Better Not Die, ‘cuz PCs Don’t Go To Heaven

Oversaturated screenshot of Meryl Strife from the Playstation 1 Metal Gear Solid game, lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Text over the image reads "Time to roll a new character. Unless…?"

When your character drops to 0 hit points¹ in On A Red World Alone, two things happen:

You must roll on the permanent injury table.
I remind you that the next hit will kill you dead.

That’s it. The character’s ability to take actions is not inhibited in any way beyond their specific injury, and their own desire to avoid character death. This always surprises and slightly confuses new players, who expect having no hit points to restrict their options more severely. It even surprises and confuses old players who haven’t been at 0 hit points in awhile. (Which, as an inattentive player myself, I totally understand.)

I’ve been running games this way for many years now, because it creates an interesting choice: What risks are you willing to take when you’re one knuckle sandwich away from certain death? To me that choice is made so much less interesting if you’re also inhibited by moving at half speed, or rolling with disadvantage, or especially if the only action you’re allowed to take is “roll to stop bleeding.”

If the injured character escapes immediate danger, they are faced with another interesting choice: do they move to the back rank of the party and continue on their quest, or do they find somewhere to hunker down and heal? Healing requires 8 hours of rest², in which time whatever task they’re pursuing will definitely become more challenging in some way. Doors will be locked, traps will be laid, their enemies will be reinforced, or rival bands of plunderers will arrive to compete for loot.

¹ I don’t fuck with negative hit points. If you’ve got 3hp, taking 3 damage and taking 30 damage have identical results. I have toyed with the idea of a catastrophic injury rule where damage that would reduce you to -10 is instantly lethal, but at present I’m not doing that.

² You can restore 1hp by finding a corner to hide in for 8 hours. Or, if you’re fortunate enough to rest somewhere with a bed, food, and leisure activities, you may roll your hit die to determine how many hp you recover.

Roll on the Permanent Injury Table

My permanent injury table is more bark than bite, since only half its results are permanent.

Gain a cool scar. Roll a new Boon. (In games other than ORWA, I replace this with +1 to a random Ability Score.)
In shock. Automatically fail saving throws for the rest of the session.
The most precious item the character has with them is destroyed.
Roll a die type equal to half your HD (d6 HD -> roll d3). Reduce your maximum HP by the result.
A randomly determined skill is reduced by 1 rank. (In games other than ORWA, I replace this with -1 to a random Ability Score.)
Severe bodily trauma. Your (1-2: arm, 3-4: leg, 5: eye, 6: lung, 7: kidney, 8: face) is destroyed.

I believe these entries are fairly clear, though the last one may require a bit of additional explanation.

Losing an arm prevents a character from holding two things, losing a leg prevents them from standing or moving normally. In both cases I’d roll a d% to see how much of the limb was destroyed. Losing an eye penalizes their ability to aim. Losing a lung penalizes endurance. Losing a kidney is my catch-all for digestive organs and makes them vulnerable to poisons. Lungs and kidneys are both particularly bad if you happen to lose them twice, since you can’t be alive anymore. Having one’s face destroyed penalizes social rolls.

You could get a lot more granular with different bits of the body, and the disabilities that would result from their destruction. For many years I used a huge table with over 200 grisly entries, and enjoyed it very much. I only switched to this because a smaller table is easier to keep at hand and thus faster to use. And until recently I included the possibility for characters to lose their ability to talk, smell, or hear, but I personally find those conditions challenging to enforce at the table, and so have opted to remove them.

In all cases, the nature of the injury can be tailored to whatever caused it. A swinging sword, a falling rock, a venomous bite, and a blast of fire can all destroy a person’s arm, but the particulars will differ.

Death

A character at 0 who takes another point of damage is dead. Depending on the method of death I may allow them some brave last words, or a spiteful final riposte, but then it’s time to roll a new character. Unless…?

On a Red World Alone is set in what I call a Saturday Morning SciFi milieu. Characters returning from the dead in some horrible altered form is a genre staple that I cannot deny to my players. So long as a dead character’s body isn’t completely obliterated, and their friends are able to recover it, then the player may opt to revive their character as either a Cyborg, an Undead, or a Mutant.

Cyborg resurrection has the fewest strings attached if you happen to be absurdly wealthy. For the low-low price of 9000cc + 1000cc/level, the finest scientific minds on apocalyptic mars will replace your most mangled body parts with chrome. If you don’t happen to be absurdly wealthy, worry not! The billing department has already filed the paperwork to garnish half your XP gain until the debt is paid.

Undead resurrection is a bit of a melodramatic term. Sure, your soul was forced back into its fleshy husk by the power of eldritch sorcery which makes you repellent in the eyes of God. But your heart pumps blood, your lungs pull in air, and you don’t smell any worse than you used to. To all appearances you look as good as if you’d never died at all, but necromancers must be paid—and they place little value on plastic. Choosing Undead resurrection places the resurrected under a Geas they must complete. The nature of the Geas will depend on the goals of the magician who performed the resurrection. A wizard’s goals are rarely wholesome.

Mutant resurrection is a gamble. Somewhat less than the finest scientific minds on apocalyptic mars will blast your corpse with strange radiation, pump it full of neon colored goop, and allow stray animals to bite it. On the upside: it does bring you back to life on the cheap. On the downside: you’ve developed a disadvantageous mutation. The process by which I manage this in my own game involves a d1000 table and a series of mental filters, neither of which can reasonably be shared here. Instead, here’s a table of d12 examples:

Allergic to Silver. Can’t touch it, and takes extra damage from it.
A gross little face is growing from where the wound was. It says rude things to people.
Skin glows very slightly. Not enough to see by, but enough to make it impossible to hide in darkness.
Mutant grows tight strands between fingers, hindering their manual dexterity. Reduce a finger-dependent skill by 1 rank.
Nose becomes large and hypersensitive. Must make a saving throw to avoid fleeing from strong smells.
Legs shrink. Normal movement rate is reduced by 25%.
If this mutant touches a wounded person, they absorb that person’s damage. They cannot control this ability, and cloth clothing isn’t enough to prevent touching.
The mutant’s body produces a stone which, if destroyed, instantly kills the mutant. The inverse is not true: the stone being secure does not prevent the mutant from any harm.
The mutant has absolutely no sense of direction. They cannot “go back the way they came” if they’re alone, and will fail any navigation checks.
The mutant is profoundly unpleasant to talk to. Try as they might, they’re always going to say stuff that’s boring, mean, or offensive. -1 on social checks.
Skin flakes off constantly, leaving an easy-to-follow trail wherever they go.
Weak little baby lungs prevent this mutant from holding their breath at all, for any reason.

