Recently, Courtney asked if he could experiment on those of us in his Saturday game. I like experiments, so I said yes. So did everybody else. Courtney sent us the rules he was brewing (specific references to which will be light, as I didn’t have the presence of mind to ask Courtney how he feels about having them posted), and we began setting up our characters. The system isn’t run-of-the-mill D&D by a long shot, and I liked a lot of what I saw, particularly the way equipment will be managed. My funds were limited, so I started out with nothing but a big-ass sword, which I noted had a -3 initiative penalty. At the time, it seemed like a fine tradeoff.

I arrived late to the game, so it was already well underway by the time I showed up. Sometimes the French revolution gets exciting, and you forget that you need to wake up at 5:30am the next day in order to get to the D&D game on time. I mostly watched and listened, since I wasn’t fully up to speed on what our goals were. Everything seemed to be going well, and we were soon preparing an ambush for a set of giant cats.

There has already been some discussion of what followed. Suffice to say that the players were confused and frustrated by the initiative system. I, in particular, didn’t like it at all. Once Courtney explained it, I saw how it was–on paper–an elegant and interesting method. Clearly it did not work in practice. Though, with refinement, I think it could be more engaging than other methods. Playtesting will tell in future sessions.

Thinking about it, Initiative is odd. Every rule has permutations between various systems, and house variants besides, but the sheer number of vastly different methods of running initiative, and the effects those have on play, is kind of fascinating. It can be rolled individually for each combat participant, which takes more time, but maintains a clear order of operations. Alternatively it can be rolled for each ‘side’ of the combat (typically players / things players want to be dead), which keeps combat moving at a much faster pace, but might be a bit jumbled, with more confident players inadvertently edging out quieter players. Some people roll initiative only once, as Pathfinder does, which keeps things moving along, particularly when initiative has been complicated in other ways; whilst games like LotFP re-roll the initiative every round, so you’re never sure if your next turn will come before-or after-the thing that’s trying to kill you. Some games apply all manner of modifiers to initiative, while other keep modifiers simple, and still others use no modifiers at all.

And then there are some who run initiative in phases, as proscribed by the AD&D DMG. Spells must be declared at the start, then missile attacks take place, then melee attacks take place, then spells go off. This one consistently confuses me, and various GMs have frequently needed to tell me that I can’t perform an action, because if I’d wanted to do that I needed to declare it during an earlier phase. And then, of course, there are those who don’t use initiative at all. I’ve never tried this myself, but those who have seem perfectly happy with it.

It occurs to me that my ideal initiative system serves three functions, in descending order of importance:

1. It does not require me to think too much. I want to focus on what my next action is, not when the rules allow me to take said action.
2. It is fast. If the forward momentum of the game has to pause to figure out who is going next, then it is taking too long.
3. It adds some amount of excitement to combat, beyond merely establishing turn order. If points 1 and 2 were all we cared about, why not move in descending order of dexterity?

The most basic system I first encountered when I started playing OSR style games is a good example of an initiative system which fills all of these criteria. Roll 1d6 for each side of combat, rerolling each turn. It requires zero thinking on my part, takes perhaps 10 seconds to resolve, and keeps everyone on their toes because you never know if the bad guys will get two turns in a row. That doesn’t mean the system is perfect. Points 1 and 2 are more or less pass/fail requirements. If a method fails either of them, then it’s junk and needs to be improved. Point 3 has a lot of room for creativity, though.

The goal of brewing a good initiative system is to maximize the excitement it adds to combat, without failing the other two tests.

Not too long ago, I played in a game which contained a maze of one-way doors. From one side they appeared to be normal doors. However, once the players had walked through them and the door was closed, it simply did not exist on the other side. Whether this is the work of marvelous engineering, or simply magic, it’s not important. The important thing is that once the players walk through a door, they cannot walk back out the way they came. They must move forwards.

