristocracy, or other contributing members of society, might find you dirty and unpleasant due to your adventuring lifestyle. However, they might also look on you as a curiosity. Someone with interesting tales to tell. Likewise a farmer might see an adventurer as a compatriot. Many adventurers are low-born folk, and they live roughly as low-born folk do. Unlike knights, adventurers are just trying to get by rather than serving a lord. But adventurers also have a nasty reputation for wooing farmer’s daughters (or sons).
  • Likes/doesn’t like members of your gender/race/class/etc The fantasy worlds that many of us play in are based on a medieval world which, in reality, was insanely prejudiced. Now, I am strongly of the opinion that in most fantasy adventure games, history should be ignored on this point. I won’t go into that here, because I could write an entire post on that topic. However, it’s perfectly legitimate for individual people (or towns or cultures) to hold a particular prejudice which makes them difficult for specific player to deal with. Wizards or Sorcerers could be viewed as untrustworthy, or as offensive to reality. Perhaps men are viewed by a particular culture to be brutish and rude. And elves, don’t get me started on those slack-jawed daffodils…
  • Generally outgoing/introverted This one seems pretty simple, really. Some people are friendly and eager to interact with new people. They’re most likely to be helpful on minor issues, though it doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll go out of their way for strangers. More introverted folks may be no less friendly, but they’re not going to be as comfortable dealing with people they’re not already familiar with.

Theoretical RPG

After the recent announcement of Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition, and the news that Wizards of the Coast is looking for fan input to help them design it, I’ve seen a lot of talk around the web. Thoughts on what people think it will be like, and thoughts on what people think it should be like. Personally I have no talent for prediction, so I won’t waste anyone’s time with my expectations. I do quite like to theorize about game mechanics, but I see no reason to restrict myself to the D&D model.

Dungeons and Dragons has been a great game in the past, and I will always love it for that. But lets be frank. Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson are dead, the company they founded defunct, and the 5th edition of D&D will be the third edition since they had any input on the game’s development. These days, Dungeons and Dragons is nothing but an IP. It is the continuation of the world’s oldest role playing game in name only.

While some small part of me likes to hope that Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition will be good, I do not believe it will be. I think it will be more to my liking than fourth edition has been. That’s only logical to conclude, since Wizards has no doubt noticed that Pathfinder has held onto more market share than D&D for two quarters straight. However, at this point I doubt we’re ever going to get away from things like healing surges, “powers,” and endlessly ascending player stats. If that’s your cup of tea, I bid you enjoy it. But I’ve no interest in pouring any for myself.

Huh, I guess I ended up making some predictions after all. Sorry about that.

So in light of everyone else on the Internet talking about their ideas for Dungeons and Dragons fifth edition, I thought I would share some of my own ideas for a future RPG. I’ve been pondering these for several months now, and they have little to do with Dungeons and Dragons. It just seems like an opportune time to write about some of them.

Two-Tiered Rule Complexity

Oldschool Dungeons and Dragons had a “basic rules / advanced rules” division, but they were two separate games. I’d like to see an RPG which allows groups to play in either a rules-heavy, or rules-light mode, without breaking gameplay when switching between the two. Because sometimes you’re looking for a deep, gourmet gaming experience, and other times you’ve only got time for a one-shot with whoever happens to be around at the time. Your players may want to spend hours fine tuning every ability on the character they’ve been playing for years, but if that character is out of commission for a session, they don’t want to waste any time at all building the throwaway character they’ll be playing until their main is available again.

Ideally, these two modes of play could even be run simultaneously. With new and inexperienced players using the light rules, and more advanced players using the more detailed rules. For example, “rules light,” players could be given a selection of classes to pick from, and that class would provide the player with all the information the player needed on what their character could do. Perhaps some minimum level of customization would be available under the light rules (such as selection of race, and the assignment of something like skill points) but the goal is that everything the player needs to know about their character can be found on 2-3 pages of the sourcebook.

Players using the heavier rules would have no class. Instead, they would build their own class by selecting various skills and abilities using a point-buy mechanic. All the skills available to rules light players would be available here, as well as a plethora of alternative options. However, it would be difficult or impossible to create a character using the heavy rules which could completely outclass a character built using the light rules. The classes available to light rules players would simply be pre-optimized characters, built using the heavy rules by the game’s designers.

Theoretically, the game could even include 3 tiers of rules. Simple, Normal, and Complex. I think that could be really fun, but even two tiers would require a lot more pages than a game with a single tier of rules. To mitigate that, the core rules would be stripped down to precisely that: the core of what an RPG requires. Character creation rules, and combat resolution. Everything else would be handled by my next idea:

Modular Rules

Every GM knows that rule 0 is always at their disposal. If they don’t like a rule, they can change it, or drop it from the game entirely. The problem with doing so is that removing a rule often causes problems elsewhere in the game. To use Pathfinder as an example, if you stop using the diplomacy skill because you prefer to have your players role play through situations that require diplomacy, then the player who put points in the skill gets screwed.

So what if non-core rules were presented as “modules,” which could be inserted into or removed from a game without penalty. For example, the game could include the encumbrance modular rule. Everything to do with encumbrance, its effects, and ways to mitigate them, would all be contained in the same place. The game would be designed to function completely with or without encumbrance. So instead of “Is this unfun enough for me to justify invoking rule 0?” the question becomes “is this fun enough to include?”

There could even be multiple modules for a single mechanic. Many games have come up with many different ways of handing encumbrance. And while the game might have a “primary” version of the encumbrance rules available in the core rulebook, alternate encumbrance rule modules could be released with supplemental books, providing groups with a handful of different mechanics to choose from.

Bell Curve Die Rolls

There’s not a lot which really needs to be said about this which wasn’t already said by one James Beach back in 2001. So I’ll spare you the lengthy recap. Simply put, die rolls should be handled in such a way that they produce a bell curve of results, rather than a linear progression of results. Personally, I like the idea of rolling 3d6 or 2d10 to resolve most problems.

I recognize that these ideas have flaws. Perhaps insurmountable flaws. For example, wouldn’t modular rules prevent classes from interacting with them, lest the GM decide not to use the rule? I’m not saying I have actual answers to these questions. These are just thoughts I’ve had rolling around in my head for awhile, and I thought I’d put them down.

