Tag: Theorycrafting

The Crazy Straw of Race as Class

In April, after watching some people play a board game called Small World for the first time, I was struck by what I considered to be a pretty novel idea. What if a character’s race, and a character’s class directly affected one another? Rather than having the two be mutually exclusive like some games have done in the past, or having them be completely independent from one another as some modern games do, what if there was a middle ground? I wrote a detailed post on the idea, which I titled A Twist on Race as Class. The idea is thoroughly explained there, so I won’t recap it any further here. If you haven’t read that post, it may help you understand where I’m coming from with this one.

I recently noticed that I have a lot of posts–such as that one–which deal with ideas and theory. That’s because I like ideas a lot! (I did major in philosophy, after all). But it becomes problematic when those ideas are never put into practice. I have a bad habit of thinking that once I’ve satisfactorily expressed an idea, I can set it aside and move on to something new. (Again: philosophy major). The truth is, though, that ideas don’t have a lot of value if you don’t follow through with them. So this is me attempting to build on my ideas. For the twist on race as class, I figure my first step is to draft a very simplified version of the system, and see if I can root out its flaws.

For this experiment, I’ve created four classes: Fighter, Wizard, Cleric, and Rogue. They each progress through five levels, and have abilities that are a cross between what you’d find in Pathfinder, and what you’d find in an oldschool game like first edition D&D. They are not what you would call ‘fleshed out,’ but they don’t need to be. They exist to provide a framework, not to be playable.

Fighter

1st level: Select a combat bonus.
2nd level: Select a combat bonus.
3rd level: Select a combat bonus.
4th level: Select a combat bonus.
5th level: Select a combat bonus.

Wizard

1st level: Ability to cast 4 first level spells. May select a specialization school, must select one ‘banned’ school which can never be cast from.
2nd level: Can summon a familiar. Ability to cast 5 first level spells.
3rd level: Ability to cast 2 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.
4th level: Ability to cast 3 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.
5th level: Ability to cast 2 third level spells, 4 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.

Cleric

1st level: Ability to cast 4 first level spells.
2nd level: Ability to turn evil. Able to cast 5 first level spells.
3rd level: Ability to cast 2 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.
4th level: Ability to cast 3 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.
5th level: Ability to cast 2 third level spells, 4 second level spells, and 5 first level spells.

Rogue

1st level: Move silently in any environment.
2nd level: Able to pick locks and disable traps.
3rd level: Can hide in shadows.
4th level: Able to climb sheer surfaces.
5th level: Backstab.

As I said above, none of this is fancy or well balanced. Though, I must confess, I am kind of in love with the idea of a rogue gradually gaining all of their sneaking abilities before they learn how to backstab. Teaches newbie rogues how to play correctly!

To combine with these four classes are three races: Human, Elf, and Dwarf. Again, little to no attempt has been made to balance these abilities, but I did make sure to utilize meaning-first design for each of them. My goal was first to envision what a paragon member of each race/class combination would be like, and then to design towards that. For example, an elven fighter is never going to be a brutish, axe wielding warrior. But elven grace lends itself well to a more refined fighting style. In some cases this was difficult, such as with the dwarven wizard, but I’m relatively happy with what I came up with there.

Elf (Medium creature, 30ft base land speed, Enhanced Hearing, Enhanced Sight)

Fighter

1st level: +2 Dexterity
3rd level: When using a ranged weapon, the range increments of that weapon are increased by 50%
5th level: The critical range of light weapons (such as a rapier) is widened by 1.

Wizard

1st level: +2 Intelligence.
3rd level: Able to cast one additional spell of each spell level known.
5th level: If a specialty school was selected, that school now casts as if the character were one level higher than they are. If no specialty school was selected, select any one school of magic to receive this bonus.

Cleric

1st level: +2 Wisdom
3rd level: Healing spells have their effects doubled in a forest environment.
5th level: A number of times per day equal to the character’s wisdom modifier, they may command any natural animal to obey them.

Rogue

1st level: +2 Dexterity
3rd level: The character gain the ability to camouflage themselves perfectly. They can hide in a natural environment as effectively as they can hide in shadows.
5th level: +10ft to movement speed. The range of the character’s hearing is doubled.

Dwarf (Medium creature, 20ft base land speed, Darkvision)

Fighter

1st level: +2 Constitution
3rd level: The character is much more difficult to knock over. Any attempt to intentionally knock the character over are made at a -6 penalty.
5th level: +2 to any attack roll made with hammers, axes, or other heavy weapons.

Wizard

1st level: +2 Constitution
3rd level: The character is able to resist spells as though they were a wizard 2 levels higher.
5th level: The character is able to craft magical items as though they are 1 level higher than they are.

Cleric

1st level: +2 Wisdom
3rd level: Healing spells have their effects doubled while underground, or in a mountainous environment.
5th level: Dwarven clerics may smite characters of the opposite alignment, adding their wisdom modifier to attack rolls, and their cleric level to damage rolls made against such creatures.

Rogue

1st level: +2 Strength
3rd level: The range of the character’s darkvision is doubled. Additionally, they can sense vibrations through the ground. This allows them to detect footfalls up to 20ft away, and they can detect more substantial disturbances to an even greater distance.
5th level: The dwarven rogue eventually develops a kind of sixth sense for precious minerals and stones. The character can detect the presence, and the direction, of gold, silver, or gems, up to 10ft away.

Human

Fighter

1st level: +2 Strength
3rd level: Any time a combat bonus requires the fighter to select a type of weapon for the bonus to apply to, the human fighter may select two types of weapons.
5th level: Human fighters recruit followers as though they were 2 levels higher.

