Yearly Archives: 2012

Chaos Leaks

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Image derived from Wikipedia

Being a collection of side effects indicating that a magic-user is beginning to lose control of harnessed power. All chaos leaks last for 1 turn (10 minutes) and then slowly fade away.

  1. Loud discordant music fills the air
  2. Eyes glow like orange lanterns
  3. All nearby shadows begin to dance
  4. Steam rises from eyes turned white
  5. Whirlwinds from nowhere envelop the caster
  6. Gravity ceases to function within 10′
  7. Bloody tears pour from eyes in a torrent
  8. Heartbeat echoes audibly like a war drum
  9. Phosphorescent insectoid creatures seem to crawl just beneath skin
  10. Movement leaves a color trail which dissipates slowly
  11. Breathes out clouds of iridescent butterflies
  12. Loud but whispered mutterings attend every motion
  13. Strange astrolabe-like orbital halos accompanied by 360 degree vision
  14. Electricity plays between floor and ceiling around caster
  15. Every step causes tremors and shaking nearby
  16. Effects of gravity on all weapons within 10′ reverses
  17. Body (but not possessions or clothing) becomes invisible
  18. High pitched squeal from ruptured reality shatters all fragile objects
  19. Footprints grow multihued flowers and glittery plants (even in stone)
  20. Skin becomes glassy and translucent, rainbow blood pulsing beneath

Arcane stress

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Chainmail Spell Complexity from here

A while back, Jeff wrote a post about Chainmail-style roll-to-cast magic. This came to my attention again recently because Jeremy was discussing using a similar system to replace spell preparation. And then I saw this by Brock about replacing cleric spells with general “miracles” and a saving throw mechanic. The details of that system are not important for my purposes here, save one: every miracle granted imposes a -1 cumulative penalty on future attempts.

What if we combined Chainmail casting with a cumulative penalty? A point of “arcane stress” would accrue to the magic-user upon any result of delay or worse. At no point is a magic-user ever prevented from attempting to cast, but the more they cast, the less reliable magic becomes, and the more likely a mishap or backfire will be triggered. This could entirely replace prepared spells, yet maintain a cost to casting.

Like my save to retain spells variation, it makes lower level spells closer to at-will magic as magic-user level rises without actually removing resource management (the resource cost comes in the form of potentially making future spell casting more difficult). Arcane stress goes away between sessions or adventures (basically, any time that a character would traditionally be able to prepare spells). It has most of the benefits of a spell point system but far superior atmosphere (in my opinion, at least).

Church Sorcerers

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Cleric magic and wizard magic are often considered to be inherently different, with cleric magic flowing from gods and wizard magic flowing from something else. Third Edition formalized this by creating the categories “divine” and “arcane” for spells. Fourth Edition added the concept of power sources explicitly, including several other categories like “primal” for druids and “psionic” for mind powers. The differentiation was present before in the “spheres” of Second Edition and spell lists of First Edition too, but the metaphysics was ambiguous. The OD&D text hints in several ways that maybe the two kinds of magic are not actually so different.

What if there was no difference between cleric and wizard magic, and clerics were just church-sanctioned sorcerers? There would be no question about whether church-wizards were conversing directly with gods or causing miracles. In a way, it would be like governments controlling access to weapons, with the added wrinkle of “purity” systems that come with religion. The restricted spell list would make sense, because those would be the spells known and taught by church authorities. Perhaps they are only taught by certain sects, and are subject to schisms within the church proper. Such conflict could be grist for an entire campaign. Clerics less oriented to the holy warrior archetype could use the magic-user class mechanically, but with the cleric spell list.

This probably demands some sort of colors of magic system as well, to prevent the blandness of a magic-user without principles just accumulating and casting all the spells. A while back I wrote this thing about magical affinity, which is one way of doing it if you want to penalize stepping outside the archetype without totally forbidding it. Alternatively, you could also just handwave the restriction and assume that black wizards can’t cast white magic and vice versa (or maybe white wizards can be tempted to the dark side, but the transition is irreversible or very difficult to reverse).