I liked the idea, and so decided to give it a go myself. I constructed a maze of moderate size. It was primarily made up of empty 10′ x 10′ rooms, but there were a number of puzzle and challenge rooms to add variety, along with a pretty interesting encounter table. I thought it would be a lot of fun to run through, and to my delight, the players did find it and enter the maze.

The players in this group are very good, though, and they were careful in their approach. The party’s fighter entered alone at first. He opened a new door to look through it, and in doing so caused the door he’d come through to close. He returned to where the door had been, and pounded on the wall to let his companions know they should open the door, which they did.

Having discovered the trick, the party decided to leave one party member in each room they passed. So one party member would stay outside, and the remaining two would enter the first room. Then one of them would remain in the first room, while the last party member went into all of the adjacent rooms, and opened all of the doors in there to look inside those rooms. Using this method, they were able to discover a route from the first room, back to the outside of the maze. Since they knew a way out, and thus no longer needed someone outside the maze, they were able to systematically map a large portion of the maze.

The players were clever, and I approve of clever play. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fun. For them or for me. Essentially all I was doing was reading them a long list of room descriptions within their searchable zone, while they took notes. The encounters were entertaining, but the encounters could have happened anywhere. They would have been improved by placing them outside of the maze, because the maze was boring.

Eventually the players gave up and headed off to a different area of the dungeon. And I’m left to wonder: can a maze of one-way doors be done better, or is it simply never going to be fun if your players are cautious and skilled?

Some thoughts on how it might be improved for more highly skilled players:

• I had a warning of sorts printed above the door. “To enter is easy. To become lost is easier. To return is failure. To die is worse.” I thought it was cool and thematic, but it’s what put the players on edge in the first place. Without it, they probably all would have entered the first door together. I think, though, that they’d still have landed on the same strategy. Particularly if they ended up on one of the many failed paths which leads back outside of the maze.
• There’s no reason to assume that a one-way door would allow sound to pass through it. By soundproofing the maze, I could prevent the characters from requesting a door be opened from the other side. Of course, I can’t stop the players sitting at the table together from talking, and telling them they can’t just seems dickish. Plus, the workaround seems obvious: “Open this door 60 seconds after it closes.”
• I like one-way door mazes because they’re a challenging trap which could conceivably be engineered. But if I’m willing to amp up the magic, I could say that each door is a normal, two-way door so long as there are people on both sides of it. Only when everybody has passed through the door will it become a one-way door. And, so long as any door in the room is a two-way door, none of the other doors in the room exist. (So one can only attempt to move forward once everyone has entered the new room and become trapped in it.)

I’d be curious to hear other’s thoughts on one-way-door mazes.

Courtney runs a game on Saturday mornings called Numenhalla. It’s quite good. Good enough that I drag myself out of bed at 5:40 am on a Saturday to play in it.

Though, I confess, I’ve been late more often than I’ve been on time.

There are many reasons why I love playing in Numenhalla. The fact that Courtney is my bro is high on that list, as is my awestruck reverence for Mad Bill Danger. But more than anything else, I love Numenhalla because it is, by a titanic margin, the most polished & unique game I have ever played in.

Among its many unique traits (though it may only be unique to me, as Numenhalla is my first “Megadungeon”) is that nothing really exists outside of the dungeon. I’ve been told to think of the town outside as a menu screen. Play doesn’t happen there. We can manage our affairs in town, but once we enter the dungeon, we cannot return to town until we’re ready to end the game. It’s a fascinating way to play. Something I wouldn’t mind experimenting with myself someday.

On a completely unrelated note, I recently purchased a fantastic Indie game called Rogue Legacy. It’s a side scrolling action game with gameplay similar to the better among the Castlevania games. There are many facets to it which make it interesting and unique, and I recommend it if you enjoy those types of games. Perhaps my favorite aspect of the game is the way they handle gold.

When you enter the Rogue Legacy dungeon for the first time, you have 0 gold. You fight, and jump, and claw your way through as much of the dungeon as you can, killing monsters and stealing the gold coins they drop. Eventually, inevitably, you die, and the game ends. But then you get to make a new character. This new character is the son or daughter of your previous character, and they’ve inherited all of the gold you gathered in your previous run! They can spend it on gear and upgrades which will be passed down through all the (hundreds) of generations your family is sure to have.