Wizard

1st level: +2 Intelligence
3rd level: If the human wizard chose to specialize, they can still cast spells from their blocked school as though they were 1 level lower.
5th level: Human wizards gain one additional spells slot for each spell level known.

Cleric

1st level: +2 Wisdom
3rd level: +2 Charisma
5th level: Human clerics recruit followers as though they were 2 levels higher.

Rogue

1st level: +2 Dexterity
3rd level: +2 Charisma
5th level: The character is able to charm their way past many social obstacles. NPCs start react more favorably to the character than they otherwise would.

And that’s what I came up with on my first attempt. Conclusions? Well, as with all things, making it work in practice is more difficult than simply coming up with the theory was. Some race/class combinations just seem preposterous. I have no real archetype to draw on for elven clerics or dwarven wizards. I actually reconsidered whether such unusual combinations should be ruled out entirely. But I stand by my belief that players should be able to choose any race/class combination they want.

The biggest problem, surprisingly, turned out to be the humans. In retrospect it makes sense. Elves and dwarves are each an archetype unto themselves, while humans can fall into a wide array of archetypes. That’s why race as class existed in the first place: because humans could fill many roles, but non-human races each fill a specific role. I’m not quite sure how to work around this issue yet, but I think it can be done.

I would very much like any criticisms my readers have to offer. As it stands, I know this is not ‘good,’ and it would be helpful to be told precisely why it’s not good.

Weapon Mechanics

A lot of emphasis in Pathfinder is placed upon magical weapons and their properties. Since acquiring such weapons is one of the primary goals of adventurers, this is good and proper. But put magic aside for a moment. Magic can do anything, and it doesn’t really matter (save, perhaps, thematically) what type of weapon serves as a vessel for which magical effect. When we take the magic away, what are the fundamental differences between weapons? Why would a level 1 adventurer choose a spear over a trident, or a scimitar over a falchion?

As it stands, mundane weapons all have a few simple attributes:

  • Price, which may or may not matter. Personally I’ve been much happier since I started enforcing starting gold more strictly. But for many years I allowed players to select any mundane equipment they wanted, and I do see the appeal of that method.
  • Damage, separated into Small and Medium, to reflect the various sizes of player races.
  • Critical range, and multiplier.
  • Range, for projectile weapons, or weapons which can be thrown.
  • Weight, which nobody I’ve ever met, not even the grognardiest of grognards really seem to care about. Encumbrance is important. The difference between 11lb and 12lb isn’t.
  • Damage type, which can be bludgeoning, piercing, or slashing damage. Sometimes a combination of two is used.
  • Hands Needed, which can be Two, One, or ‘light.’ (One handed weapons can be used with two hands optionally, while light weapons cannot.)
  • Complexity Category, which Pathfinder uses to help determine proficiency. The categories are Simple, Martial, and Exotic.
  • Some weapons have special properties, such as being ‘reach’ or ‘brace’ weapons. Other weapons are easier to use with certain combat maneuvers, such as tripping or disarming.

It’s not exactly a comprehensive representation of the differences between various weapons, but aside from overly precise weapon weight, it works well. After all, Pathfinder is a game, and everything needs to be simplified to help the game run smoothly. Excessive realism has a way of making a game tedious. None the less, I wonder if mundane weapons could be made more varied and interesting.

Below is a list I’ve compiled of weapon mechanics. Some are ready to be implemented, while others would need their mechanics refined. Individually, I think each could be included in a game without making in overly complex. Collectively, however, they would probably be too much. I’d like to hear more ideas in the comments if you have any. I’m particularly curious to know if other games have mechanics I didn’t think of.

Two-Handed Damage: In Pathfinder, a weapon wielded in your off hand gains half of your strength modifier to its damage, one in your main hand gains your full strength modifier, and one in both hands gains 150% of your strength modifier as damage. Calculating the strength bonus with decimal places is both unnecessarily complicated, and insufficient to influence the player’s decision. Make it simple: Offhand weapons get no strength bonus, main hand weapons get full strength bonus, and two handed weapons get double strength bonus.

Throwability: Pathfinder’s throwing weapon status is binary. Either a weapon is meant for throwing, or it is not. It could be fun if there were three options. A dagger or javelin can be thrown with no penalties. A rapier or a scythe would take a full -6 penalty on any thrown attack roll. Some weapons, like a spear, battleaxe, or longsword would take only a -3 penalty to throwing them. They’re not designed to be thrown, but they’re similar enough to weapons which are that it’s a feasible tactic. Weapons like whips and flails should be un-throwable.

Finesse and Cleave Weapons: Credit for this idea must be given to D&D 5th Edition, and to Jack. He shared the idea in the comments for my post on the Wide Swing Dilemma, and it is largely his creation. He’s got a nifty blog where I’ve got a whole tag all to myself.

In Pathfinder, Finesse is a feat which allows characters to use their dexterity instead of their strength to modify an attack roll when using light weapons. Cleave is a feat which allows a player to attack multiple enemies in a single turn. The idea here is to remove both feats, and instead make them an intrinsic property of certain weapons. A rapier or dagger, for example, would always have its attack rolls modified by dexterity rather than strength. Likewise, a two handed waraxe would always enable a character to take a swing at 2 or 3 enemies at a time, so long as all of them could be hit with a single arcing swing.

Speed: Each weapon would have a speed number associated with it. That number would be the amount of iterative attacks it was possible to make with that weapon on a given turn. A two handed war hammer, for example, might have a speed of 2 or 3 at most. While a dagger might have a speed of 10. Note that these iterative attacks are not entitlements, they are maximums. A character would need to work hard and level up before they were able to make multiple attacks during a single round, but a two handed war hammer would never be able to make more than 3 attacks, no matter how high level the character became.