Designing a Village in Detail

Not too long ago, Zalekios conquered a small village. It’s something I’ve wanted the character to do for some time. And, in our last game, my GM was gracious enough to include an opportunity for conquest. To be honest, I have no grand and evil scheme to further overpower my character through corrupt governance. Certainly, I have plans on how I’ll make use of my subjects, but the ways in which the town will benefit Zalekios are much less interesting to me than the challenges and opportunities ruling over a town will provide. The need to fortify it, defend it, and ensure that my subjects are unable to oust me while I’m out adventuring, all sound like interesting and entertaining challenges to me.

So once I had the town under my thumb, I asked my GM if it would be alright for me to make a detailed map of the village. He agreed, and we spent some time going over what my limitations were. Geographically, the village is located in a large area of plains, with no major shifts in elevation or terrain type for several miles around. Neither are there any significant bodies of water, or forested areas nearby. Honestly, I think he just made the environment as simple as possible because he’s afraid of my ingenuity. But that’s okay with me. I like a challenge.

I was also told that I had a total of 377 villagers, 27 of which could be level 1 experts, adepts, warriors, or aristocrats. The rest are level 1 commoners. Other than that, he left everything up to me. I’ve checked in with him periodically throughout the town creation process, but he hasn’t vetoed any of my decisions yet. Of course, I’ve kept everything in line with what one would find in a dirt-poor town, so he hasn’t had much to say “no” to. He and I have been playing games together long enough that we have a pretty good sense of what the limits are in each other’s games.

Now, even as a GM, I don’t often have the opportunity to truly build a thoroughly detailed community. Normally it’s simply not an efficient use of time. It’s much easier and faster to simply plot out the most basic outline of what the town is like: what kind of government it has, what its economy is based on, whether it has any unusual traditions or culture, and whether it has any noteworthy landmarks or NPCs. Everything else can be generated on the fly. Even with more detailed cities which my players return to often, I rarely do more than sketch out general “districts,” and identify the location of the main roads through the town. The port city of Niston, which the players in my Ascendant Crusade game have visited in between adventures for several years now, is still just a rough collection of squares marked “Affluent Area,” “Merchant Section,” “Slum,” “Docks,” and so on.

As a player preparing to govern this town, however, I find the idea of exacting detail appealing. Knowing precisely how many warriors are in the town guard will help me plan my defenses. And since the character in question is Zalekios, knowing just how many commoners I can eat before my breeding stock gets too low is important! Additionally, a large part of my plans involve modifying the town, in the form of watch towers, walls, work camps, etc, so I want to know precisely what I have to work with.

I decided to start by figuring out what kind of population I have. I broke my population into three age based groups. First would be children, defined by Pathfinder as anyone under 15 years old. Last there’s the elderly, which I defined as anyone over 55. In between those two groups are the adults. So out of my 377 total population, I needed to figure out how many people fell into the three groups. I decided to use a population pyramid to work out a basic percentage. I spent some time looking for one which applied specifically to medieval villages, but didn’t have any luck finding one. So I just stuck with the closest to average I could find. What I wound up with, using some very rough estimation, is 91 children, 260 adults, and 26 elderly. I figure that, to keep things simple, I would split the genders evenly. Since my population is an odd number, I flipped a coin, and determined that the odd person out is a woman named Old Ms. Dyterran, by far the oldest person in the village at 84 years. Her children are dead of old age, but she lives with her grandson and his family. She likes to tell scary stories to children.

Outliers such as old Ms. Dyterran aside, I find these numbers to be telling of the type of community this is. With a max population of 377, it’s a very small community. People’s lives will be interconnected. But I would estimate that the community is still too large for everyone to know everyone else. Even acquaintance level relationships are difficult to maintain when there’s several hundred of them. However, when you break things down by age, the numbers get remarkably smaller. If there are only 91 children under the age of 15, then how few must there be between the ages of 8 and 12? If there’s only ten or twenty kids your age in town, you probably know all of them. That goes doubly so for the old folks, who probably all know each other quite well by now.

Moving on, I estimated that there would be 89 households, based on the adult population. That’s assuming that every household is centered around an adult couple. Children and elderly would live with said couples, as would a number of dependent adults who are over the age of 15, but have not yet struck out on their own. This would mean that there are 2.9 adults per household, 1.02 children per household, and 0.29 elderly per household. So if you walk into one of these 89 homes at random, the odds are that there are two wedded adults there, who live with one young child and one adult child. And there is a roughly one-in-three chance that one of the couple’s parents is still alive, and also living in the house. So most homes contain 4-5 people.

Once I had some ideas on what the population numbers looked like, I moved on to economics. Fun fact, if you google “Plains People,” all you really come up with are the Plains Indians, and they were nomads, so information on them was no help in this project. However, Wikipedia has a great deal of information on plains which I found extremely useful in this endeavor. While it may not be an ideal source if you’re looking for facts you can rely on, Wikipedia more than accurate enough if you’re just looking to inject a little realism into your role playing games. Turns out “plains” is an exceptionally broad category, which covers dozens of terrain types.

I decided that my GM’s goal in providing me with an endless flatland of plains was probably closest to the American prairie. Which, I learned, is excellent for farming. However, farming there required more advanced farming equipment than was available when it was first settled. Apparently, up until that point, farmers used wooden plows, but steel plows needed to be developed to handle the tougher earth. I decided one of my experts would need to be a dedicated toolmaker. Animal husbandry is also an option for people living in an area like the American prairie. Using that information, I decided that farming would be the main source of food and income for this village, with pigs and chickens providing them with some dietary variety.

The only major landmarks of note are the homes of the mayor and wizard, both of whom Zalekios killed in his secret coup. Since Zalekios is impersonating the mayor, he’s taken up that residence, and billeted his small army of 33 goblins in the Wizard’s home. I mocked up this “Town Character Sheet” in open office writer.