Level as saving throw

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A Close Call (from Wikipedia)

So if the saving throw is really just a shorthand for level, a reward for extensive successful play, why do we need another number at all? Maybe Swords & Wizardry doesn’t go far enough with its single saving throw. Why can’t we just use the level directly? As frequently noted, I really like saving throws (see here, here, and here). Seriously, why am I writing this? The save system is maybe the least perverse part of the traditional game. Anyways, I have these ideas in my head, so here I go.

There are a few problems with using level directly. For one thing, saving throws shouldn’t be too hard at first level or too easy at high levels. In the original game, a fighter has to roll 12 or higher at first level to successfully save versus death. A beginning magic-user has to roll 15 or higher to save versus spells. The endgame saving throw target numbers range from 3 to 8, depending on category and class. They cluster around 5. These probabilities should be our guidelines.

In discussion on G+, Lance T. pointed out that Searchers of the Unknown does something very similar:

Saving throws: when such a roll is needed for any reason, roll 1d20 under the character’s level, +4. So 7th level adventurer must roll under 11 to escape a magical charm from a harpy. This “level+4” rules apply to every other action which aren’t covered by the “stealth & stunts” rule, but fits the common adventurers knowledge like searching for secrets doors or picking locks.

That’s good, but the magic constant of 4 is aesthetically unappealing. Also, as written, at high levels the saving throw becomes either 100% or 95% (if 20 is always a failure). I think more risk should remain at high levels. Like many D&D rules, it breaks down somewhat at high levels. It would be nice to avoid that.

Claytonian JP suggested how bout just a d20, roll under level plus ability mod? Lethal, but dramatic. That’s relatively pleasing. Maybe factoring in class too, so it would be under level + class and/or ability bonus (assuming something like the B/X ability score modifiers). The class modifier could be get a +2 bonus to the if it made sense (magic-users versus spells, thieves versus traps, fighters versus dragon breath, etc); similarly for ability scores. This means that in the most favorable case, with class factoring in and a maximum relevant ability score, the chance of success at first level is 6 or less, which is 30% (and most saves will have the insane difficulty of 5% at first level). Given the guidelines given above, this is probably too hard at first level, and also unbounded at high levels (and thus too easy). So that doesn’t quite satisfy the requirements for a good saving throw system.

Paolo suggested limiting the level bonus to the hit dice total, which is nice and elegant, especially for a system that caps hit dice at or around name level. It also made me think of how I have hit dice and traits set up in Hexagram. Hit dice total, like pretty much everything in Hexagram, is limited to 6, and characters get one every level for the first six levels. So that could be the beginning of the save bonus, and each path (battle, guile, wonder) also has a pseudo-defensive trait that could be applied to appropriate saves. This is starting to stray from the clean idea using the level number directly though.

4E (and 3E, I think) use “half-level” bonuses for some things, but I think that’s ugly. If we’re going to replace the saving throw subsystem with something more streamlined, I want it to be really elegant. This is similar to something I hacked into my previous Fourth Edition game (see the luck throw), but that was designed to explicitly fit with other 4E assumptions (like the level range of 1 to 30).

What about d20 + level, 16+ = success and 5- = failure? That’s simple enough to remember, is symmetrical, and handles low and high levels well. Ranges from 30% success at first level (since there is a +1 from being first level) to 25% failure at level 10 (after which saves wouldn’t functionally improve anymore, though you never need to track anything other than the level). That’s kind of what Paolo suggested, but is independent of hit dice (which is nice, as level and hit dice are not always so correlated; consider the all d6 progression of OD&D that uses +1 bonuses at some levels).

Here are some examples of how this system might work. Roll an 8 at level 3, total is 11, which is less than 16, so failure. Roll a 10 at level 6, total is 16, which is a success. Roll a 3 at any level, that’s a failure because it’s 5 or less. Roll an 18 at any level, that’s a success because it’s more than 15. I think this satisfies all my original contraints, though you have to remember the slightly odd failure and success ranges.

So… what do you think of replacing saving throws with an explicit level check? Too far off the deep end?

Abstracting missiles

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Image from Wikipedia

Image from Wikipedia

Traditionally, combat rounds were one minute long, and a single attack roll determined the outcome of the entire sequence of feints, parries, dodges, and strikes that occurred durring that time. This is a simple system, and it works well with melee attacks, as they don’t use up any resources. The abstraction breaks down for missile weapons though, which require ammunition. Even if you shorten the round to 10 seconds (B/X) or 6 seconds (Third Edition), that doesn’t really address the problem if you want to keep combat abstract and fast-paced.