In conclusion

A stranger once told me that they’d heard of my games through one of my players, and reported that this player’s favorite thing about playing with me is that death feels like an ever-present risk. This surprised me. It is lovely to know my players speak well of me, but I don’t think of my games as being particularly deadly. Certainly I don’t intervene to prevent death from happening if that’s how the player’s choices and the luck of the dice land, but in practice PC death doesn’t happen often. Most of this post has been about the ways players can survive when they ought to have died!

I think the operative word in this second-hand performance review is “feels.” Death feels like an ever-present risk in my games, because when players get close to it the game changes. They’re faced with decisions that have clear life-or-death stakes, and if they manage to survive the experience still leaves its mark on them.

Lamentations of the Flame Princess House Rules, Part 1 of 2

When I was a Pathfinder GM, tinkering with and changing the game’s rules was a pastime of mine. It was the primary driving force behind most of my writing back then. There were some downsides to it. I annoyed my players, who had to adjust to my frequent rules changes. And, occasionally, I would make the game’s rules lopsided, by failing to take rule interactions into account.

Since switching to Lamentations of the Flame Princess, I’ve had little to tinker with. I’ve done a fair amount of adding rules on top of the existing ones. But for the most part, LotFP’s rules do exactly what they should. They give me a framework to run the kinds of games I like to run, without getting in my way.

But no game system can ever be perfect for anyone but the GM who wrote it. After more than a year of running LotFP Rules-As-Written, I’d accumulated a small list of inadequacies I wanted to correct. So I’ve been experimenting with a few alterations that I’d like to share.

I’m going to break this post up into two parts. The changes to combat rules are here, and the changes to the skills system will come later.

Here’s what I’m thinking:

-Weapons, and use for the off-hand-

In RAW LotFP, there are four weapon types:

Minor: 1d4, -2 to hit v. unadjusted AC of 15 or better.
Small: 1d6
Medium: 1d8
Great: 1d10

Great weapons require two hands, while all other weapons use only 1 hand, aside from a handful of special cases (like the staff). The only thing the player can do with the off hand is hold a shield. I’d like to keep this simplicity, but open up a few options for the player. My four weapon types are:

Minor: 1d4, -2 to hit v. unadjusted AC of 15 or better.
Small: 1d6
Medium: 1d8
Great: 1d12, -1 AC, Requires both hands.

If the player isn’t using a great weapon, they can use their off-hand in several ways:

Shield in off-hand: +1 AC v. melee attacks, +2 AC v. ranged attacks. (Unchanged from RAW)
Second weapon in off-hand: +1 AC v. melee attacks, +2 when fighting defensively or parrying, +0 v. great weapon and ranged attacks.
Free off-hand: +1 to hit, +1 to AC v. melee when parrying.
Both hands on Medium weapon: 1d10 damage instead of 1d8

I like giving players access to a 1d12 weapon; and I also like that great weapons come at a cost. I don’t think enough systems give players an advantage for focusing all their attention on a single handed weapon. I also like the idea of a player shifting between one and two hands with their medium weapon. Allowing them to swap between higher damage and higher hit chance.

I do think the benefit of having an off-hand weapon is too low, but I want to avoid making it too powerful. I want it to be an interesting option, not means to make characters “totally badass.”

-Grappling-

Grappling has historically been a big problem for D&D. And, while LotFP’s “Wrestling” rules are adequately simple, they aren’t perfect. But, as I’ve recently learned, Gygax published a rule in Strategic Review which is pretty close to perfect.

I’m sorry I can’t find the blog which turned me on to this rule (and had a great variation on it), but thanks to Courtney Campbell for pointing me to the rule’s source. After some tweaking, this is what I’m going to try:

When characters grapple, both sides roll their hit dice as a pool. (So a single level 10 fighter would roll 10d8, and 20 1-hit-die kobolds might roll 20d4). The defender must always be a single target, but multiple attackers can attempt to swarm the target. The side which rolls the higher sum number wins. The winner can choose to do one of the following:

Knock their opponent(s) prone and stun them for 1 round.
Knock their opponent(s) 10’ back and stun them for 1 round.
Pin their opponent. (Only one)

A pinned character can attempt to throw off their attacker(s) by rolling half their hit die pool each round. Attackers can opt either to deal 1d4 damage to a pinned character each round, or to move the pinned character up to half of the attacker’s movement speed. A single attacker may also use a small or minor weapon against a pinned character–but not if they’re part of a ‘swarm.’

Aside from simplifying grappling enough that I won’t need to look it up again, the major benefit of this rule is the way it empowers swarms of small creatures. Traditionally, a mid level fighter can stand in the middle of a dozen first level foes, and slay them at leisure. Using this rule, large groups will always be a serious threat, because of their ability to overwhelm a defender.

Weather

In the past I’ve written that weather is an important element in tabletop gameplay, but I’ve reevaluated that position. Rather than calling it an “important game element,” I think it would be better termed as an “intermediate GM skill.” Yes, including weather in a game enhances the game’s atmosphere, and can potentially provide the players with an interesting handicap or boon. It’s a good addition to a game, but GMs already have a lot of things to keep track of. If something needs to be dropped, weather is the obvious choice. When I first started playing tabletop RPGs, I honestly didn’t notice that every adventure took place on a clear summer’s day. Weather was never mentioned, and nobody ever complained.

Given that weather is non-essential, I want it to require as little work as any mechanic can ever require. Random is good, but in this case, charts are bad. Charts require table space, or GM screen space. When they need to be rolled on, the GM will probably need to spend a few moments finding them. That’s too large a time investment. For weather, I want to roll a die, and immediately be able to interpret the die’s result.