From there, it was time to draw the map. As with the previous steps, I decided to do some research first. I dug through a number of sources for maps, including my own books, the Cartographer’s Guild, and just plain old google image search. I saved a few dozen samples to reference as I went to make my own map, and used elements from several of them. However, this map, from the Warhammer Fantasy RPG, was my biggest aide. It is at the same time both extremely simple, and extremely detailed. If you step back and look at the whole map, you see what appears to be a birds eye view of a large city. Each building and side street is distinct, and you get a sense of what the town is like from a street view. There are clearly affluent areas near the parks, with larger houses, etc, along with poorer areas of much smaller buildings clustered together. Yet for all its detail, the map is drawn quite simply. Each individual building is little more than a brown shape with either an “X” or an “I” drawn on top of it to indicate the slant of the roof.

To start with, I sketched out a “districts” map, like the ones I mentioned above. It looked like a series of circles, like a bulls-eye. The small, center circle was designated for important buildings, like the mayor’s residence. It’s also the location of the town square, where meetings would be held. Around that is the residential area. This was a much larger section, which would contain most of the town’s buildings, arranged around the center of town roughly evenly. The largest circle, by a significant margin, is the farmland, which surrounds the entire town.

Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

The areas of brown within the town indicate pig pens, whilst I imagine many homes have chicken coops next to them. The small circles in the center of the two ancillary “town squares” represent wells. The two white buildings are the Mayor’s residence and the Wizard’s home. The crosshatch patterns surrounding the town represent farmland.

There are still a number of problems with this map. My scale is way off, for one thing. The more important buildings near the center of town should be much larger, while the residential buildings can be relatively small. The farmland was also truncated due to the limited size of the paper. Normally I’d remake the map before posting it, but at this point I’m not sure I’ll bother remaking this map. Even though it’s not “to scale,” it effectively demonstrates the layout of the town.

Anybody else have experience detailing small towns? Any tips on how to improve my process?

Training Groups of NPCs

Over the many many years which I’ve played my Rogue/Warlock, Zalekios, he has often run into a group called the Dragon Forged. Truth be told, I don’t even recall our first encounter. I believe they tried to accost me on the road, followed by a healthy dose of torturous murder on my part. If I recall correctly, I was so annoyed with their attempt to burgle me, that I performed the closest thing to a good deed which Zalekios has ever attempted. I rooted out their evil plan to trick the nation of Alamon into going to war with their southern neighbor, Mulgran, and foiled it simply to spite them. Alamon awarded me with a rather rare artifact, and I believe I’m still considered a minor hero in that kingdom, since I never had a second adventure in that area.

The Dragon Forged have been a pebble in my shoe ever since. And as I’ve gained higher and higher levels, my dealings with them have become ever more comical. Most recently I was awakened by one of my goblins and alerted to the fact that my tower was under siege. I look out over my balcony, and what do I see but two small warbands of Dragon Forged, impotently attempting to break down my door. So I spend a few rounds lobbing Eldritch Blasts at them before I get bored, jump off the third story balcony, and attack the low-level twats in melee.

What? Zalekios has a wisdom modifier of 0. It’s ROLE PLAYING. >.>

The rabble is dispatched quickly enough, and I’m left wondering why my GM would waste time on such a pointless little skirmish. I actually made sure I kept a few of the pests alive, just so I could torture them and hopefully discover why the GM had chosen to send them against me. But first, I resolved, I would finish my night’s rest.

Yet no sooner had I laid my evil head to my evil pillow, than I was awakened yet again. I seriously considered killing the goblin this time, but Zalekios is trying to work on conserving his resources better, and I resisted. The goblin had a good reason to awaken me anyway: there was a dragon circling the tower. Thinking my GM was sending me a somewhat more deadly challenge, I rushed to the balcony, skeletal hands glowing black with eldritch might. But the dragon didn’t attack. It alighted on my balcony, and morphed into a human shape.

This dragon, as it turned out, was the dragon in ‘Dragon Forged.’ Apparently his goal all along has been to cause all the great nations on the continent to go to war with each other, and continue warring until nothing is left but ruination. Being Chaotic Evil himself, Zalekios is fond this this notion. The dragon had also noticed that, given his follower’s repeated failures, and my repeated pwning of them, that perhaps I was just the psychopath to lead him to victory. He offered me a position as his chief lieutenant, with complete command over the forces of the Dragon Forged, to the end bringing about the catastrophe we both desired.

It took me a few days, but I came up with a rather solid plan I think. It’s not only multi-layered, but has fail-safes which kick in if some element of the plan fails. Made me feel like god-damned Xanatos. The details of that plan, however, may be written about at a later date after I’ve had an opportunity to see how the plan unfolds. However, one of the elements of the plan was that I required the Dragon Forged to not suck. To that end, my GM and I worked out some simple rules for training large groups of NPCs. I’m not sure if I’ve seen rules for anything like this in any official supplements, so they may be of use to you if you are ever in need.

  • A character can train a group of NPCs in any class that character has at least 3 levels in. For example, a 4th level rogue / 2nd level fighter can train a group how to be rogues, but not how to be fighters.
  • A group of NPCs can never be trained to a class level higher than 2 levels below the current class level attained by their teacher. For example, a 10th level rogue can train a group of NPCs to be level 8 rogues, but not level 9 rogues.
  • Each level requires [2 * The Level Being Trained To] months. For example, training a group from level 6 to level 7 requires 14 months.
  • Training costs [1000 * The Level Being Trained To] gold pieces. For example, training a group from level 6 to level 7 costs 7000 gold. This cost is for training only. Items such as training equipment etc. Any cost for food and lodging of the trainees would be extra.
  • Training more than 10 people at a time adds a 2% failure rate for each additional person. For example, if you’re training 10 people, then there is no failure rate. However, if you’re training 11 people at once, then you must roll a D%. If you roll 1-2, then the training fails and the materials and time is wasted. Training 12 people at once has a 4% failure rate, training 13 has a 6% failure rate, and so on.
  • Hirelings can be used to train groups in classes which they have.
  • New Feat: “Teacher:” Characters who have this feat only need to spend half as much money when training groups of NPCs.
  • New Feat: “Improved Teacher:” Characters who have this feat reduce their failure rate for students above 10 to 1%. (11 students has a 1% failure rate, 12 students has a 2% failure rate, and so on.)