I posted a question on Google Plus about this topic, asking people for ideas about how to bridge the abstraction divide between melee and ranged combat. To be honest, tracking ammunition is not really that difficult, so this began more as an intellectual exercise. However, Jeremy M. of Over the Misty Mountains, suggested the following solution, which I quite like:

You could maybe resolve the problem by having several stages of depletion (maybe quiver depletion) and have them roll AFTER each combat. Making it more about how many they recover than how many they have. That keeps the resource management aspect but still skirts counting arrows

Here is a variation on his idea. I also like the option of allowing ranged attackers to spend more ammunition in exchange for a bonus or additional effect. It doesn’t complicate combat much (assuming the potential effects are simple), and gives players with characters wielding missile weapons an interesting choice to make every round.

Abstracting missiles

Collections of ammunition are tracked rather than individual arrows or bullets (quivers, cases, pouches, or whatever makes sense for the weapon in question). Ammunition does not run out durring combat (though see “volley” below). Instead, each weapon has an ammo die which is rolled after combat to determine if there is ammunition remaining. If the ammo check comes up 1, the current quiver is exhausted. The default ammo die is d6, though special weapons may use a different die. Rolling the ammo die also represents collecting any reusable ammunition, and the referee may assign penalties to the ammo check if recovering some ammunition would not be possible situationally (such as if firing across a chasm).

Ammo checks are not used for missile weapons that don’t have aggregate measures of ammunition, such as throwing axes or daggers. Depending on referee ruling, this ammunition rule may be used with bandoliers of throwing knives or shurikens. Referees may also opt to track ammunition more closely for special combats involving attrition, such as if characters are trapped in a foxhole. Special ammunition (where the rarity of an individual missile is important, such as an arrow of slaying) should be handled separately.

Volley

During combat, if using a weapon with ammunition, a ranged attacker may choose to expend more ammo in exchange for a bonus to attack or damage. This option requires an immediate ammo check, and if the ammo check fails the quiver is exhausted by the volley. This ammo check is in addition to the check required post-combat.

Because ammunition is still being tracked in aggregate units (quivers, clips, etc), resource management remains. An archer is potentially rewarded for thinking ahead and bringing extra quivers, though that comes at the cost of having less space for treasure or other equipment. Quivers, at least for arrows, are pretty bulky, and it’s hard to imagine carrying more than 2 or 3 and still operating efficiently.

Note that this also abstracts away reloading times. This is probably a good thing, as reload rates have far too large of an effect on combat efficacy. A two shot per round longbow just blows away a one shot every other round heavy crossbow, so consequently nobody ever uses heavy crossbows. Even if a heavy crossbow had significant bonuses against heavy armor (or something), the variance of the d20 means that you are probably better off with multiple shots and relying on lucky high numbers (though the exact probabilities will depend on other specifics).

Hexagram Ability Scores

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Image from Wikipedia

Following my recent general discussion about ability scores and their role in tabletop RPGs, here are the actual Hexagram rules. Let me know if I have left out anything important that you think belongs in a section about ability scores.

Ability scores help define characters by quantifying strengths and weaknesses. They affect the game directly in two ways. Each ability score provides a small bonus or penalty. For example, an exceptional dexterity (greater than 12) grants a bonus of +1 to missile weapon attacks (or -1 for a score below 8). Additionally, the referee may call for ability checks to resolve some situations. To succeed at an ability check, you must roll less than or equal to the score in question on a d20.

Ability checks may be used to impartially resolve outcomes that are not covered by other, more specific rules. Ability checks are also used to determine how long something takes under trying conditions even if it is assumed that the action will be ultimately successful. In rare cases, bonuses or penalties may be levied on the check due to situation. Because of the large variance of the d20 roll, treating abilities as five points lower or higher when adjusting difficulty is suggested, but the unmodified score should be applicable for most situations where an ability check is useful.

Character path need not be determined by ability scores. For example, it may seem like a character with an average or low dexterity is unsuited for the path of guile. However, a character that focuses on using antediluvian technology may be better served by a high intelligence! A warrior who aspires to lead soldiers rather than stand on the front line with sword and shield may be better served by a high charisma!