Once this new character has spent all the gold they can, and are ready to enter the dungeon, they are greeted by Charon. He demands a toll of you before he will allow you to enter the dungeon: every unspent coin you have. Once you’ve been reduced back to 0 gold, he will allow you to enter the dungeon. A dungeon which has been completely randomized since your last visit.

I’d be curious to see how this mechanic would work if used in a tabletop game. The party may plunge the depths of the dungeon, gather their treasure, and return to the surface. But they may not hoard their gold! Any gold unspent before returning to the dungeon is taken as a toll. (Or, perhaps more in character, wasted away on booze). Of course, the prices of items in town would need to be adjusted accordingly, but that wouldn’t be hard.

This evening I attended a social gathering. My sister has just turned 14, and I had dinner with her and the rest of our family. It proceeded as family gatherings often do, which is to say that it wasn’t an experience I’d share on a gaming blog. Late in the evening, though, my sister commented that she’d like to join me in playing D&D someday.

“Want to play now?” I asked.

By happenstance, I had a set of 7 dice with me, and I always try to keep pens and paper handy regardless of where I am. I had everything I needed to run a game, and it was a perfect opportunity to try out an experiment I’ve been wanting to attempt for awhile. The experiment is simple: using whatever tools are on hand at the time, introduce a group of new players to gaming by making up a game on the spot.

The three siblings sitting nearest to me were all interested, so I wrote out the six basic stats on three pieces of paper. I told them all to roll 3d6 for their stats, in order, to roll 2d8 for their HP, and to write down one thing their character was good at. From there I figured everything could be handled by d20 checks against their stats, until I encountered a situation where they needed something deeper.

The process proved to be a little awkward. Not because any of my players had difficulty understanding my instructions, but because we only had a single six sider to share, and three people each needed to roll it 18 times. It wasn’t a quick process, and unfortunately the players weren’t even able to explore the first room of the dungeon before the rest of the dinner party agreed that it was time to leave.

I was disappointed. I could see their eyes lighting up as they just barely started to engage with the game world. My experiment was succeeding, I was creating fun out of nothing but experience-tempered improvisation. I didn’t have much to ruminate on, but I was at least encouraged that it was worth trying this again.

It wasn’t until the drive home that I realized I had wasted a lot of the game’s time. I asked the players to roll stats, and it took a good 8 minutes to get everybody’s rolling taken care of. And in the small amount we played, we never actually used those stats. It’s not hard to imagine that we could have gone 15 minutes or an hour, or even several hours without actually needing every single character to use every single one of their ability scores.

Instead, what I could have done is simply given each of them a piece of paper, and told them to write down one thing they were good at. Once that was done, I could have just started the damn game.

If in the first room there was a large rock, and one of the players wanted to lift it, then I could have told them to roll 3d6, record that as their strength, then roll a d20 against that strength score. The stats still exist, they just exist in a state of quantum flux until they are actualized by rolling a check.

Something I’ll try next time for sure.

I’ve been working on different ways a combat system could function, and I’ve constructed something I’m pretty happy with. It borrows heavily from both OD&D, and material I’ve read on Untimately.

Each class has a “Combat Target Number.” Anytime a character wishes to take offensive physical action against something, they roll a twenty sided die. If their roll on the d20 is equal to or higher their CTN, then the action succeeds. As each class levels up, their CTN becomes gradually smaller. Modifiers to the CTN are rare, which allows it to be very simple. A single number written on the player’s character sheet, which they must roll against.

Most characters will also have an Avoidance Score. This is typically a very small number, between -3 and 4. For most characters, their avoidance will be the same as their dexterity modifier; though if the character uses a shield, that will also add +1 to their AS. Again, modifiers to AS are rare, which keeps it simple. Any time a creature with avoidance is attacked, the AS is added to the attacker’s CTN.