I quite like the system. At first glance, and for our game, it balances well. Each level of training comes with a cost in both time and money which keeps the system from being abused to create massive armies. Also, note that this system says nothing about loyalty. Simply that skills are imparted from one high level character, to multiple lower level characters. If the GM is feeling particularly dickish, he or she could simply have the students turn on their teacher once they have nothing more to learn.

I’m sure the system has numerous flaws, though. It was really just slapped together by the two of us chatting back and forth one evening. I’d be interested to hear anyone’s thoughts on what flaws it has, or how it could be improved.

Spicing Up The Battlemat: Deserts

I’ve never liked deserts. Even when I was a kid, I found stories which take place in deserts to be pretty boring. The character is thirsty, the character is hot, it’s cold at night, boom. Deserts. Of course, I’m aware that deserts have their own forms of diversity. Geological formations in deserts can be quite mysterious and beautiful, and the types of creatures with the ability to survive in such harsh environments are often fascinating to learn about. Despite that, I still don’t find deserts all that enjoyable. It’s a bias of mine. Cold deserts are a little more interesting to me, but those will not be covered in this post.

But you can’t just send your PCs through forests all the time. Sure there are idyllic forests, creepy forests, dense forests, sparse forests, coniferous forests and deciduous forests, forested mountains, and forested planes. But for some reason, players eventually get tired of trees, and you need to throw in something else. Eventually that something else ought to be a desert. In all likelihood, since we are playing Pathfinder, that desert is going to produce a creature which is going to try to kill your players. And unless you’re fine with all of your desert combat occurring within a featureless box with a desert painted on the background, you’ll need to find some way for the environment to become a factor in combat.

The problem is that in many ways, deserts are featureless boxes. The box just extends further than the eye can see in every direction. None the less, there are a number of ways in which the players can use the environment to their advantage, and ways in which the environment can betray them.

Sand

Blinding Attack If movies have taught us anything about sand, it’s that sand makes for a good quick blinding attack. (if movies have taught us a another thing about sand, it’s that people are softer than it.) If players want to throw sand in their opponent’s eyes, you can treat it as a ranged touch attack (range of 5ft.) which can be performed from a prone position. If the target is wearing any kind of full eye covering, the attack fails. Success causes the target to be dazed for one round. Bear in mind, as GM, that most creatures which evolved in a a desert will have better protection against this kind of attack than most humans would, and may not be susceptible to it.

Blinding Wind Deserts are often very windy, and that wind tends to pick up sand and carry it around the battlefield. This effectively functions as the blinding attack noted above, but against all players facing a certain direction. How often this effect occurs is entirely dependent on what the whether is like. If the characters are fighting during a sandstorm, then any time they open they’re eyes they’re going to get hit by the dazed effect. More likely, though, players will need to deal with either a consistent wind, or a sputtering breeze.

—Consistent Wind: The wind is coming from a single direction. If this wind is not present and defined before combat begins, roll 1d8. A result of 1 means the wind is coming from the side of the battlemat opposite your position at the table, or “north.” A result of 2 means the wind is coming from the “top right” corner of the battlemat, or “north east.” Results continue in a clockwise fashion around the battlemat. The GM may, at any time, roll 1d6. A result of 1-2 means the wind shifts one “space” in a clockwise direction (West becomes South West, East becomes North East, etc). A result of 3-4 means the wind remains the same. A result of 5-6 means the wind shifts one space counter clockwise. Any players facing against the wind without eye protection must succeed on a reflex save DC: 16 or become dazed for one round. Players facing a direction which is only one space off from the wind direction are allowed a reflex save DC: 13 to avoid becoming dazed for one round. Note that since Pathfinder does not include a facing mechanic, facing must be determined based on the direction in which the player performed their last action. If the player wishes to turn in their space, treat it as a swift action which provokes an attack of opportunity to any enemy the player turns their back towards.

—Sputtering Breeze At the start of each round the GM rolls to see if there will be a gust of wind this round. There is a base 20% chance (which can be raised or lowered depending on the current weather patterns, but should never be above 50%) that the battlefield will be affected by a gust of wind this turn. If there is a gust, roll 1d8 to determine which direction the wind is coming from as noted above. The effects of the breeze are as noted above under Consistent Wind.

Poor Footing Sand makes for poor footing, particularly when moving up and down the sides of dunes. Any characters not intimately familiar with desert environments suffer a -2 penalty to their CMB and CMD for any combat maneuver which requires them to have firm footing (resisting a bull rush, tripping, charging.) This penalty rises to -4 if the character is standing on a particularly loose area of sand, such as the steep side of a dune. In such an instance, the character also loses their dexterity bonus to AC.

Gets Everywhere Sand gets blown around so much, and is so fine, that it can get into anything. And if enough of it gets into a mechanical device, odds are that device will stop working. If your game includes guns, these would be particularly susceptible to this danger. But any number of devices which rely on moving parts could be at risk. Clocks, locks, or even crossbows! Players can avoid this trouble by wrapping their equipment and keeping it protected, but if they fail to do so, then they risk a 5% failure chance in the first two days, a 10% failure chance for the rest of the first week, a 20% chance the second week, a 30% chance the third week, and so on. For guns, these numbers would likely double. Fortunately for bowers, crossbows are relatively simple, and a standard action to clean out the sand in the triggering mechanism should be enough to restore the device to working order.

Just Beneath the Surface The wind over a sandy desert covers up anything quickly. It would be essentially impossible to actually track something through the sand. It would be be similarly impossible to see anything buried just beneath the sand. If foes are springing a trap on the PCs, they could easily have tripwires beneath the sand which would be impossible to detect. Weapons could also be hidden just under the surface of the sand to give the appearance that a group was unarmed. Sand could even hide a trap door with ease, allowing GMs to prepare deadly ambushes where additional foes can spring forth from the sand itself.