Further, ability scores do not have enough mechanical weight within the Hexagram system to determine success. They should more correctly be looked upon as a tool to tell you something about your character as an individual, with minor system effects to keep the abilities salient without being overwhelming. Your wits and creativity as a player are far more important than your character’s ability scores. Feel free to try counterintuitive ability score / path combinations; such may lead to idiosyncratic and memorable characters.

Ability Scores
Ability Modifies
Strength melee weapon damage
Dexterity ranged attacks
Constitution hit points per hit die
Intelligence using antediluvian technology
Wisdom saving throw versus magic
Charisma social reaction

All modifiers are a penalty of 1 if the score is less than 8 or a bonus of 1 if the score is more than 12.

Strength is physical power. It allows you to hit harder and so modifies melee damage rolls. Potential strength checks include:

  • Shifting a heavy statue
  • Forcing your way out of a grab
  • Winning a tug-of-war 

Dexterity is agility, quickness, and reflexes. It helps with aim and so modifies ranged attacks. Potential dexterity checks include:

  • Catching a falling vase
  • Remaining standing on ice
  • Slipping out of a grab or restraint

Constitution is endurance, stamina, and toughness. It modifies hit points per hit die. Potential constitution checks include:

  • Resisting the effects of a toxic swamp
  • Holding breath
  • Recovering from an affliction

Intelligence is reason, cognition, and analytical skill. A strong intellect helps with manipulating ancient technology. Potential intelligence checks include:

  • Recognizing an ancient script
  • Identifying the basic purpose of an antediluvian machine
  • Repairing a simple mundane machine

Wisdom is intuition, willpower, and magical acuity, and thus modifies the magic saving throw. Possible wisdom checks include:

  • Throwing off a minor curse
  • Engaging in psychic combat given a psychic link
  • Noting the presence of hedge magic

Charisma is leadership and force of personality. A high charisma inspires devotion and trust, and thus modifies the social reaction roll. Possible charisma checks include:

  • Having a lie believed
  • Staring down a thug
  • Calming a panicked prisoner

VARIATIONS ON ABILITY CHECKS

Time-based tasks may require more than one successful ability check to complete. For example, pushing a heavy box through a door while under attack by enemy archers. The longer it takes, the more shots the archers will be able to get off. Some such tasks may allow multiple characters to contribute, at the cost of being unable to take other actions at the same time (such as return fire).

Ability checks may be opposed. For example, to resolve arm-wrestling, two characters might each make a strength check and compare the degree of success (that is, the number by which the check was made or failed by). Best of three is recommended to resolve such head-to-head conflicts.

It’s not always necessary, however, to determine everything by checks, especially if nothing interesting is at stake. The above arm-wrestling example could just as easily be resolved by comparing strength scores directly.

THE SAVING THROW RULE

Ability checks are never used to resolve a potentially fatal situation. Instead, saving throws are used in such cases. It is important to use saving throws because they improve with level and thus reward extensive play. Several of the example ability checks above may seem like they are resolving life or death situations (like the holding of breath), but what they are really doing is postponing the necessity of a saving throw. Ability checks will often buy time, one of the most valuable resources to adventurers.

THE PERCEPTION RULE

Ability checks are never used for gathering situational information. All obvious features are communicated directly by the referee. Locating hidden features, however, requires further explicit character action. For example, if there is a room with a map concealed beneath a rug, the referee will only describe the rug. If characters do not look under the rug, they will not find the map. Players may also opt to perform an abstract search, at the cost of spending time (this often has potentially deleterious consequences, such as encountering enemy patrols, and so is wise to avoid when possible). See “searching” in the adventuring procedures section, and note that characters on the path of guile gain bonuses to such abstract searching (though time must still be spent).

Dimensionality

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Image from Wikipedia

For Hexagram, after some consideration, I have decided to preserve the classic six ability scores, with normally distributed (that is, 3d6) ranges, though with decreased direct mechanical weight. The classic scores are easy to understand, provide enough dimensions to make characters seem unique, aid in developing a character’s personality, and provide a convenient resolution mechanic (the roll-under ability check) for many supplementary tasks.