Armor does not benefit a character’s avoidance score. Instead, it functions as a type of damage resistance. Each type of armor will have a die associated with it. As a simple example, lets say that leather armor uses 1d4, chain armor uses 1d6, and plate armor uses 1d8. Any time an attacker rolls a successful attack, they must then roll their damage dice against the defender’s armor dice. The value of the armor die is then subtracted from the value of the attack die, mitigating or even eliminating the damage dealt to the target.

My primary goal here is simplicity, which I think I’ve achieved. The player need not roll 1d20 + BAB + Strength + Weapon Bonus + Relevant Feat. They don’t even need to roll 1d20 + [Bundled Attack Bonus]. As silly as it might sound, taking two numbers and figuring out which is bigger is easier than taking two numbers and adding them together. I also like how the system keeps both the attacker and the target mechanically engaged. While determining the success of the strike, the player and GM need to communicate the CTN and the AC. While determining damage dealt, the player and GM are rolling dice opposed to one another.

You may have noticed that the CTN is to be used anytime “offensive physical action,” is taken. That’s because it would also be used similar to Pathfinder’s Combat Maneuver roll. The attacking player rolls against their CTN plus their target’s AS if they’re attempting to kick sand in their eyes, or disarm them, or grapple them, or whatever. Grappling in particular is traditionally complex and unwieldy. From 1st edition AD&D’s “Non-Lethal and Weaponless Combat Procedures“, to the system in D&D 3.X which was so complicated I literally kept a flowchart at the table at one point. Pathfinder’s combat maneuver system is a huge step in the right direction, but I think it can be simpler still.

When attempting a grapple, the attacker rolls against their CTN + their Target’s AS as normal. If they succeed, then they’ve got their hands, legs, tentacles, or whatever on their opponent. The attacker then makes a strength check (Roll 1d20. Equal to or under STR is a success, over STR is a failure). The defender may either roll a strength check, or a dex check, whichever they prefer. Whoever succeeds by more gets to pin/push/hold their opponent. If the two players tie, they are stalemated. If both players fail, success goes to the defender.

A basic example of play might proceed thus:

Fighter “I’d like to attack the orc. My CTN is 11.”
GM “The orc has an AS of 2, so you’ll need to roll a 13 or better.”
Fighter [roll] “A 15! That’s a success, so I’m rolling my damage die, 1d8.”
GM “The orc only has chain armor, so he’s rolling a 1d6 for defense.”
[Fighter and GM both roll their dice.]
GM “The orc rolled a 4.”
Fighter “That’s not bad, but I rolled a 6, so he still takes 2 damage!”
Rogue “Me next! I’ll get him with my throwing knife. My CTN is 14, so I need to roll a 16 or better here.” [Roll] “17, Success! Rolling my 1d6 damage die…”
[Fighter and GM both roll their dice.]
GM “I’m afraid the orc’s 3 beats your 2.”
Rogue “Fucking fuck. I wanted his gold. >:(“
Wizard “That really just leaves me. But my spells are gone, and my staff only deals 1d4 damage, so there’s a good chance I couldn’t hurt him even if I hit. I’m going to try to tackle him so the other players can hit him more easily next round.”
GM “Alright, you can try that. But you’ve got a CTN of 16, so you’ve gotta roll an 18 or higher to succeed.”
Wizard [roll] “I actually did it! I got an 18! Just barely!”
GM “Alright, but you’ve still gotta make your strength check. The orc is much stronger than he is agile, so he’ll be using his strength to oppose you as well.”
Wizard [roll] “Woo! I got a 10, that’s just under my Strength of 12!”
GM “Ah, but the Orc got an 8, which is way under his strength of 16. When you leap to tackle him he knocks you aside with his arm. You’re now sprawled on the ground behind him.”

There are a few complications to this system which I’ve omitted here. Both strength and dexterity do have a role to play, as do various positioning and circumstance bonuses and penalties. But this is the basic structure of the system, and I would be interested to hear thoughts on it.