Dune Collapse Sand dunes form in a “wave” formation, with one gently sloping side which the wind blows over, and one steep side which is blocked from the wind. Dunes can grow quite large, and oftentimes, quite precariously balanced. A sudden change of wind can potentially cause a dune to collapse towards the steep side. This would have similar effects to an avalanche (Pathfinder Core Rulebook Page 429)

Detritus

Underfoot As noted in the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, hot deserts are not always endless wastelands of nothing but sand. Stones, sometimes a lot of them, often litter the landscape of a desert. Occasionally, even extremely resilient shrubs can manage to survive in the harsh desert landscape. So light undergrowth, light rubble, and dense rubble are all possibilities in a desert environment. See the Pathfinder Core Rulebook page 430 for more information on that.

Bones Perhaps it was once a large native creature, such as a blue dragon. Or maybe it was a pack animal brought here by travelers, or simply a wild creature who became lost. It could even be the remains of a creature who died here when this desert was lush and green. Wherever it came from, and whatever the cause of death, all that remain now are bones stripped clean of any meat by the persistent winds. While small creature’s bones may only be good for improvised weapons, the skeletal remains of a blue dragon or dinosaur could potentially provide a good vantage point for archers, or just an interesting environment in which to fight. Hopefully the players don’t try to use it as a landmark, however, since the nature of a shifting sea of sand is that it will sometimes completely conceal the presence of these bones under a dune of sand.

Geological Formations
Big rocks are, without a doubt, the coolest thing about deserts. The unique element of sand constantly being blown around seems to create an environment where literally any kind of rock formation imaginable can theoretically be produced. The sheer level of variety makes it impossible to discuss in any meaningful way. Instead, here are a number of photographs of interesting desert rock formations. Let your imagination run wild here. Click any of the thumbnails for larger versions.

Not to sound like an advertisement, but if you like the options which a hot desert environment provides, and would like to run a session or even a campaign in a desert environment, you might consider picking up Sandstorm. It’s one of the better Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 supplement, and it manages to retain most of its relevance in the Pathfinder system. The only reason it was cut from my recent list is because I thought it would be odd to mention it without the other “Environment Books” (Frostburn, Cityscape, etc), which I don’t yet own and have not read. The book contains a lot of great information on running sessions in a dry desert, as well as some really cool desert monsters and specific locations to adventure in. I’ve wanted to find a use for the “Dry Lich” monster for ages. Now that I’ve got myself all hyped up to give deserts a try, I just might get a chance…

Proto-Alpha Brainstorming for NPC Interaction Rules

On the off chance that you don’t already read -C’s awesome OSR blog, Hack & Slash, you may be interested in checking out some of his recent posts on skill deconstruction. Post by post, -C is applying his impressive analytical ability to identifying the benefits and drawbacks for each of Pathfinder’s 26 skills in turn. Recently he deconstructed two skills which have been an increasing source of anxiety for me over the years: Bluff, and Diplomacy. These two skills annoy me. Tabletop RPGs are supposed to facilitate social interaction, not just between the people playing them, but between the players, and the non player characters. Skills like diplomacy and bluff replace these entertaining and valuable interactions with dice rolling.

No matter how good or bad the argument/lie a player attempts, the most they can achieve through role play (using Pathfinder’s core rules) is a modifier of some kind to their skill roll. Certainly, it can be entertaining when a character with high bluff skills steals something right in front of a guard, then says “You didn’t see me steal anything,” and rolls a 35 on their bluff check. Truthfully, I’ve had a lot of fun with those kinds of players in the past. But it’s a somewhat less entertaining when the players approach a local regent, present maps and evidence of an incoming attack on the regent’s town, but are ignored because they rolled a diplomacy of 8. Even if good role playing & evidence gathering earned those players an unprecedented +10 bonus to their roll, they would still fall short of the DC of 20 required to affect an attitude shift from unfriendly to indifferent.

And none of that even mentions how the current structure of the diplomacy check slows games down. If a player wants to try influencing the attitude of an NPC, the GM needs to pull out the core rulebook, and find the spot in the chapter on skills with the Starting Attitude / Improvement DC chart. I suppose the chart could be memorized, but it seems silly to ask a GM to memorize a chart of arbitrary numbers. Diplomacy also harms gameplay because it turns NPC interaction (which should be part of game play) into a binary proposition based on die rolls. Either you succeed, or you fail. Either way, that NPC can’t be influenced again for another 24 hours.

And on top of all of that, the skill check is so utterly and completely broken that playing it as written in the core rulebook allows a player to rule the world by level 13.

Of course, any of these issues could be softened with house rules, or simply avoided by throwing the entire diplomacy/bluff check system away. Let the players role play with the NPCs, and let the GM decide how NPCs react based on how well the characters influenced them. This is fine, it’s why we have rule zero. It’s what I’ve been doing myself for a number of years now. But that doesn’t make Pathfinder’s broken rules on this subject okay. Just because the individual gamers can fix the problem doesn’t mean the problem doesn’t exist. That’s called the rule zero fallacy, and lets get it out of the way right now. We shouldn’t be okay with our favorite games having bad mechanics, we should want those games to improve on those mechanics. Not just for our sake, but for the sake of new players who may not understand that they have the option of throwing rules away.

NPC interactions deserve a better mechanic. Modern video games have managed to turn conversations into a mechanically relevant and interesting feature, so it should be no problem for tabletop RPGs. Such a system must be simpler to use than Pathfinder’s current chart-reference method. Yet it must also provide a conversational experience with more depth than simply rolling to determine a binary result. It should also be impossible for the system to completely break the game.

Below, I’ve pieced together a simple mock-up of where I’ve started thinking. Bear in mind that this is not intended to be a complete and functional mechanic. It is, as the title of this post suggests, only the very beginnings of the idea. My hope is that we can build a dialogue from this starting point, and eventually produce a usable system. I’ve chosen to present the initial version of this ideas as one which builds off of Pathfinder’s basic structure. I believe that, eventually, a good system for NPC interactions will need to be divorced from any existing system. However, at this early stage, I think there is value in connecting the system to a frame of reference.

Simply stated, my rule is thus:

When attempting to convince, deceive, or intimidate through conversation, the speaker uses their CHA score (not modifier) to oppose their target’s WIS score. These scores are modified somewhat by abilities, and heavily by circumstance and role playing. If these scores are relatively close at the end of the speaker’s attempt, participants roll 3d6 and add the results to their scores to determine the outcome of the attempt. Otherwise, the higher score wins. At the GM’s discretion, characters who make a particularly convincing attempt should automatically succeed, without the need for any number comparison. Succeeding will either achieve the speaker’s goal, or allow the speaker to continue attempting to achieve said goal without penalty. Each failure forces the speaker to suffer penalties during future interactions. Particularly egregious failures may result in insurmountable penalties.