Intelligence and wisdom can sometimes feel like they cover the same space, though. In the first version of the game, intelligence and wisdom were prime requisites (for magic-users and clerics, respectively) and gave a small bonus to earned experience for those classes. The only other effects were bonus languages from intelligence, and some loose roleplaying guidance. Thus, the only thing we can really say about these ability scores at this point is that intelligence has more to do with book learning and wisdom with spiritual connection (to deities, or perhaps the cosmos at large).

Moldvay (and, obviously, AD&D) started to attach more mechanical consequences to ability scores, and this expanded (or perhaps more thoroughly pinned down) their meanings. I’m not really interested in the complexity of AD&D ability scores (especially with the beginning of optimization tendencies associated with racial bonuses, exceptional strength, maximum spell level, minimums required for classes, and all that), so I’m going to stick with Moldvay for discussion purposes. Intelligence and wisdom maintain their experience bonus function as prime requisites, but wisdom also affects saving throws against magic (following the now mostly standardized +1, +2, +3 bonus progression). This already starts to create some extra confusion though. If intelligence is the thing used by magic-users, why is the save versus spells affected by wisdom?

For Hexagram, intelligence is intellect and rationality, while wisdom represents intuition, willpower, and magical acuity. As both spiritual and sorcerous archetypes walk down the path of wonder, wisdom is probably the ability score most associated with wonder workers, and gives a small bonus to saving throws versus magic. Intelligence helps with utilizing antediluvian machines (and more mundane devices, too).

The mental ability scores are further complicated by the player/character split. All tabletop RPGs that I can think of involve some puzzles that the player must solve independently of character abilities. There may be some aspects of the game that you can use mental ability scores on digetically (for example, an intelligence check to recognize the origin of an ancient inscription). This varies by edition and specific gaming group, but even Fourth Edition requires the player to reason about, for example, tactical positioning, which is almost certainly something that an 18 intelligence PC would be better at than the player. This is not a problem; if these things are games, there must be some way for the player to play them.

Further, one or the other scores often do double duty as a perception or situational awareness ability in games that don’t have a separate perception skill. It looks like Fifth Edition is going in this direction. I don’t believe this serves the game well, and in Hexagram ability checks are never used for gathering situational information. All obvious features are communicated directly by the referee. Locating hidden features, however, requires further explicit character action. I call this THE PERCEPTION RULE.

For example, if there is a room with a map concealed beneath a rug, the referee will only describe the rug. If characters do not look under the rug, they will not find the map. Players may also opt to perform an abstract search, at the cost of spending time (this often has potentially deleterious consequences, such as encountering enemy patrols, and so is wise to avoid when possible).

One common modification to the traditional ability score spread and paradigm is to collapse similar ability scores together. For example, to have a single body score in place of strength and constitution, or a single mind score in place of intelligence and wisdom. Microlite goes this route, as does X-plorers and Adventure Fantasy Game. One downside to this approach is that it can make different characters seem very similar to players that look to the numbers for some idea of what makes a given character unique.

Ultimately, many different levels of ability score resolution could work, and none will truly reflect the multifarious aspects of a fully realized person. For example, is it worthwhile to differentiate between bodily agility and manual dexterity? White Wolf games use a nine-fold division into physical (strength, dexterity, stamina); social (charisma, manipulation, appearance); and mental (perception, intelligence, wits). Skills & Powers (D&D 2.5) provides two subscores for each of the classic six: strength (stamina & muscle), dexterity (aim & balance), constitution (health & fitness), intelligence (reason & knowledge), wisdom (intuition & willpower), and charisma (leadership & appearance). Certainly, there exist real people with high intuition but low willpower. For my purposes though, I think the six-fold division strikes a nice balance.

Another common modification is to collapse saving throws and ability scores into a single system. There has always been some level of confusion over what exactly saving throws represent. Is a saving throw versus wands a dodge? If so, why doesn’t dexterity provide a bonus? Further, some early products used the term saving throw in a more general way, and allowed saves versus ability scores. In a game without levels, ability checks as saving throws seems like the way to go, but in a game with advancement, the saving throw has an important separate function, which is to reward successful play. You can’t just make a character with a high save versus poison (like you can potentially with constitution). You have to earn it.