I propose using a 1d12 roll. When play begins, a roll of 1 indicates bad weather, 2-3 indicate inconvenient weather, 4-9 indicate normal weather, 10-11 are nice weather, and 12 is great weather. Each new day out of doors, the GM rolls another 1d12. The same ranges mentioned above are used to determine how the weather changes, with the options being: much worse, slightly worse, unchanged, slightly better, or much better.

The GM determines the weather’s precise nature based on the current climate and season in the player’s location. Both of these elements should be predetermined using the game world’s map, and the campaign calendar. Within this context, the idea of “good” and “bad” weather is relative to how it helps the characters. While crossing plains or forests, rain would be at least inconvenient. In a desert, however, rain would be the best weather you could possibly ask for!

I like how this method utilizes a bell curve, without the annoyance of adding numbers together. Perhaps this weakness comes from my own poor education in math, but adding even small numbers together requires me to pause for a moment and consider. Not long, mind you, but longer than reading a single number off of a die. The system is also fairly easy to memorize: 1,2,3 are bad, anything with double digits (10, 11, 12) is good, and everything else is normal. And even though my decision to use a d12 was based on the probabilities which can be modeled with it, I take some small pleasure in coming up with a new use for the lil’ underutilized guy.

The number 12 has an amazing, underutilized synergy with dice games. But that’s a post for another day!

Moving with Subtlety, and How to Roll Dice for it

I’ve been pondering how stealthy action could be handled better at the table. When I assessed Pathfinder’s stealth skill earlier this year, I came to the conclusion that while the rules were dangerously unclear on specifics, they could still be interpreted as a pretty solid stealth mechanic. To refresh: Pathfinder’s stealth skill is rolled as an opposed check. The character wishing to be subtle makes their check, and any characters they wish to avoid the detection of rolls a perception check. Highest result wins. If the GM only calls for the check under the proper conditions, and the D&D 3.5 optional facing rules are used, then the skill as written works respectably well, all things considered.

Nevertheless I’ve recently found myself attracted to a ternary stealth system. I hesitate to call it simpler, because in some ways it is more complicated, but ultimately I believe it is more enjoyable and more streamlined than Pathfinder’s raw ruleset. In many ways, it is similar to the Streamlined Skills System I wrote about back in September. It would function thusly:

Characters are either “Subtle,” or “Unsubtle.” If the game is a retroclone, then characters like the thief or assassin will obviously be the subtle ones, whilst all other classes would be unsubtle. In Pathfinder, a subtle character is one who has a bonus in stealth not less than their HD + 1. (So a level 6 rogue must have a +7 or more in her stealth skill if she wishes to be a subtle character.) -OR- if you are concerned about stealth becoming a skill tax, a subtle character is any who has 10 ranks or more in the Stealth skill. (I would discourage my fellow GMs from having subtle characters be those of a class for whom stealth is a class skill. While it is reasonable, the entire benefit of the skill system is that any character can use it to excel at a given task).

Anytime any character wishes to go unseen, and that character has a reasonable chance of failure (more on this below), they must make a stealth check. In a retroclone, the check would likely be defined by the subtle character’s class abilities. In Pathfinder, the DC will be based on the environment. A field of grass would be the baseline of 10, a stone floor would be DC of 15, creaky wood a DC of 20, crunchy leaves or a floor filled with trash a DC of 25. Darkness would reduce the DC, while something like a large mirror would increase it. Obviously, armor check penalties would apply. GMs of both type of game are encouraged to grant circumstance bonuses to characters who take extra precautions like camouflage, and impose penalties on characters who fail to observe common sense precautions like moving at a slow pace.

Attempts at stealth should be rejected by the GM outright in any circumstance where moving undetected would be completely unreasonable. For example, moving in plain sight of the creature you wish to hide from.

If an unsubtle character fails their stealth check, then something has happened which alerts those around them. Perhaps they kicked a stone or scraped their foot on the floor. Perhaps something out of their control occurred, like the door they were opening being poorly maintained, and causing a loud squeaking sound when it opened. If an unsubtle character succeeds on their check, then they are moving pretty quietly. However, nearby creatures may be entitled to a perception check to detect the character anyway. In a retroclone, this perception check is a 1d6 roll, and could have a range of 1, 2, or 3, depending on how likely it is that the nearby creatures heard the player. In Pathfinder, this perception check is a skill check, directly opposed to the result of the player’s stealth roll.

If a subtle character fails their check, they receive the same result that an unsubtle character would on a successful check. If a subtle character succeeds on their check, then they are (within reason) moving with absolute stealth. Their victims are not entitled to any perception checks at all.

A single successful check is only good for so long, however. It would be ridiculous for a rogue to succeed on a stealth check, then move all the way down to bottommost level of the dungeon, retrieve the treasure, and walk back without requiring any further checks. A new check must be rolled any time the situation changes. Some examples of when a new check must be rolled include:

Anytime the character enters a new area, such as moving into a new room.
Anytime the character abandons something which aided them in their stealth, such as moving out of an area of darkness, or moving into an area where their camouflage would no longer be effective.
Anytime they attempt a maneuver which might get them caught, such as making a quick dash from one hiding place to another, or when they open a door.

As mentioned above, checks should only be called for if there is a reasonable chance the character will be detected. Checks should not be called for if the player is crawling on their belly to glance over a hill at an enemy fortress in the valley below. Nor should checks be called for if the character is merely attempting to use some form of cover to hide themselves, without moving. Anybody can crawl inside of a barrel and be essentially undetectable. Exceptions may be made if the character needs to remain in their hiding place for an extremely long time (perhaps an hour or more), or if their hiding space is ill suited to them (such as hiding behind a pole barely large enough to conceal your body while standing sideways).

Ultimately, I hope this system will turn sneaking into a more active process, where players must discuss their actions in detail with the GM. I’m quite happy with this, and plan to implement it in all of my games so I can work out any bugs there may be. I’m eager to hear what others think as well.