Space To Use: A two handed axe is not the best weapon to have in a 3ft wide cavern. You can make some use of it, but it would be at an extreme penalty. I suggest three types of weapons. First, those which require only personal space. These would work anywhere that a character could fit comfortably, and would include weapons like a dagger, blowgun, or rapier. Weapons with a 10ft space to use would require an area at least 10ft wide to use comfortably, and in smaller spaces they would take a -4 penalty to attack rolls. This would include any weapon like a longsword or axe, which requires a wide swing. Finally there would be 15ft or larger weapons. These would mostly be weapons with reach, such as a whip, spiked chain, or trident. They would take a -4 penalty in spaces less than 15ft wide. In some spaces they might be impossible to use. A whip, for example, is completely useless if you don’t have room to swing it. And a 7ft long trident isn’t much use when you’re attacked from behind in a corridor 5ft square.

Both Speed and Space to Use are included in AD&D 1st edition. I am not very familiar with the relevant rules, however, so the above are concocted from my own suppositions on how such rules might work in a game.

Strength/Dexterity To Use: Composite bows already do something similar to this. Each composite bow has a strength rating, and a character must be at least that strong in order to be proficient in the weapon. This would apply the same concept to other weapons. Using a rapier or whip proficiently, for example, would require a dexterity of no less than 14. While a two handed warhammer would require a similar amount of strength. A character without a sufficient ability score could still used the weapon, but they would never be able to become proficient in it.

Training Time: This would replace Pathfinder’s weapon proficiency system. Each weapon would have a pair of training numbers indicating how long it takes to become proficient in the weapon. A dagger, for example, would be 2/4. If a character wishes to become proficient with a dagger, they simply need to take it with them into battle. The character is considered non proficient with the weapon, and all attack rolls are made with a -4 penalty. Anytime the character gains at least 2 experience* from a battle where they successfully dealt damage using the dagger, they put a tally mark next to the weapon. Once they have a number of tally marks equaling the first number (in this case, 2) their attack penalty is reduced to -2. Once they have a number of tally marks equal to the second number, they are considered proficient with the weapon and no longer take any penalties associated with using it.

Each class starts out already being proficient with a number of weapons. For fighters, all training times are reduced by half (rounding up).

*This is in reference to the Simple XP System I use.

Weapon Vs. Armor Type: This is another 1st edition rule which I know very little about. I like the concept, and would be interested in seeing it in play, however I have no real original ideas on how to implement it (yet). Instead, I would direct you to a post over at Delta’s D&D Hotspot which proposes pretty much what I think I would come up with. (I seem to have a tendency to reduce everything to 3 groups).

Hold at Range: A few weapons, like a spear or a trident, naturally lend themselves to keeping someone at range. At the end of each turn while using such a weapon, the player may indicate that they would like to keep a foe they just attacked at bay. When the character does this, they gain a -2 Dexterity penalty to AC against all other enemies. If their designated enemy attempts to move closer, then the character gets an automatic attack of opportunity against their foe. If the attack succeeds, then the foe’s movement is halted and they cannot move any more on that turn.

Parry Bonus to AC: I’m not 100% convinced that this is a good idea. To some degree, the parry is already included in a character’s AC as part of their dexterity. However, some weapons lend themselves better to defense than others do. Neither a very short weapon, like a dagger, nor a very long weapon, like a scythe, would be well suited to aiding in defense. This, I think, has the potential to be the mid-sized weapon’s biggest advantage vs. smaller faster weapons, and larger harder-hitting weapons.

Weapon Damage and Repair: This is hardly a new idea, which never seems to survive long because tracking weapon damage is too much hassle. I’m not sure how that problem could be resolved, but I would very much enjoy seeing this element in a game if it were possible. It would be particularly interesting when combined with my new crafting system. (Which, I swear, I’m going to post eventually).

Alternate Attack Surfaces: The party encounters a band of skeletons. This is unfortunate, because they’ve all come equipped with spears and tridents. Since they only have piercing weapons it will be difficult to kill the skeletons, who have DR 5/Bludgeoning. Then the bard has a wacky idea: what if they turn their weapons around and hit the skeletons with the shaft instead of the points? Many weapons seem as though they would be simple to use in other ways, to achieve a different type of damage. It’s pretty difficult to use a weapon when you’re striking with the flat of the blade or the pommel, so I could understand if many weapons did not have alternate damage types. But what could be simpler than using a spear as a quarterstaff, or a scythe as a piecing weapon?

What I Want

I like Pathfinder, which is why I’ve always been a vocal critic of it. It has a lot of problems; in many ways it falls short of my ideal game. I’ve often tried to improve upon the flaws with house rules, and I’ve been open in discussing the flaws which can’t be fixed. Over the past few months I’ve read through a number of other RPGs as well. Aside from my well documented perusal of the original Dungeon Master’s Guide, I’ve been looking at various retro clones created by the OSR community, some modern Pathfinder alternatives, and some games in completely different genres. More and more I think that I won’t be happy until I produce my own sourcebook.

It’s not something I think I’ll be doing anytime too soon. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of massive and involved project yet. But thinking about how I would design a game has got me thinking about what I want in a game. So I’ve compiled a list. And, since this list undoubtedly says a lot about this blog’s perspective, it seems useful to share.

I want rules which can be memorized. This doesn’t mean they need to be short enough that I can learn them by rote, it just means that they need to be logical enough that I can quickly deduce any I forget. If I need to spend a few sessions looking things up after we play, that’s okay.

I want rules which don’t try to establish mechanics for every possible action players might take. Instead, I want rules which guide me in coming up with my own mechanics for those situations, and which help me make those rulings without unbalancing my game.

I want more rules directed towards the GM than the players. There should certainly be rules that players can learn, but none or very few which they feel forced to learn. Nothing dissolves a budding player’s enthusiasm faster than telling them they need to buy a $60 rulebook, and read 300 pages of it before they’ll know how to play.