I understand that some of this is confusing, and some of it is downright vague. The above is meant to be the distilled essence of the rule. It is the only part of the rule which you will actually need to remember once you understand how the system works. Those points I left vague were left so because I really have no idea what the specific numbers should be. I’m hoping that someone with a better grasp of the mathematics of game systems can offer some insight on that. For now, just to facilitate the discussion, lets say that every +5 to your diplomacy/bluff/intimidate check (not counting Cha bonus) grants a +1 when you attempt any of those tactics in a conversation. For the purposes of the dice rolling, “Relatively close” will be defined as “within 5 points.”

Example:
Henar the gnomish rogue would like to convince a guard for the city of Yedge to allow her passage into the city, even though the gates have been closed for the night. Henar’s Charisma is 10, and the Guard has a Wisdom of 16. Diplomacy is a class skill for Henar, and she also has 4 ranks in the skill, as well as the Skill Focus: Diplomacy feat. Normally this would give her a total of +10 to Diplomacy rolls. Using this system, that number is divided by five. So Henar now has an effective Charisma of 12 to compare to the Guard’s Wisdom of 16. Henar’s player speaks to the guard:

“Please, good sir! It is cold and wet out here. I am but a gnome, what harm could I do to your city and its powerful watch!?”

Henar’s player doesn’t exactly make a good argument, but the GM decides that this guard will react favorably to flattery. The GM grants Henar a +2 for the role playing, bringing her effective Charisma to 14. Since this is only 2 points away from the guard’s Wisdom of 16, the GM calls for a roll. Both parties roll 3d6. Henar rolls an 12, bringing her total up to 26. The Guard, however, rolls an 11, bringing his total up to 27. The guard “wins” the encounter, and responds:

“Rules is rules, gnome! I won’t let you in for nothing.”

Henar has failed, but the failure is not extreme. The GM decides that she will suffer a -2 penalty during the rest of the conversation. Henar decides to try again, picking up on the “won’t let you in for nothing.” cue. Remember that at this point her effective Charisma is 10 + 2 for her bonuses – 2 for her previous failure. She is again at a disadvantage of 10 to 16.

“Surely an upstanding gentleman such as yourself is due more prestigious duties than guarding a wall! You ought to be spending your evenings in leisure with your fellows. Let me ensure you have the means to truly enjoy yourself next time you are at liberty…”

With this, Henar offers a bag of 25 gold coins – a very generous bribe! The GM decides that the guard is not the type to become offended when offered a bribe, and grants Henar a +4 for this offer. Henar’s flattery has also been laid on more thickly this time, and the GM decides to grant a +4 for that as well. All told, this gives Henar an effective charisma of 18 compared to the guard’s charisma of 16. This is close enough to call for a roll, but this time, Henar wins. The guard allows her through the gate, and takes her gold.

I want to reiterate that this isn’t a finished product. It’s merely the beginnings of an idea. I can already see possible avenues of abuse, and I worry that it may be overly clunky, but it’s a place to start. Maybe the end result of this process won’t look anything like this. Regardless, I’m eager to hear any feedback. I would encourage people to use the comments on this post (rather than IMing, emailing, or twittering me) because any criticism made in private to me isn’t one which is part of the larger discussion.

Puzzling Obstructions

A Pathfinder GM has any number of time tested challenges to present his players. The most common is combat, but to focus on combat exclusively is to lose much of the flavor which makes fantasy role playing so entertaining. Bargaining with an NPC, planning a raid, exploring the wilderness, crossing a river of magma, or any one of innumerable challenges can be utilized by a skilled GM to provide players with engaging games that keep them coming back to your table for more. One of the most maligned, and most poorly implemented, types of challenge is a puzzle.

I’d like to define precisely what I do, and what I do not mean by ‘puzzle’ before proceeding further. Note that these are not common definitions, simply terms which I find useful to facilitate clarity of discussion.

An obstacle is anything which hinders a character’s progress towards a goal. A lock would be a very basic example of an obstacle.

An obstruction is a simple, or even natural, type of obstacle. Obstructions are general-purpose, and likely identical to any number of similar obstructions of the same type. Examples of obstructions would be locked doors, walls, pits, or even most traps.

A puzzle is a more elaborate form of obstacle than an obstruction. It is almost always created by an intelligent force, and is likely unique in its design. Examples of puzzles would be riddles, a door which only opens when four statues in a room are turned to face each other, or a box with no visible lid which opens only when submerged in holy water.

Puzzles are some of the most difficult obstacles to manage successfully, and should be used sparingly. In fact, a great many GMs I’ve spoken with over the years believe that puzzles should be considered verboten. And they have an excellent point! Puzzles can stop a game in its tracks. Almost by definition, puzzles have only a single answer. So instead of the players attempting to concoct their own solution (a great strength of tabletop RPGs) they’re attempting to figure out what the GM’s solution is. And if they get stuck when trying to figure that out, then the progress of the game can come to a screeching halt. And that’s when people start looking for a new GM.

But I hold that puzzles have their place. Maybe it’s it’s simply because the early Legend of Zelda games are near and dear to my heart. No dungeon, temple, or crypt seems quite complete without a puzzle. Recently I ran a game where the players faced several puzzles crafted for them as a test by a master illusionist. All of the puzzles challenged my players, without becoming game-stoppers. I’ll use those puzzles as examples.

Puzzle The First

GM says: “You enter what appears to be a small grassy field within the tower. The walls and ceiling are made of dirt, and a dirt path at the far end of the room leads down. There are [number equal to the number of characters present] horses present, docilely grazing.”

Additional Information: The horses were very friendly, and could be ridden easily. If any character attempted to walk down the dirt path, they were asked to make a reflex save. Failure meant they fell into the path as though it were water. A round later they fell out of the walls or ceiling of the room, taking one point of damage. After one player did this, the voice of the wizard filled the room with “Your feet won’t work there! You’ll need these!” and as he speaks, clovers sprout from the grassy ground.