Critical Hit and Critical Fumble Charts for Pathfinder

I’ve been trying to write a post about critical hits and fumbles for awhile now. A stupidly long while, actually. Like, a month and a half. I’ve had this general idea about wanting to discuss the various ways I’ve seen people handle attack rolls of 1 or 20, but I haven’t been able to pin down what I want to say about it.

I first got to thinking about this when I started playing in my friend Gustie’s Anomalous Subsurface Environment game, where I am a thief named Nire the Dead. Gustie has a really cool method of handling critical hits, where the attacker can either deal double damage, or do ‘something cool.’ It’s a mechanic which doesn’t simply allow players to be creative and try crazy things, but encourages it. A player can always say they want to try something cool, but often the odds of success make a simple attack the obviously better choice. By pre-confirming that something cool will work, the mechanic has an incredibly freeing effect on the player’s imagination.

All of that said, I don’t know if I would want to implement Gustie’s system in Pathfinder. Combat maneuvers already provide a working structure for ‘cool stuff,’ and it’s an extremely efficient one which rewards player ingenuity. I feel like the two systems might not mesh well with one another. Despite not wanting to use Gustie’s system, though, I do want to try something a little more colorful than the basic double damage / critical miss system that Pathfinder uses.

For the last few weeks, Brendan’s Vaults of Pahvelorn game has been using a pair of tables he got from a Lammantations of the Flame Princess supplement. I don’t own LotFP, so I can’t speak to the table’s full content. But anytime a 1 or a 20 is rolled, Brendan asks us to roll a 30 sided die, and something wonderful, or terrible, results. I’ve been fascinated to watch how this table has affected the group. We’re all on the edge of our seat, waiting to find out what the d30’s roll will produce–and there have been some doozies. Like the time one of us rolled a 20, which resulted in a miss, but they then ‘learned from it,’ and gained 1 point to their wisdom score. Or the time one of the party’s cleric’s was granted a new level on the spot.

We’ve had an immense amount of fun with the LotFP tables. But for my Pathfinder games, I wanted to find something a little more grounded. That’s when I discovered a post on Delta’s D&D Hotspot with some fantastic tables from an old dragon magazine. You should definitely take a moment to look over those tables. They’re very nearly perfect. All I’ve done below is parse them down from four charts, to two. And from a d%, to a d30.

Note that a little creativity, and judgement is required from the GM when using these tables. What does it mean in game terms when an orc loses an eye? (Perhaps they’re easier to backstab or flank)? What exactly happens to a shortbow when it’s damaged? (Perhaps the character cannot bend it as far without breaking it, and thus the bow’s range is reduced by half)? I’ve tried to predict circumstances which would make any of the results invalid, and provide contingencies for them. But if you choose to use these tables, I’m sure you’ll discover a few that I missed, and need to either re-roll, or make a judgement call.

Critical Hits (Roll 1d30)

Any attack roll of 20 is a critical hit. Any other other attack roll within critical range must be confirmed as per Pathfinder’s rules.

1-10) Standard critical damage as indicated by the weapon type.
11-15) Critical multiplier increased by 1. (If a weapon deals double damage on a critical hit, then it would deal triple damage. If the weapon deals triple damage, then it would deal quadruple damage, and so on.)
16) Normal damage, and weapon is knocked from the opponent’s hands. (If enemy uses natural weapons, such as a bite attack, those weapons are damaged and rendered unusable.)
17) Normal damage, and opponent’s shield is knocked out of their hands. (If no shield is present, weapon is knocked away instead, as described for 16)
18) Normal damage, plus opponent’s armor (or natural armor) is damaged, reducing its AC bonus by 1. Armor can be repaired for 1/2 base cost. (If armor is magical, re-roll.)
19) Normal damage, plus the opponent’s ear is struck, and destroyed. (If the target is wearing a helm, attack deals normal damage, and helm is knocked off.)
20) Normal damage, plus the opponent’s eye is struck, and destroyed. (If the target is wearing a helm, attack deals normal damage and helm is knocked off.)
21) Normal damage, plus the opponent’s knee is struck. They are reduced to 1/2 movement speed.
22) Critical damage, plus the opponent’s right arm is destroyed (Either cut off, or damaged beyond usability).
23) Critical damage, plus the opponent’s left arm is destroyed (Either cut off, or damaged beyond usability).
24) Critical damage, plus the opponent’s right leg is destroyed (Either cut off, or damaged beyond usability).
25) Critical damage, plus the opponent’s left leg is destroyed (Either cut off, or damaged beyond usability).
26) Critical damage, plus severe damage to the abdomen. (Heavy bleeding, either from a wound, or internally). Target will continue to lose 10 hp every turn (10 minutes) until bbleeding is stopped.
27) Critical damage, plus severe damage to one of the target’s lungs. Target is left gasping on the ground until tended to. Suffers a permanent loss of 4 Constitution (which also causes a loss of 2hp/level). This ability loss is from the destruction of a lung, and cannot be recovered by anything less than a Regenerate spell.
28) The attack strikes the chest, and severely damages the heart. The target is immediately reduced to -1 hp.
29) The attack strikes the head. The target immediately drops to -1 hp and suffers the permanent loss of 4 Wisdom. This ability loss is from brain damage, and cannot be recovered by anything less than a Regenerate spell. (If the target is wearing a helmet, this attack instead deals critical damage, and knocks the helmet from the target’s head).
30) Roll twice.

Critical Fumble (Roll 1d30)

Any attack roll of 1 is a critical fumble.