I want more supplements geared towards GMs than players. I understand why this hasn’t been the case in recent years: for every GM, there are probably three or more players. And since GMs will buy books anyway, it’s obvious which type of book has more potential customers. But never forget that the GM is your best salesperson. I can think of eleven people off of the top of my head who would probably have never picked up a tabletop RPG if I hadn’t invited them to my games. None of them bought supplements, but a lot of them bought core books and dice.

I want characters that can be created quickly. I don’t want to feel as though I’m sentencing players to waste eons every time I kill their characters. And I don’t want to force new players to sit through a bunch of obtuse character creation nonsense before I have a chance to show them how fun the game can be.

I want characters that can be customized and specialized endlessly. Character class is a fine starting point, but if my players want to make choices then I want to be able to offer them. If a player sets a goal for something they would like their character to be capable of, I want that goal to be achievable.

I want deep, tactical combat which forces players to think beyond a mundane exchange of blows. Combat where making a plan and knowing how to work together can mean the difference between life and death. Combat which none the less encourages players to take risks. Combat where being clever about your environment can turn the tide of a losing fight. Combat which is fun every time.

I want combat that doesn’t need to take an hour.

I want mechanics that engage players beyond a die roll. Rolling dice is a great way to resolve some types of action–but not ALL types of action. If every problem is solved with a die roll, then we might as be playing around a craps table.

I want mechanics unburdened by vestigial adherence to tradition. Just because past games have always done things a certain way doesn’t mean modern games should. The past exists for us to learn from, not to mindlessly emulate.

I want a game which doesn’t ignore history. If Gary Gygax or Dave Arneson figured out how to handle a situation amazingly, there’s no reason modern games should simply handle the same situation passably.

I want a game that equally supports many modes of play. A game which is just as engaging in tasks such as exploration or political intrigue, as it is in combat.

I want a game which explains not just the rules of the system, but the spirit which those rules support. One which explains why rules exist, and how certain mechanics improve play. I want a game which helps Game Masters make the leap from learning rules, to running a campaign.

I want a game which is supported by online tools, but which recognizes that if a game relies on online tools, it is a weak game.

I want rules that don’t need to be bypassed because they pointlessly add unnecessary work.

I want a game where the rules are designed to support me, not a game where the rules waste my time and frustrate my players.

I want a game without ‘traps,’ intended to impede a character’s build. Honestly, I want a game which doesn’t support even the concept of a ‘build,’ but instead promotes mechanical customization.

The Wide-Swing Dilemma

My party’s cleric wields a large, two-handed warhammer. It’s not a weapon which appears in any of the Pathfinder books I’ve read, but I include it in my games as a piece of standard equipment because they are awesome. In our last game session, the party was ambushed by a number of animated goblin skeletons while they were exploring the base of a giant statue. As monsters go, skeletons are not particularly deadly. But they were numerous, and none of the players had ever encountered a creature with damage reduction before. The party’s ranger was none too pleased when his arrow simply clattered through the undead’s ribcage without dealing damage.

Once I explained how damage reduction worked to my party, they figured out that the cleric’s warhammer, as a bludgeoning weapon, was able to overcome this defense. The barbarian cleverly responded by finding the largest rock she could, hefting it, and waddling around the battlefield smashing skeletons to pieces. The rogue and ranger did the best they could, but found that their piecing and slashing weapons weren’t up to the task. They encouraged the cleric to take the forefront in the battle, since her weapon was ideally suited to the fight. She did, and eventually ended up in this position:

I know, my battlemat is out of scale with the miniature base. I need to do something about that eventually.

Anyway, when the player found herself in this position, she told me she wanted to try and attack all three of the skeletal goblins in a single horizontal swing. I couldn’t think of a single diegetic reason why she wouldn’t be able to attempt this. I made a quick ruling at the table, and told her that she would be able to attempt it as a full action, but that each attack would be made at a cumulative -2 penalty. So her attack on the first goblin in her arc would be at a -2 penalty, the center goblin would be at a -4 penalty, and the final goblin would be attacked at a -6 penalty. This seemed like a reasonable penalty to me, and I had the player roll her attack dice.

As it turned out, none of her attacks landed, nor did any of her attacks land on her next turn when she tried the same tactic again. The penalties didn’t even come into play, she never rolled above a 10. Bad luck, but the party prevailed, and continued on with their adventure. But the encounter stuck with me throughout the rest of the evening, and I’ve continued to ponder it ever since. My ruling ‘steps on the toes’ of two mechanics built into the Pathfinder game: multiple attacks from a high base attack bonus, and Cleave/Great Cleave feats.

If you’ve played Pathfinder, or D&D 3.x, you’re familiar with these rules. Each class has a base attack bonus which rises as the character goes up in level, and this bonus is added to most types of physical attack that the character will make. Once the creature’s BAB gets high enough, they gain secondary, tertiary, and even quaternary bonuses which are lower (-5, -10, and -15 lower) than their full BAB. As a full action, the character can make multiple attacks per round using progressively lower bonuses. But while a character must be at least level 11 to gain three attacks with their BAB, my table ruling allowed a 2nd level character to attempt three attacks. And she did it at a -2, -4, -6 penalty, rather than a -0, -5, -10 penalty. A net bonus over the official way of doing things.

Gaining iterative attacks from base attack bonus does have a few benefits which I would not have allowed the cleric, had she asked. For example, a character attempting multiple attacks using their BAB is allowed to choose the order in which they attack their foes, can take a 5ft step in between attacks, and can even decide whether or not they want to continue attacking, or take a move action instead, after the first of their attacks. None of these should be possible if all of the attacks are made in a single fluid motion. But nor would they seem to make up for the fact that my cleric was able to access an ability which (according to the rules) was far beyond her ability.