Intended Solution: The players were supposed to ride the horses down the dirt path. If they did, they would suffer no adverse affects. The clovers were a hint about cloven feet, but if they’d strapped the clovers to their feet somehow, I would have allowed them a half-success. They would sink up to their waist, and be able to slog their way down the ramp. I also would have accepted simply jumping off the edge, down to the bottom of the ramp. Though though as it was a 20ft drop, falling damage would apply if they didn’t make a successful acrobatics check.

What they did: My players were, at first, very wary of the horses. Just outside the tower they had been dealing with a stampede of horses, and didn’t want to get thrown off another raging horse. They did attempt to walk down the ramp, and triggered the hint. Someone suggested strapping the clovers to their feet, but before anyone tried that, one of my players decided to mount a horse and go for it. It worked, so everyone followed suit. The entire puzzle took perhaps 3-5 minutes to solve.

Puzzle The Second

GM Says: “This is a small room with a stone floor. There is a line on the floor ten feet away from a door opposite where you entered. The line is painted on a single, long piece of stone, and beneath it is written in common ‘You must stand behind this line to open the door.‘”

Additional Information: The stone which the line is printed on is 12ft long, and loose. Characters can pry it up easily, and beneath it is a 15ft coil of rope. The door is on on hinges which allow it to open both in or out. Pushing on the door while between the line and the door will be next to impossible. However, the door will open easily to even small amounts of force, so long as the originator of that force is behind the line.

Intended Solution: None, really. Though I did have three expectations of how the puzzle might be solved: The 12ft long piece of stone might be used to push the door open, the rope might be tied to the door, and pulled from behind the line. Or, alternatively, the players might throw heavy objects (or even each other) at the door.

What they did: My players really surprised me with this one. Rather than doing what I expected them to do, they first tried to open the door by taking the rope they found beneath the stone, and laying it out right next to the door, then trying to push the door open. When this didn’t work, they tried the same thing, but this time they moved the stone with the line on it. Given the way I worded the rules, I decided that this should work, and allowed them to open the door. However, if I had decided that the line was somehow intangibly tied to its original spot, I think my players still would have figured the puzzle out promptly. This one was quick. Perhaps 2 minutes tops.

Puzzle The Third

GM Says: “There are 5 buckets hanging on the wall with labels on them. Each apparently has a different color of paint in it–red, blue, green, yellow, and black. Across the small room from the entrance is a plain door.

Additional Information: Behind the door is a stone wall. However, when the door is painted, opening it creates a portal based on the color used. The color/portal associations are as follows: Red opens a portal to the doorway the PC’s entered this room through, Blue successfully allows the PCs to progress to the next room, Green opens a portal to the first layer of hell, yellow causes those who pass through the portal to simply come back out of the portal again, and black opens into space looking down on the planet (a wall of force stops any air, or players, from going through the black door.) The labels describe these locations, but are written in gnomish (the language of the illusionist who created this trial). This was intended as a hint to the illusionist’s identity. He had thus far presented himself as a 9-ft tall humanoid.

Intended Solution: To paint the door blue.

What they did: My players probably struggled with this one the most. I probably should have provided better clues. Rather than paint the door, they painted the stone wall behind the door, but I decided to allow it. It took them perhaps 5 or 6 minutes to progress past here.

Puzzle The Fourth

GM says: “There are three iron doors exiting this room. High on the wall is a window made of grass. A green light filters into the room, the blades of grass creating a collage of lines and edges over every surface the light touches. In the center of the room is a large lens mounted on two axes so it can be turned in any direction. It is presently focusing a small beam of light onto the floor, warping the lines and edges created by the grass window’s light.”

Additional Information: All three doors open easily, with no trouble. This is the first puzzle the players encountered which was truly dangerous, as two of the doors led to particularly deadly traps, the natures of which are not important to the puzzle. If the characters examine the area of distorted light, they will notice that the lines & edges of the light form the word “look” in common. Directing the lens toward the doors will identify them either as “Death” or “Forward.”

Intended Solution: To go through the door which reads “Forward” when the light is directed at it.

What They Did: I must confess, my memory is somewhat fuzzy on precisely how this final puzzle played out. I do recall that they were somewhat confused by the lens at first, but they did notice that it said “look.” (I allowed them a passive perception check to notice it.) After that they made the leap to directing the lens at the doors, and found the correct way out easily. The entire process was brief, perhaps 2-4 minutes.

I view all four of these puzzles as successes. The players enjoyed themselves, and had some good discussion about what solutions they should attempt. Up until that point, these players had participated in sessions which focused on exploration and combat, so it was a good way to give them a new type of challenge. As mentioned before, setting up a good puzzle can be extremely difficult, so it’s important to proceed with caution if you’re planning to use one. While hardly exhaustive, I find these tips very useful in designing my puzzles.

  • Puzzles should almost never be required for progression through the adventure, and if they are, they should be easier than normal. You might notice that the four above puzzles were in fact required for progression, since the characters were after the illusionist for help. But neither were any of them particularly difficult to sole, and I was flexible with my solutions. If you do make solving a puzzle a necessary, then you risk the players becoming stuck. And if they get stuck, the GM is left with two options. One, the GM can give them out-of-character help, or somehow allow them to bypass the puzzle. This steals player agency, and makes players feel as though they’re being railroaded. The other option is simply to allow them to remain stuck for as long as it takes, even long after they’ve lost interest. Both responses suck the fun out of a game. Since the GM is the fun facilitator (or the funcilitator!), sucking the fun out of a game is a pretty severe failure of GMing.
  • Make sure there are clear hints to help players succeed. Looking at the puzzles above, the first one had the four leaf clovers, the second had its conditions spelled out, and the fourth had the spot of light which formed the word “look.” Only the third puzzle lacked a clear hint, and that was the puzzle which stymied the players longest.
  • Allow “half solutions” which help the players get there. If the players try something that doesn’t work, they’ll rarely attempt subtle permutations of what they’ve already tried. So if they attempt a solution which is close to the answer, but not quite, then after they fail they’re likely to try something completely different, rather than try something similar to what has already not worked. If the solution your players come up with is near the mark, give them some indication of that. If it’s a door they’re trying to open, have the door open just a crack, but no further. In the first puzzle above, I would have allowed players to have some success by putting the clovers on their feet, even though this was not the “correct” answer.
  • What is obvious to you as the designer of the puzzle will never be as obvious to the players as those challenged by the puzzle. This rule is absolute. Err on the side of caution. It’s better that your puzzles be too easy, than too hard.
  • In order to help with that previous point, confer with a third party before the game. Asking a friend who won’t be playing in the game to solve your puzzle will give you a better sense of what works and what doesn’t.