1-10) Complete miss.
11-12) Fumbler’s movements put them off balance. They take a -1 penalty to their armor class for the next round.
13) Fumbler’s movements put them severely off balance. They lose Dexterity, Shield, and Dodge bonuses to AC for the next round. If losing these bonuses does not reduce the fumbler’s AC, then they still must take a -1 penalty.
14-15) Fumbler trips, and falls prone.
16) Fumbler trips, falls prone, and strikes their head. Stunned for 1d4 rounds. (If fumbler is wearing a helmet, then they are not stunned, but their helmet is knocked off).
17-18) Weapon is damaged and loses some of its effectiveness, but is still usable. Specifics are up to the GM. Weapon can be repaired for 1/2 of the weapon’s base cost. (Magical weapons are unaffected, and merely miss).
19) Weapon is damaged and loses some of its effectiveness, but is still usable. Specifics are up to the GM. Weapon can be repaired for 1/2 base cost. This includes magical weapons.
20-21) Weapon is destroyed. Can be reassembled for 3/4 of the weapon’s base cost. (Magical weapons are unaffected, and merely miss).
22) Weapon is destroyed. Can be reassembled for 3/4 of the weapon’s base cost. This includes magical weapons.
23) Weapon is dropped.
24) Weapon is sent flying.
25) Shield is dropped. (If no shield is held, weapon is dropped).
26) Fumbler twists their ankle, and is reduced to 1/2 speed until they have a day to rest.
27) If fumbler wears a helm, it becomes twisted, leaving them unable to see. (If no helm is worn, this is simply a miss).
28) A nearby ally is struck for 1/2 damage. (If no ally is nearby, this is merely a miss).
29) A nearby ally is struck for normal damage. (If no ally is nearby, this is merely a miss).
30) Roll Twice.

Rethinking Rations

At my game table I have a bowl filled with poker chips. At the start of every game, my players look at their inventory and pull out a number of white chips equal to their ammunition, red chips equal to their torches/lantern oil, and blue chips equal to their rations. As we play, chips go into the bowl when these consumables are used, and come out of the bowl when they’re purchased. When the game ends, the players count their chips, and update their character sheets. It’s an efficient system which allows me to be strict about consumable use, without requiring my players to perform a lot of annoying bookkeeping. I think I originally got the idea from Telecanter.

Prior to using this system I was the bad sort of GM who just hand-waved consumables out of the game because they were too much of a pain in the ass to keep track of. I find I enjoy the game much more since I’ve started using this system, though. Tracking ammunition has the largest impact on the game, since players need to be much more conscious about how frequently they use their bows. After a few hours of frequent combat, the ranger starts to get nervous, and that makes the game exciting. Tracking light sources has less of an impact, but it serves as a timer for how long your players can travel underground. Gods help them if they use more than half of their lantern oil on the way down into the dungeon.

Rations, on the other hand, have yet to play any important role in my games. My players track them because I’ve told them they need to do that. They dutifully toss a chip into the bowl at the end of each adventuring day, and when they free a prisoner or find someone in need, they share their poker chips with that person. But tracking rations has never served an actual purpose in the year or more that I’ve been doing it. It’s just a rote action of taking chips out of, and putting them back into the bowl. What is the point?

I don’t want to return to hand-waving rations because of this issue. Limited food resources has too much potential value. There’s a huge desert in the northern part of the continent my players are on. If they ever try to travel there, days away from any town, running out of food is going to be a serious concern. I’ve also begun work on a megadungon which extends dozens of levels beneath the earth. Again, in that situation, the possibility of starving is going to create excitement and urgency in the game. I won’t sacrifice that. But I also don’t want to continue tracking rations day-by-day, purchase-by-purchase for all the sessions where there’s no actual danger of food running out.

Starting with my next Pathfinder session in a couple weeks I’m going to switch things up. First off, I’ve been having players track 1 week’s worth of rations as 1 significant item using my encumbrance system. (A system which I intend to revisit and revise soon). Based on how much food actually weighs, rations in my game are far too light. Looking over military rations used by the U.S. within the last 30 years shows that a single meal can weigh as much as 2.7lb using relatively modern technology. Assuming three meals a day, a week’s rations is nearly 60lb! That’s hardly in line with other significant items, such as a greatsword, which might weight 10lb. Three days of food, at about 25lb, seems like a much more reasonable weight for a single significant item.

Having determined how a character’s carrying capacity converts into food, I’ll then have my players tell me how much of that carrying capacity they’re willing to devote to food. If they allocate 1 significant item to rations, then they have 3 days worth. If they allocate 2 SI, then they have 6 days worth, and so on. It will be assumed that any time the players visit civilization, (barring extenuating circumstances), they’ll find time to purchase food. The cost will be rolled into their standard upkeep costs. Using this method, the players can just write “6 days of food (2 SI)” on their inventory sheet. All I need to do is ask once every 3 days away from civilization if the players have enough food. If they do, we continue on without a hitch, if they don’t, then things start to get interesting.

Using this system should maintain all of the interesting aspects of tracking rations, but reduce the bookkeeping aspects to a minimum.

Identifying Magic Items in Pathfinder

All the way back in April, I declared that I was fed up with the way magic items are identified in Pathfinder. Furthermore, I said that I was going to fix it. I’ve been lazy, but I’m going to work on not being lazy anymore. So lets get to work. Forgive me if this post is a little more brusk than my writing normally is.

There are two steps to identifying a magical item. The first step is to determine whether the item is magical at all. In some cases this may be obvious, such as in the case of a glowing sword. But not every magical item will be obviously magical. And some items which seem as though they should be magical might not be. A jewel encrusted shield might just be a fragile display piece, good for selling, but not for using. Once it has been determined that an item is magical, the second step is to figure out what the item actually does, and how a character can make the item do that thing. Depending on how the game works, a +1 mace might always be a little more accurate and deal a little more damage, but something less obvious could require some know-how in order to use. Such as an activation word for a wand.

Before I go further, I’d like to review precisely how Pathfinder’s item identification works according to the core rule book. That way we’re clear on where we’re starting from. Relevant parts of the system are described in a number of places. First, from the “Spellcraft” skill description.

“This skill is also used to identify the properties of magic items in your possession through the use of spells such as detect magic and identify.“, “Attempting to ascertain the properties of a magic item takes 3 rounds per item to be identified and you must be able to thoroughly examine the object”, “When using detect magic or Identify to learn the properties of magic items, you can only attempt to ascertain the properties of an individual item once per day. Additional attempts reveal the same result.”, “Identify the properties of a magic item using detect magic: 15 + item’s caster level.”

The spell description for Detect Magiccan be found on page 267 of the PFCRB, but essentially all the spell allows you to do is identify that magic auras are present, and help you determine the school of said aura, and which specific items or persons they are emanating from. The spellcraft skill can then be used as described above (DC 15 + item’s caster level) to determine the item’s specific use and activation word, etc. The spell description for Identify can be found on page 299 of the PFCRB, but it pretty much only says “+10 to spellcraft checks made to identify magic items.”