The second rule I stepped on the toes of, the cleave and greater cleave feats, serve a similar function. If a character with the cleave feat successfully deals damage to one foe, then that character may make a second attack (at their full BAB) against another adjacent enemy. The greater cleave feat works the same way, it simply allows the player to continue making new attacks against adjacent enemies so long as the chain of successful attacks remains unbroken. Both feats subject the player to a -2 AC penalty for a round after use.

My player did not have the benefit of being able to use her full BAB on each attack, as the cleave feat allows players to do. But she also did not suffer a -2 penalty to AC, nor did she need to successfully deal damage to the first enemy in order to attack the second, or the third. And, on top of that, she didn’t need to take 3 feats (Power Attack > Cleave > Great Cleave) to make the attempt in the first place. Once again, it seems that my table ruling gave the player more a net bonus over the official rules.

Despite my ruling interfering with two official rules, I can’t help but feel that I acted correctly. I still cannot see a single diegetic reason why Gibbous the cleric would not be able to attack all three of the closing skeletons with a single horizontal swing. And while I’m sure the rules could be debated forever, I don’t particularly care. Combat balance is not sacrosanct. Player Agency is.

None the less, I am left with a few thoughts on how to improve my game in the future.

  • If a player attempts this tactic again, I think they should take a -2 penalty to AC for being off balance. I think it makes a lot of sense that a player who attempts a really wild attack wouldn’t be able to block attacks as effectively.
  • If a player attempts this tactic again, a slightly more harsh penalty might be appropriate. A -3 cumulative penalty, instead of a -2, should be sufficient.
  • Players with high base attack bonuses can make iterative attacks as a standard action, rather than a full action. This is a house rule that my twitter friend Rilgon first pointed out to me, and I’ve thought it sounded like a good idea for awhile now.
  • I long ago abolished the Power Attack feat from my games, because it falls prey to my problem with feats. I now think I’ll remove the Cleave feat for the same reason. Great Cleave can remain, as a means of allowing players to overcome the cumulative attack penalty, but only if they hit each time. After that the penalty stacks for each attack they miss.

I’m curious how other GMs would have handled this situation. Personally, it’s just edged me closer to the day when I build my own tabletop role playing system, with blackjack and hookers.

Variant Spell Preperation

Casters are overpowered in Pathfinder. It’s not exactly a controversial statement. They’re less overpowered compared to non-casters than they were in D&D 3.5, but that’s not saying much. Wizards were demoted from Gods, to merely Demi-Gods. Finding ways to creatively nerf wizards has become a side hobby of mine. I’d like to bring them in line with the other classes, without taking away of the flavor which I view as central to the class.

In early editions of D&D, Magic Users gained their spells at random, and that served as an effective balancing device. And while I think it’s a really cool idea, I don’t think it fits into the Pathfinder mythos very well. A Pathfinder wizard is a scholar; there is nothing random about how they go about their business. I’ve suggested before simply removing any spells that a wizard gains by leveling up, and instead offering the wizard spells as treasure. I still like this idea a lot, but I understand that not everyone can get behind such a large nerf. It has also recently been suggested that any spell a Wizard casts from a scroll should count against their total spells per day. I quite like this idea as well, but obviously it’s not sufficient to completely balance the class.

While reading a recent post over at Brendan’s site Untimately, I struck upon another idea. What if the spell slots of the Wizard (or any other Caster) were not level specific? According to the current Pathfinder rules, every time a wizard gains a new spell level, they have only 1 spell slot for that level. At the next level it goes up to two slots, two levels after that it goes up to three slots, and three levels later it maxes out at four slots. By level 20, a Wizard is able to prepare four spells from all ten spell levels each day, for a total of 40 spells every day. If they like, a lower level spell can be placed in a higher level spell slot, but that always feels kinda wasteful, doesn’t it?

Using this idea, a wizard will still have spell slots, and still prepare their spells using a Vancian “fire and forget” system. But instead of having X number of slots for Y level spells, the caster will instead gain generic spell slots which can be used to memorize spells of any level. The catch is that each spell requires a number of spell slots equal to its spell level to memorize. So a fifth level spell will require five spell slots.

The way the system scales is really quite interesting. Using the official Pathfinder rules, characters who reach a new spell level can only prepare a single spell of that level until they gain a new character level. Using system, however, characters probably have enough spell slots to prepare several of their highest level spells as soon as they gain access to them–but at the expense of only having a few spells to cast for the day.

I feel like I’m writing ‘level’ and ‘spell’ a lot.

Another interesting thing about this system is that it becomes remarkably easy to scale the wizard’s level of power until you find a good fit for your game. If you’re running a low magic game, Wizards start with 4 spell slots, and gain 2 new slots each time they gain a class level. If you’re running a game with more magic, wizards start with 3 spell slots, and gain 3 each time they level.

The system seems elegant to me, but I haven’t play tested it yet. I wish I could claim credit for coming up with the idea first, but it appears Brendan beat me to the punch by almost a year. And apparently an old sourcebook called The Principalities of Glantri Gazeteer beat him to the punch by several decades. Still, I think the idea deserves some consideration.

Playing The Other Side: Mindless Undead

Anyone who plays tabletop RPGs eventually starts coming up with ways to pervert the concept. A group will only play good and neutral heroes for so long before they start to consider playing evil characters. They’ll only play as humans, elves, and dwarves for so long before they start to wonder what it would be like to play as an orc or a goblin. It’s only natural for a person to look for unusual and flavorful experiences, particularly in a game which is already about exploring the fantastical. Even Gygax would purportedly send his D&D players into Western or Science Fiction scenarios–still wielding sword and spell. Deviations like these can be great fun. and it was while entertaining these perversions that I struck upon the idea of having my players take the reigns of mindless undead creatures.