Also, divorcing the saving throw from randomly determined ability scores is important to game fairness: remember that a beginning PC may have a constitution score of anywhere from 3 to 18 (if used as a saving throw, that’s a huge range of variation for surviving a potentially fatal hazard). That entire range should produce a viable and playable character. Saving throws even the playing field in terms of catastrophic risk, while allowing interesting character variation. If the game does not include the possibility of catastrophic risk, this is not a concern, but if it does, the game design of the saving throw is very important. Thus, ability checks cannot be used in place of saving throws. I call this THE SAVING THROW RULE.

One final cosmetic note. The original ability score order was strength, intelligence, wisdom, constitution, dexterity, charisma. The reason for this order is that the first three are the prime requisites, in the order of class importance, fighter being the default and most general class (strength), followed by the magic-user (intelligence), and finally the more specialized blend of the first two, the cleric (wisdom). As I’m not using experience modifiers by prime requisite, and am interpreting all of the ability scores more diegetically, the later physical / mental order is more appropriate (strength, dexterity, constitution, intelligence, wisdom, charisma).

My next post will cover more literally the ability score rules for Hexagram, and how ability checks work.

Difficulty mode

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Dürer, Death and the Landsknecht

In addition to the background / reward dyad, another important game parameter is lethality. Next to incentives, lethality is probably the single most important determinant of how a tabletop RPG plays, because lethality is another way of saying risk. What do setbacks potentially involve? Is it possible to lose the game? Any consideration of lethality must also consider healing, because that is the other side of the coin. In D&D, the exact same dungeon and hazards can be made either very difficult or trivial, depending on the scarcity of healing.

This is a hugely controversial issue among fantasy gamers, as can be seen regarding the discourse around options for self-healing in 5E and the differing reaction to the idea of healing surges in Fourth Edition. Many old school games also use variations on the “healing surge” idea (though they are usually called something else).

Because lethality and healing are so important to how the game plays, I believe they should be explicit choices at the start of any campaign with clear options, though there is no reason to force any particular style. But what is it that is actually being selected? The thing being selected, which both lethality and the availability of healing are in service to, is how difficult the game is. This single choice will go a long way to make sure that all players (including the referee) are on the same page regarding the nature of the campaign.

Hit points in Hexagram, in any mode, are not persistent beyond any particular session. Instead, HP are rolled when required by the difficulty mode, the details of which are summarized in the table below. A character’s hit dice total is what matters; hit points are situational. I believe this reinforces the abstraction of HP, which is required for any lightweight system. In addition, I have been actually using this method of re-rolling HP in several different incarnations and have had nothing but good luck with it. It also greatly simplifies HP recovery, obviating the need for bookkeeping (the guidelines for when to re-roll take care of that).

Difficulty Modes
Mode When HP is Rolled HP Recovery Death
Very easy Each combat N/A Impossible; instead, a setback occurs
Easy Each combat N/A Only on TPK or if left behind
Medium Start of session 1d6 post-combat 0 HP, saving throw for unconsciousness
Hard Start of session Magic healing causes aging 0 HP, saving throw for unconsciousness
Very hard Start of session Magic healing causes aging 0 HP, no save

For the easy modes, why re-roll HP per combat rather than introduce some recovery mechanism? One, it is easier. It keeps the focus where it should be, on the conflict, rather than on the resource management (which by hypothesis is not of interest). Two, it adds uncertainty to combat so that it is not the first resort in all cases, and prevents the HP total from feeling like a fixed buffer against damage. This method is somewhat reminiscent of the Carcosa dice conventions, but keeps the type of die used for the HD fixed (d6) which prevents overly wild swings in possible HP totals.

This is essentially a way to do tactical gaming within a more traditional fantasy game framework without any secondary abstraction or rule system sitting on top of hit points. “Hits” are, of course, assumed to be blocked, or flesh wounds. Diegetically, any kind of sword to the gut event would be something that a character would get a saving throw to avoid. Note that this does not require higher-level abstraction like “luck” to enter into hit points — every hit can still be a hit, just not a good one.