I don’t like this system because:

I hate it when spells are neutered so that they can fit within the broken skills system. Identify should not be a +10 to your identification ability.
I don’t see the point in having a failure chance for identifying magical items. At least not a completely random failure chance. It could be interesting to construct the rules so that players could miss magical items through poor play.
I’ve recorded game sessions in the past. I like to listen to them and judge what works and what doesn’t as an outside observer. Here’s what the discovery of a magic item sounds like:

ME: You find 100 gold pieces and a sword with a silver blade and a dragon’s head carved into the wooden handle.
Players: Check to see if it’s magical.
Sorcerer/Wizard/Whatever: I roll to see if it’s magical.
[Success]Me: It is a +2 sword.
[Success]Players: Yay! Who needs it?
[Failure]Me: It does not appear to be magical to you.
[Failure]Players: It was a low roll. Lets keep it and try again tomorrow!

This conversation is boring. It is pointless. And it is a waste of everyone’s time.

Here is my proposal for Pathfinder magic item identification. I haven’t playtested this yet, but I’ll implementing it in my game, and hopefully it will be an improvement over the way the system currently works.
Magic Users–Wizards, Sorcerers, Clerics, etc.–can identify whether an item is or is not magical by focusing on it for about five minutes. Characters who cannot cast spells are unable to do this. If the party does not wish to spend the time necessary to determine whether an item is magical, the spell Detect Magic can be used to immediately identify all magical items within the caster’s field of vision. When using this spell, the items will glow a particular color, corresponding to the school of magic which the item is most strongly associated with. Only the caster is able to see these auras, and they do not provide any more information than the fact that the item is magical, and what school it is associated with.
Each magical item in Pathfinder has a “Caster Level.” If the caster level of an item is equal to or lower than the caster level of a magic user, then that magic user may determine the item’s function and method of activation by studying it for 5 minutes. If the players do not wish to spend this amount of time, or if the items in question are too high level to be identified, then the caster may use the Identify spell. This spell must be cast individually for each item which needs to be identified, but works instantaneously. Also, using the Identify spell, a caster may determine the properties of a magic item up to 3 caster levels above their own.
If no magic user is available, or if an item is too high level to be identified by the party’s magic user, then the party may seek out and consult a sage. Sages are very learned, and often have magical powers of their own to call upon. For a fee (200gp * Item’s Caster Level) the Sage will identify it for the party. It will require at least one week’s worth of time. For particularly powerful magic items, or artifacts, the sage may require additional funds and time, or may be entirely unable to identify the item at all. In that case, the sage would likely know of another sage which the party could consult, and offer them at least a partial refund.
What do you think? I’m open to criticism here.

Pathfinder Diseases: Commonplace Conditions

My post yesterday covered fantastical, magical diseases and how I think they ought to be implemented in Pathfinder. Today I want to continue along that same thread, but switch to real world diseases. The kind of stuff which killed our ancestors, and which adventurers in a medieval European themed fantasy setting are more likely to encounter.

To start, I want to make clear what I think diseases in a tabletop game should not be. They should not be a completely random affect. Players should not be constantly at risk to contract them, as they are in AD&D 1st ed. Diseases should never serve as a way for the GM to say “screw you!” to the players. Nor should players who contract a disease ever feel as though they could not have known what they were risking when they exposed themselves to it.

In my mind, diseases are traps. Traps which might be encountered in a dungeon, but can also be encountered during wilderness exploration. I don’t mean traps in a literal sense–obviously diseases aren’t triggered by pressure plates or trip wires. I view diseases as traps because they ought to be designed using the same methodology. When the players are in danger of contracting a disease, they must be able to recognize and avoid that disease through intelligent play, the same way they would avoid a trap. (Disable Device check not included).

For example, lets use the example of a fire trap. The players open the door, and the GM describes the room by saying that there’s an iron table and chairs in the center of the room, both of them slightly warped. The stone floor and parts of the wall are covered in dark smears. Players now have enough information that they should know something is off about the room. They’re careful about entering, and in so doing, they discover that there are a few pressure plates within the room which activate a number of wall-mounted flame jets.

It’s the same when the players encounter the malaria trap. As they travel through the world, the GM tells them that shortly after noon, the forest they’ve been traveling through changes. Up ahead, it turns into a swamp filled with buzzing clouds of mosquitoes. Since the players know they’re playing in a game with disease, they have enough information to deduce that the swamp up ahead will be dangerous to travel through. They might choose to risk it, or go around it, or prepare some manner of mundane or magical protection for it. Regardless of what they choose to do, the world has become more dangerous, and more interesting, and requires them to make more informed decisions. And that’s good.

The question now becomes: Which diseases ought to show up in D&D? They need to be well known enough that players instantly know what kind of danger they’re facing when they contract it, and they should have methods of transmission which are distinct enough that they can be identified as dangerous situations by intelligent players. So I came up with a list of diseases which sprang to my mind, asked around for any I missed, then read the wiki entry for each of them, crossing off any which didn’t sufficiently meet my criteria listed above. I came up with a tentative list of 8 diseases which could be used in your game world.

I don’t imagine it’s necessary, but I would like to say before I begin: I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not a doctor, nor am I a biologist, nor even someone who got pretty good grades in a science class once. What I’ve written below is obviously simplified, and probably contains a factual error or two.

I’m not going to fully detail each of these with game rules, but I imagine all of them could be cured with Remove Disease if it is available. Any permanent effects from the disease would remain irreversible.

Malaria

How you get it: Being bitten by a disease-carrying mosquito.
What it does: Begins with flu like symptoms, followed by severe chills, fever, convulsions, and potentially a coma.

As mentioned above, swamps filled with mosquito are the perfect place for a malaria trap. I particularly like this one because it has an obvious sign of being present–clouds of insects–and there are a few interesting ways to avoid getting the disease yourself. Like a beekeeping suit, for example.