I would start with a dungeon, probably on the smallish side. Perhaps only a single level. It would be filled with everything you would expect to find in a dungeon: interesting rooms, treasure, traps, and so forth. It would even have adventurers. The only thing it wouldn’t have is monsters, because that’s where the players come in. Each player would take command of a single skeleton or zombie with a very simple task: prevent adventurers from defeating the necromancer who was kind enough to animate them. They would be given a map of the dungeon, as well as guidance from their master’s divinations about the location of the invading adventuring party.  They would be free to use any tactics they wished to defeat the adventurers. I, in turn, would move the adventurers through the dungeon, rolling for damage when they passed a trap and buffing them up a bit each time they encountered treasure.

I would do my best to defeat the zombies, but until the adventurers slay the necromancer, a new zombie or skeleton will always join its fellows within 1d6 rounds of its predecessors death. So no matter how many the adventurers kill, they’re fighting an uphill battle through the dungeon. Any time an adventurer is slain, one of the undead may spend a full round eating its corpse to regain all of their health. Any time the undead succeed in causing a TPK, all of the individual undead involved gain 1HD, and are allowed to add +1 to their damage rolls henceforth.

The cool thing about the idea is that player death really doesn’t matter all that much. When a player has invested a lot of time into creating, or playing a character, it can be a sobering experience for that character to die. It’s one of the big weaknesses of Pathfinder’s involved character building process. But when all of a character’s abilities and statistics are found under “S” and “Z” in the Bestiary, there’s no character creation process to go through. And since the new character appears a mere 1d6 rounds later, I imagine it won’t take long for players to start wantonly sacrificing themselves to create barriers, or to lure adventurers into deathtraps. And while a character who has leveled up might be a little too valuable to just throw away, I doubt any player would grow so attached to a few more HP and a +1 to damage that they’d feel at all sad to lose the character.

The way I imagine it, this would be a pretty fun evening of gaming to run. A brief deviation from the norm to cleanse everyone’s adventuring palette. Little will the players realize the insidious information they’re inadvertently providing to their GM: tactics. It’s just a side benefit really, but I know I’ll be watching my group carefully to see what they come up with. And I’ll be sure to use something similar against them next time they’re unfortunate enough to be level one adventurers taking their first wary steps into a dungeon.

In truth, this is closer to a board game than it is to an RPG. The only reason I wouldn’t call it a board game flat-out is because of tactical infinity. There are no limits to what the players can do to defeat the adventurers, so long as they can convince the GM that the idea is plausible.

A Twist on Race as Class

As you may or may not be aware, some games use a system of race selection commonly called “race as class.” It’s primarily found in older games, or “retro clones,” which attempt to capture the spirit of older games. The basic concept is that some or all races (normally excluding humans) are both a race and a class combined. A player might select a human fighter, or a human wizard, but if they choose an elf, then they’re just an elf. Elves grow in power as they gain experience points and levels, just as a normal class would, but they can’t be elven fighters/clerics/rogues. It’s an idea which has fallen out of style in recent decades, and I think the hobby is better for it. There are those who disagree, and they have some very compelling arguments. It’s just not for me.

As glad as I am that race and class are now thoroughly divided concepts within gaming, it has come at a cost: racial distinction. When a human and an elf have completely different leveling progressions, it’s hard from them to be more distinct from one another. They are completely different. But when humans and elves are racial choices in a game where most of a character’s abilities and flavor will be defined by their class, racial distinction can be lost. Or, to put it another way, the elves can become “humans in funny hats.” This problem has only become more pronounced since the elimination of a “maximum level” for certain race/class combinations. I’m not saying I want those to come back either, I’m just saying we need to recognize the problems which these changes have created.

Throughout the third edition of Dungeons and Dragons, the choice of which race to play was almost irrelevant. A fighter was a fighter, regardless of whether it was an elf, a dwarf, or even a halfling. There’s no doubt that each race came with some sweet benefits. Getting 2 feats at first level when you played a human was amazing, but after first level the choice of being a human lost any kind of relevance. Rather than being a defining feature, a character’s race essentially became a very powerful feat which can only be taken at 1st level. Paizo attempted to address this problem in Pathfinder, and they succeeded somewhat. Essentially they made race into a much more powerful feat. One which has a more dramatic effect on a character than before. This isn’t terrible, but it’s certainly inelegant.

And when designing a set of rules which, ideally, people will largely be able to memorize; elegance is key.

I’ve felt this way about races for some time, but I’ve never applied much thought to it. My thought has always been that race works better as a role playing element than as a mechanical element. But that does no justice to the concept of having races with different anatomies and abilities than humans have. The whole idea is for each race to be fantastical and unique; to be so different from humans that it can be difficult to find common ground. Dwarfs are more than Scottish accents and beer, and elves are more than nature loving know-it-alls. Choosing your race should have a powerful impact on your character’s abilities, flavor and progression!

Which brings me, finally, to my idea: what if the racial entries were simplified to the bare minimum, and each class progressed differently based on the character’s race?

Talking specifically about Pathfinder here, what if the 7 core races were boiled down to elements which would be universal to members of that race? For example, all humans are medium creatures, have a base land speed of 30ft, and that’s it. Everything else in the race entry is just fluff: descriptions of human appearance, what their society is like, etc. Other races might have an extra doo-dad or two, such as darkvision. But the racial entries themselves wouldn’t have bonuses or penalties to base ability scores, or other miscellaneous talents. Instead, all of that stuff would be moved to the class entries.