Wizard Spell Research Variant

Sir William Fettes Douglas The Alchemist 19th cent.

Wizards are the scholars of Pathfinder. Other spellcasting classes, such as the sorcerer, cleric, or druid, draw their powers from their ancestry, their gods, or nature itself. The unique flavor of wizards is that they are the scientists of a magical world. Their power comes from hours of study, and dutifully logged research. At each level, wizards automatically learn two new spells which represent research performed between adventures. A wizard can also learn new spells by studying the spellbooks of other wizards. The only real limit on the number of spells a wizard can know is however many books the GM will let him get away with carrying.

This versatility is one of the great draws of the wizard class. Unfortunately, the nearly limitless ability to expand their spell repertoire also allow wizards to completely overshadow the other classes. This uncontested dominance has plagued the game ever since D&D 3rd edition’s release. Over time, balance has improved through lowering the effectiveness of some spells, and increasing the abilities of other classes, but wizards are still considerably overpowered in Pathfinder.

Editions ago, when wizards were still called magic users, this was not as much of an issue. I’m not exactly an expert on older versions of D&D, but my understanding is that not only did wizards level at a slower rate than other classes do, but their abilities were also significantly less comprehensive. In Pathfinder, the idea is that anything which can happen in the game world can potentially be achieved by players. If there are mighty magic users who can cast spells powerful enough to raise continents out of the sea, then players should be able to look forward to similar abilities at some point. Obviously this creates much more powerful casters, but I don’t think I would want to give either of these things up. I like that ever class levels at the same rate, and I like that nothing is ever completely out of reach of player characters. I would, however, like to see wizards brought more in line with other classes. It’s a problem which is often floating around the periphery of my awareness. I haven’t come up with a solid solution, but recently I struck upon an idea which I think is flavorful, interesting, and goes a small way towards helping with balance issues.

As I’ve posted about before, I’ve been reading a few first edition D&D modules. Alas I’ve been too busy to really make a dent in the small stack of them that I have, but one thing I’ve noticed is the big to-do which is made about NPC spellbooks. Any time a magic user appears in a module, the author makes note of where the magic user keeps his or her spellbook, and what spells are in it. Magic users often seem to go to great lengths to hide their books. It seems that in 1st edition, stealing finding and stealing a spellbook was considered a great prize. And why shouldn’t it be? In first edition, as in Pathfinder, getting your hands on someone else’ spell book means that–after a little study–all of that person’s spells can be added to your own collection.

I toyed with this idea for awhile, not really sure what I wanted to do with it. I could start making spellbooks a bigger part of my games, but all that would do is make any wizard players more overpowered than they already were. I jotted the idea down in one of my notebooks for future reference, and promptly forgot about it for a few weeks. That’s when I read a post by Paul over at Blog of Holding called 4e Spells as Treasure. I find it amusing that many of my best ideas come after reading Blog of Holding, since it most often focuses on 4th edition D&D, a game which I find personally quite distasteful. In this post, Paul discusses the possibility of including scrolls which have improved versions of spells in treasure hordes. Wizards could transcribe the spells into their books, and forever be able to cast a slightly better version of a common spell. This set me to thinking:

What if wizards only learned spells by finding them?

It wouldn’t be difficult. Simply drop the 2 spells wizards learn automatically with each new level. Since those spells are explained as research performed between adventures, all a GM need say is that spell research in the game world is significantly more time consuming and difficult than in the standard Pathfinder game. Players could still research spells on their own, but doing so would need to be handled with the GM, and would probably have significant costs associated with it. As Paul writes, “DMs and players can go crazy with rules for spending money on research, libraries, and labs.”

Using this house rule, characters would no longer be able to learn spells independently from the game world. Players never like to see their characters become weaker, but once they accepted this way of doing things, I think it would make spell acquisition a much more involving and entertaining process. Gaining two new spells instantaneously with each level is fine, but it’s an abstraction which reminds everyone that they’re playing a game. Instead, every time players encountered a wizard, they would be engaged in trying either to befriend her so they could learn from her, or defeat her so they could steal her secrets.

This house rule also provides the GM with useful tools for controlling their game world. Many spells make a GMs job significantly more difficult, such as the various permutations of polymorph, flight spells, teleportation spells, invisibility spells, and worst of all, divination spells. And while I think it would be inadvisable to simply block players from ever finding these spells, this rule does give the GM a throttle with which to control their inclusion in the game. Overland Flight, for example, might never appear in the game until an enemy wizard uses it in a level 14 adventure. If the players then earn the spell by defeating their foe and finding his spellbook, it’s still just a 5th level spell. But the GM is able to prevent it from effecting the game until they’re ready for it, 5 levels after it would normally be available to characters.

Another benefit of this house rule is that treasure hordes become much more interesting. My experience with D&D is that most GMs include two things in treasure piles: coins, and gear they want their players to use. I did this myself for many years, so I understand the desire to simplify player rewards. Artwork, weapons which won’t be used, and even gems seem like they’re simply obstructions to game play. All the player will want to do is find out how much gold he can get in exchange for these items, and sell them as soon as they can. But simple treasure hordes become boring very quickly. Players can only get excited about a pile of coins and a replacement for their weapon with an extra +1 on it so many times. Including the spellbooks of long dead magic users, or even just scrolls containing a new spell, will go a long way towards getting players more excited about what they find.

It’s just a thought at this point. I haven’t had an opportunity to implement this rule in a game yet. When I do I’ll be sure to take copious notes on player reactions and update the blog on how it went.