I’m not sure how the symptoms of malaria could be converted into game terms. Some penalties, with perhaps a permanent loss to constitution score? My understanding is that malaria is a disease which remains with you throughout your life, but aside from occasional flare-ups, a disease victim is able to have a relatively normal existence.

Rabies

How you get it: Being bitten by a disease-carrying animal. Most commonly a dog.
What it does: Hydrophobia, followed by mania, coma, and death.

This is one of the few examples where I think the idea of monsters carrying disease is a good one, since it’s actually how the disease is spread. In the real world, it seems as though dogs are by far the primary carriers of rabies, but in a fantasy world any number of creatures could be. A dire wold or giant rat with foam dribbling from their mouth is obviously something that players would want to be wary of.

Once a player has the disease, they can’t willingly enter water for any reason. After 1d6 days, the GM may randomly take control of them for a few moments as the mania begins to take hold. 2d6 days after that, the character dies if they have not had cure disease cast on them.

Leprosy

How you get it: Coming in contact with the breath of a diseased person.
What it does: Skin lesions, numbness, can lead to permanent skin, nerve, limb, and eye damage.

It’s worthy to note that, contrary to popular belief, Leprosy is neither highly contagious, nor does it make your limbs fall off. Since this is a fantasy world, you may wish to use a more fantastic version of the disease.

Since this disease is widely feared, but not actually very harmful or dangerous at all (compared to its hype), I think it makes the most sense for it to deal Charisma damage to the player. Since joints are affected, I think Dexterity damage is called for as well. A month after contracting the disease, the player permanently loses 1 charisma and 1 dexterity both, and the skin lesions begin to appear on their body. If the players allow either their Charisma or their Dexterity to drop as far as 3, then the disease will attack their eyes, making them blind.

Leprosy will never bring a player’s stats below 3.

The Black Plague

How you get it: Bitten by disease carrying fleas, which normally live on rats.
What it does: Large growths appear under the arms or near the groin, which ooze black puss. Within 2-7 days, the victim experiences a lot of blood vomiting, followed by death.

The best thing a player can do to avoid the black plague is avoid anyone infected with it like the plague. Because it’s the god damned plague.

If you’ve never made the time to read up on why exactly the black plague is still so present in human consciousness, here’s the cliffnotes. It killed between 75 million, and 100 million people in the 1400s. Considering that the total world population was estimated to be around 450 million, that means as much as 22% of the human race was killed by this disease. In Europe alone, between 30 and 60% of the population died. And they didn’t just die. They died in horrible pain, vomiting blood, and dying, all in a span of a week. And on top of all of that, the major outbreak during the 1400s wasn’t even the last one. There were further outbreaks of the disease for over 100 years afterword.

To put it another way, the Black Plague came close to wiping out humanity forever.

If your players hear about an area of plague, they damned well better stay clear of it.

Smallpox

How you get it: Smallpox is airborne if you are within 6ft of an infected person.
What it does: Distinctive full-body rash, weakness, nausea, vomiting, 30% fatality rate.

Smallpox is a lot like The Black Plague. It actually killed more people overall, but to my knowledge Smallpox did its killing over a larger period of time, and never took out such a sizable percentage of humanity all at once. In its own right, it is a horrifying and painful disease, and one which the players will want to avoid if they ever hear about an outbreak of it.

At least they’ve got a 70% survival rate if they do catch it, even if they’ll be laid up for a few weeks.

Syphilis

How you get it: Having the sex with an infected individual.
What it does: Painless lesions, rashes, a breakdown of mental abilities.

I’ve heard a lot of jokes about D&D players who engage in sex within the game, and I’ve even heard a lot of stories about it. I’ve never actually encountered a player or GM who was interested in exploring this aspect of the game. So for me, I doubt Siphilis would ever come up. Which is too bad, because it has some of the more interesting effects. I imagine there could be permanent wisdom loss, or perhaps loss of both wisdom and intelligence. Also, unlike most of the diseases on this list, a person with syphilis can continue to live a pretty normal life.

The existence of syphilis within a game world could serve as a useful tool for a GM who wants to reign in sex within their campaign.

Dysentery

How you get it: Consuming contaminated food or water.
What it does: Severe dehydration as a result of constant mucus/blood diarrhea. The dehydration can cause death.

Players should know not to eat stagnant water or spoiled food, and dysentery serves to give them an in-game reason to remember that. A player with Dysentery might need to consume a week’s worth of water rations in a day just to remain hydrated. And for the duration of the disease (which, to my understanding, seems to be about 1-2 weeks, depending on medication) the character would be almost completely incapacitated by abdominal pain and…well…pooping.

Tuberculosis, a.k.a. Consumption

How you get it: Contact with a coughing and sneezing person who has it.
What it does: Loss of appetite, fever, chills, fatigue, a bloody cough, death.

Like a number of the diseases above, T.B. is something the player contracts when they come in contact with a person who already has it. The bloody cough is the telltale sign of consumption. Players will want to distance themselves from anyone who has it. If they do contract it, they could probably continue adventuring for a short while, but with heavy penalties. Maybe just long enough to reach a cleric.

Pathfinder Diseases: Magical Maladies

The section on diseases is one of the worst things I’ve encountered in the original Dungeon Master’s Guide so far. It has a page and a half worth of space in the book, but as best I can tell it’s nothing but a fun-leech. Something that Arneson came up with, and Gygax added complications to.* I’m honestly not sure why either of them thought rolling each month to determine if players caught a life-threatening disease would be fun. It strikes me as the kind of mechanic added because the designer places too high a value on creating ‘realistic’ games. Yet both Gygax and Arneson demonstrated elsewhere that they understood the dangers of excessive realism. Gygax even writes in the opening of the DMG:

“As a realistic simulation of things from the realm of make-believe, or even as a reflection of medieval or ancient warfare or culture or society, it [D&D] can be deemed only a dismal failure.”

So I’m really not sure why they chose to go this route. But suffice to say, I think it’s bad.

But the idea of diseases itself is not inherently flawed. Only AD&D’s application of it. And I don’t think I’m alone in that, as I’ve never seen anything even remotely resembling that disease rule in any other edition of D&D, or any retro-clone, that I’ve read. Diseases are still present somewhat, but they’re treated much more like poisons than anything else. The bite of a diseased animal or being cursed is the most common way to get a disease in Pathfinder. And while I don’t think that’s inherently bad, I think we could do better.