Each of the 9 class entries would have 7 small tables which detailed how the core races progressed through those classes. There would be, perhaps 5-10 levels where the character would gain racial abilities in addition to their class abilities, and those racial abilities would be unique to each class. An elven ranger, for example, could gain the ability to see great distances, whilst elven wizards and sorcerers would gain a +2 on their ability to overcome spell resistance. (“Logolys, what do your elf eyes see?” “I don’t know, I’m a Wizard!”) In essence, race and class are re-combined. But instead of the races being classes unto themselves, they modify whichever class they’re connected to. A player with an elven druid might be playing a very different class from a player with a dwarven druid.

This sounds complicated, I know. But consider this: in Pathfinder’s current form, racial entries contain a great deal of relevant information. Dwarfs get a +4 dodge bonus to AC against giants, Half Orcs can fight for one more round after they hit 0 HP, and gnomes get frickin’ spells if their charisma is high enough. These are the kinds of things which will almost never be written down on a player’s character sheet unless they anticipate needing to know it. That means that if they ever do need it, they’ll need to look it up in the book. This system condenses both racial and class abilities into a single, easily book-markable entry.

Still not convinced? What if I point out that Pathfinder is already doing something essentially like this? If you’ve ever picked up the Pathfinder Advanced Player’s Guide, you’ve probably seen the Class Archetypes. They’re on page 72 if you haven’t. Instead of having eleventy-billion poorly balanced prestige & base classes like 3.5 did, Pathfinder offers “alternate versions” of the 9 core classes, which replace certain abilities with others. In this way you can take a Rogue (as an example) and turn them into a Scout, or a Swashbuckler, or a Spy. My twist on “Race as Class” wouldn’t be any more complicated than this. The only difference is that instead of substitute abilities, racial selection would grant additional abilities.

Is there any game out there doing something like this? I know many of my readers are familiar with RPGs I’ve never even heard of, so let me know if I’m just re-wording a system which is already present in “Lords of the Twisty Tunnels,” or “Chop & Kick Kings.”

Hex Crawling Encounters


(Order of the Stick courtesy of Richard Berlew)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few final notes on using an encounter table:

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

Making Travel More Engaging

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

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

But how does it work?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TerrainExamplesMovement CostBecoming Lost
Easyroad 4 No Check
Averageclear, city, grasslands, trail* 6 Survival DC: 10
Moderateforest, hills, desert, badlands 8 Survival DC: 15
Difficultmountains, jungle, swamp 12 Survival DC: 20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suppositions on Tabletop RPG Time Tracking

Since Monday’s post on time management, I’ve had four separate people ask me how keeping track of time would work in a game. This may not seem like much, but it’s probably the most universal response I’ve received to a single post. Normally I don’t even get that much feedback on a given day’s writing, and when I do, it’s pretty varied. So to have four people ask the same question is unusual, and warrants further attention. I thought I would use tonight’s post to look into time management further. Specifically, to look at how it might be applied to a Pathfinder game. I would like to make clear before hand that I’ve never actually kept track of time in a game–at least not in the ways I’m about to delve into. This post is, at best, educated speculation. If nothing else, the following will be a solid outline for what I will be attempting in the future, and I can do another follow up post with what I learn.

Before I get started, lets go over some basic definitions. As mentioned yesterday, I think the best way to scale time tracking is to use the same definitions Pathfinder establishes for movement on pages 170-172 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook. Tactical Time is something any Pathfinder player will be familiar with. It is built on the 6-second round, and is what we use to measure the passage of time in combat, or in other severely time-critical situations. Local Time is for exploration, such as when the players are delving into a dungeon. The six second round would be far too short for this, and slow down gameplay to a ridiculous degree, so for Local Time, we will use the 10 minute turn, which can also be divided into 1 minute fragments. Overland Time can be measured in days. If the party is simply traveling from point A to point B across a great distance, breaking things down into a unit smaller than a day would be tedious. Lastly, the Hour can be useful as a unit of measure for both Local, and Overland Time, when the situation warrants it.

With our basic units of measure established, we need to know how they fit into one another, and how they eventually build into a year. This may seem somewhat silly at first, but consider: the Gregorian Calendar (the calendar most westerners use) is as confusing as the endless layers of the abyss. Largely due to the fact that it is an imprecise attempt to force a variety of natural phenomena into logical time-measurement boxes. By taking advantage of the fact that we’re playing a fantasy adventure game, we can easily redefine the way units of time fit into one another so that we can more easily keep track.

For most of the smaller measurements, it’s simpler just to keep them consistent with the real world, to avoid the need to alter game rules. Casters need to rest 8 hours to recover their spells because 8 hours is 1/3 of the standard day, so changing the standard day would upset the balance of the game. However, larger units of measure can be toyed with at will.

6 Seconds = 1 Tactical Round
10 Tactical Rounds = 1 Minute
10 Minutes = 1 Local Turn
6 Local Turns = 1 Hour
24 Hours = 1 Day
7 Days = 1 Week
5 Weeks = 1 Month (35 Days)
10 Months = 1 Year (350 days)

Keeping a week at 7 days means that the few spells which have a 1 week cooldown are not unintentionally weakened or empowered. Making each month a consistent 5 weeks means you can avoid any confusion by having a single week bridging two months. And 10 months to a year keeps the everything close enough to our reality that the players won’t feel detached. Everything is uniform, which will be helpful later on.

Now that we’ve established our definitions, lets talk about movement. A character’s speed is already listed on their character sheet for use in combat. The speed which is listed on a character sheet is the distance, in feet, which a character can cover in a 6 second round. (The “move action” in combat is treated as a hustle, rather than a walk, which is why it takes less than the full round). This means that a character with a speed of 30 can move 30 feet in a round, 300 feet in a minute, and 3000 feet per 10 minute turn. This may seem ridiculous, but consider that the average human can walk a mile in 13 minutes. A mile is 5280 feet, which actually breaks down to a little over 406 feet per minute, so Pathfinder actually underestimates our movement speed.

Wouldn’t this be easier if we were using metric?

Considering the size of most dungeons, players will likely be moving in 50-100 foot spurts, rather than moving in increments of 300 or 3000 at a time. So I think the simplest way to handle time tracking within a dungeon will be to mentally keep track of how far your players have moved. Your figure only needs to be a rough estimate. Every time the players have moved about 300 feet, make a tally mark on a piece of paper. Once you’ve got 10 tally marks, make note that a turn has past. Bear also in mind that often players will not be moving at walking speed. Sometimes they will be hustling (in which case, they can move 600ft per minute), and other times they will be tapping every cobblestone with their 10ft pole. (There is no official rule on this, so lets just say they’d be moving at 1/3rd their normal pace, at 100ft per minute).

This sounds like a huge pain, doesn’t it? I know, I’m thinking the same thing. But think of how much depth you can add to your game by having your player’s torches burn out, or having time sensitive events in your dungeons, such as secret meetings that begin 3 turns after your players enter the dungeon, and end 2 turns later. Maybe your players will find them and be able to listen in, or maybe they won’t! That’s part of the beauty of tracking time.

Overland Movement should be much simpler to track. A character with a speed of 30 can move 24 miles at walking speed in a given day. A day, in this case, being 8 hours, which is the maximum amount of time a character can travel without requiring a constitution check. This amounts to precisely four hexes, if you’re using the standard six-mile hex. If you’re not using a hex map (like me, in my current campaign, where I haven’t yet converted the world map yet) you’ll need to figure out how far 24 miles is in some other way. One thing you’ll definitely want to keep in mind is how your player’s traveling speed might be affected by obstacles such as mountainous terrain, swamps, etc. It would probably be beneficial to establish a baseline speed difference between traveling on roads and traveling through the wilderness as well. Perhaps road travelers can move and even 30 miles, or 5 hexes?

Movement isn’t the only thing which takes time. Players don’t simply walk from their home base to the dungeon any more than they walk from the dungeon entrance directly to the treasure room. There are things to explore, battles to fight, an traps to disarm. So how do we measure those in our time tracking system?

Combat is obviously going to be the most frequent interruption to movement–particularly if you’re fond of random encounters. When working with Overland Time, their interruption can be largely ignored. Unless the party faced a large number of encounters in a given day, the amount of time a battle takes should be negligible. Whilst using Local Time, however, the length of combat is much more significant. Regardless of how long combat takes, you should probably round the time up to the next minute. Gygax even recommends that “they should rest a turn [LS: 10 minutes] after every time they engage in combat or any other strenuous activities.”

Other activities can include any number of things. Dealing with a trap, discussing a strategy, negotiating with a monster, exploring a room, opening a locked door, bashing open a locked door, the list goes on. GMs will have to use their judgement on a case by case basis to determine whether an action should be considered negligible (such as glancing around a room), a minute long (such as opening a relatively simple lock, or busting down a door), or longer (negotiating a truce with a hostile creature, or thoroughly exploring a room). I would advise against trying to track increments of time smaller than a minute. Either put a tally mark down for a minute, or don’t mark anything at all. It’ll even out eventually. Chapter 4 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, “Skills,” notes what type of action each skill requires. This can be helpful to determine how much time you want to mark down, though your players will probably hate you if you check the action-typeevery time they make a skill check. Some GM arbitration is called for here.

The number of events which consume enough time to be counted as relevant on an overland scale are few and far between. Sleeping tops the list, followed by crafting, and perhaps a few other activities which have their time requirements listed as hours. Overland time might also be consumed by switching to local time for a significant period. For example, if a party can travel 24 miles a day, then the party might travel 12 miles, discover a village, switch to local time, spend 10 10-minute turns in the village, then continue on their way. They could still make it the full 24 miles (since that distance is traveled in 8 hours of the day), while the time they spent in the village would be rounded up to 2 hours, leaving them with 6 hours of rest before needing to sleep for 8 hours.

Tracking time in towns is tricky. As best I can tell, most GMs don’t even bother with it. However, I think there could be some real value to it if you pulled it off. Often, as a GM, one of my players will want to do something in town, while the rest are content merely to wait. This, to me, seems silly. If the player who has something they need done takes 3 hours, then what is the rest of the party really doing? Sitting at a bench next to the town gate waiting? It strikes me that if I actually turned to them and said “What would you like to do during your 1 hour turn,” that might encourage players to engage with the world around them.

Lastly, I’d like to touch on long-term time tracking, which is actually what I’ve found the most information on. The common wisdom seems to be to print out calendar sheets using whatever number of days you have in a month. Many GMs seem to simply mark days off as they pass, which would work fine. However, I think the calendar is a good opportunity to enhance your campaign record keeping. Simple notes such as meeting an important NPC, engaging in a major battle, or recovering a valuable treasure could be notated on the calendar. And, if you’re like me and want to create a living world around your players, you can make notes for things the players didn’t witness, such as the day two nations went to war, or the day your villain recovers the Big Evil Thingamaboo which will allow them to summon demonic servants. You could also use the calendar to plan future events–keeping in mind that you may need to erase them if your players avert those events from happening.

Once again, these are just my musings on how I think I’ll try to track time in my upcoming game sessions. I haven’t done it before, and I’ve found a remarkable lack of information on the Internet about how to do it well. So if any more experienced GMs out there would like to set me straight on something, please comment!

Either way, I’ll be gathering notes on my success and failure, and will revisit this topic once I have a little more experience.