But before I move on to discussing my thoughts on how to fix the mechanics of how diseases are contracted, I’d like to bring up a second problem: how diseases are identified. The diseases in Pathfinder include such maladies as “Blinding Sickness,” “Cackle Fever,” “Devil Chills,” and Slimy Doom.” As fun and pulpy as these disease names are, I agree with Delta: diseases work better when they’re rooted in the real world. I get what they were going for (I’ve done it too), but goofy fantasy names like these never sound as good as they do in our heads. I do appreciate that Pathfinder includes more grounded diseases like Bubonic Plague and Leprosy, but I wish they’d stuck to Mummy Rot and Lycanthropy by way of fantasy diseases.

That doesn’t mean that I’m completely opposed to fantasy diseases. I just think they need to be integrated better. A fantastic disease should have a fantastic cause. It should also be more distinct and memorable than 1d4 strength damage once per day until 3 consecutive fortitude saves are made. The two I mentioned above are perfect examples of what I would deem to be good fantastical diseases. Mummy Rot is one of the most dreadful attacks possessed by a low level undead creature, with the potential to completely turn the target to dust. While Lycanthropy is so uniquely fantastical that I don’t even need to justify it. You already know why it’s awesome. For today I’m going to focus on fantastical diseases like these, while tomorrow’s post will cover more commonplace conditions.

Magic users of various stripes control energies well beyond the understanding of normal mortals. Normally these casters are well prepared to handle the energies they summon. However, if for some reason they fail to bring their spell to completion, the magical energies can be released into their body, and left to contaminate them in one way or another, often making them ill.

If for any reason a spellcaster fails to cast a spell after they’ve begun casting it, they are at risk of contracting a magical disease. The GM should roll 1d20 on the chart below. If the result is equal to or less than the level of the spell being cast, then the magic user contracts the indicated malady. If the number rolled is higher than the level of the spell which was being cast, then nothing happens (even if that number would otherwise correspond to a disease).

For example, if a sorcerer attempts to cast a 5th level spell, but is attacked and fails their concentration check, then they are at risk of becoming ill. If the GM rolls a 2, then the caster contracts “Mystic Frailty,” because 2 < 5. On the other hand, if a 6 is rolled, the caster will not contract “Energy Leak,” because 6 > 5. Unless otherwise stated, all diseases last a number of days equal to 1d4 times the level of the spell which was failed.

1 – Glitter Sniffle
2- Mystic Frailty
3- Unsteady Casting
4- School Lock
5- Reachlost
6- Energy Leak
7- Spelldraw
8- Commoner’s Disease
9- Soul Breach

Glitter Sniffle – While most magical diseases are a severe inconvenience, Glitter Sniffle is more of a nuisance. For the duration of the illness, the caster sneezes at least once every 15 minutes. When they sneeze, a glittering, glowing light effect erupts from their nose, momentarily causing a harmless flash of light. Bits of mucus continue to glow for an hour after the fact, which can leave an obvious trail if the care is not taken.

Mystic Frailty – All spells have their effects reduced by half (number of die, number of creatures, duration. Whichever is relevant). Aside from feelings of general mental weakness, the casters spells are much less impaction than they ought to be. Though the caster may put twice as much effort into their attempt to cast fireball, the flames they produce will be significantly less intense than normal.

Unsteady Casting – Magical incantations which normally seem quite simple are more difficult to understand and express. Gestures and magical words are slightly off, causing the spell’s effects to be weakened. The saving throw for all of the caster’s spells are reduced by half. Any spell which normally does not have a saving throw, gains one.

School Lock – Whichever school of spells the cater was attempting to cast from when they failed is the only school which they can cast from at all for the duration of the disease. The magical energies specific to that school have permeated the caster’s body, causing spells of any other school to become mangled, and fail. This effect counts even if the failed spell was from the universal school, or the caster’s prohibited school.

Reachlost – The ability to designate a target for a spell is a complicated one which casters must practice hard in order to perfect. The Reachlost disease completely blocks the caster’s access to the mental muscle they need in order to accomplish that feat. For the duration of this illness, spells can only be delivered as touch spells. Magical items which increase a spells range, or metamagic feats which do so, will not function.

Energy Leak – The magical energies that the caster normally holds within their bodies leak out constantly. Anytime they attempt to cast a spell, they must make a concentration check, DC 10 + [Spell Level]. If they fail, then the spell was lost, and they cannot attempt to cast it. Additionally, the leaking magic attracts many types of magical bests which can sense it. Denizens of the lower planes are particularly sensitive to this trail, often sensing it from miles away.

Spelldraw – The shifting, roiling mass of magical energy within the caster is so powerful that it draws other magic towards it. If any spell’s target is within a number of feet of the diseased caster equal to 10 * the failed spell’s level, then the caster of that spell must succeed on a concentration check (DC 10 + [Spell Level]) or that spell’s target will become the diseased caster. The diseased caster also receives no saving throws against spells while afflicted with Spelldraw.

Commoner’s Disease – Magical energies become completely inaccessible to the caster for the duration of this disease. They are unable to cast any spells whatsoever, but can still use scrolls and magical items.

Soul Breach – This is bad. The magical energies you let course through your body have somehow entwined with your soul, corrupting it. This effect does not end until it is cured, and curing it may be difficult. Each time you cast a spell while you have this disease, make a will saving throw, DC 10 + [Spell Level]. Upon failure, this corruption spreads, and the caster gains 1 negative level.

If the disease cannot be cured, the caster faces a difficult decision about what they value more: casting spells, or being alive?

*My understanding is that the disease rules found in the DMG first appeared in a simpler form in the “Blackmoor” supplement, written by Arneson.

I Concede: OD&D Initiative is Superior

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.

Amusingly, I recently encountered this rule during my ongoing perusal of the AD&D 1st edition Dungeon Master’s Guide. It was featured in Part 6 of that series, and at the time I was not impressed. To be specific, I wrote:

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.