Is using the idea of difficulty modes pejorative to different styles of play? I don’t think so, and there is some value to calling a spade a spade. It seems important to emphasize that the same rules framework, with appropriately tailored incentives, can be used for games focused on player skill and for games focused on other things. When I do play video games, I often play them on easy or normal mode, and almost never on hard mode, because I am not interested in building the type of skills most video games reward. Rather, I want to experience some other aspect of the game, like graphics, or art direction. I think that many people feel the same way about RPGs.

This design allows the game to work on all modes without assuming healing magic. One may include magic items or spells that perform healing, but they will not be very important in the easy modes (because you will be re-rolling your HP before the next encounter anyways), and are otherwise problematic in the hard modes (see healing & aging). Healing being problematic is required so that the tension and resource management required for a hard mode game are not undermined. Resurrection magic is of course important to perception of risk as well, but I will cover that in another post.

Incidentally, my current OD&D game is essentially on hard mode.

Balance & trade-offs

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Image from Wikipedia

Image from Wikipedia

Balance is really important to me when it comes to game design. What is that, you say? OSR heresy! It’s true though. The principle that I operate under is that nothing should be obviously optimal or suboptimal outside of specific circumstances. Everything should require meaningful and feasible trade-offs.

The common discourse about balance is about something different, though. It usually focuses on power balance between PCs in order to facilitate spotlight sharing. In general, I assume that characters of different levels may be adventuring together (based on either PC mortality and replacement, or from new players joining the campaign). Once you assume that different level characters will be working side by side, this kind of balance goes straight out the window (and good riddance, too).

Games where, practically speaking, 2 or 3 weapons are pretty much always the best choices, are a failure in my mind (at least in that dimension). The three dart per round AD&D magic user is a really good example of this (why would they use any other weapon?), as are weapon specialization rules in virtually every game that uses them (because such rules create a structure that destroys the possibility for interesting trade-offs). (For an example of weapon specialization rules that don’t suck structurally, consider something like weapon tricks that require setup time but have interesting side effects, like entanglement or stunning.) The whole AD&D variable damage weapons system is something of a mess, because it requires so many other fiddly subsystems to be operating (weapon speed, weapon length, weapon versus armor type, damage type) in order for the whole thing to not collapse into two or three optimal choices (long sword, long bow, two-handed sword). Some people might criticize the traditional spell list in this manner too, but I believe they are misunderstanding the use of many spells.

This does lead to several interesting corollaries. First, it reinforces my desire for a logarithmic power curve. I want PCs to develop, both for interest and adventuring incentive, but broadly rather than deeply, and in a way where the top level characters don’t totally outstrip the beginning level characters. Higher level characters should have more options, and more staying power, but scary monsters should always be scary, tricks should always be tricky, and traps should always be devious. There have been good arguments made that medium and high level D&D play models a different kind of protagonist than low level play, but it seems to me that barring some cosmetic mechanical similarities, these different tiers are actually different games (or they are just smoke and mirrors using scaled difficulty mechanical illusionism). I was just in a FLAILSNAILS game where one of the PCs “outgrew” the setting because he advanced above some level. This seems like something of a flaw in the D&D level model, at least as commonly implemented.

Second, how is a great power not automatically better than a lesser power? For example, a +1 sword is in all dimensions always a better option than a mundane sword (barring something like a curse, or an angry previous owner). The answer is that a great power is not automatically better than a lesser power if it is not of unlimited use. Go ahead, give a party of first level characters a scroll of meteor swarm or time stop and watch them agonize over when to use it. Make using power cost something.

Hexagram Backgrounds & Rewards

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Image from Wikipedia

Proposition: character background is one half of something that is completed by game reward structure. The reward structure dictates what the game is about and what the characters are doing (e.g., recovering treasure, slaying monsters, etc). The background should be appropriate to (if not explain) why they are doing these things.

Background is often either ignored or hand-waved (“yes, yes, you’re the fifth duke of so-and-so, we’re going to kill orcs, get with the program”). That works well for some games, but if you want to include background at all it seems to make sense to have it work in service to the proposed future course of the campaign. Further, I think it would be interesting to make this more systematic, and have character background and reward structure all feed into the setting design procedure.

The traditional game is mostly silent about character background. Some editions have a “secondary skill” table which is basically a way to determine what kind of peasant or tradesman a character was before becoming an adventurer. That’s okay for determining what mundane skills a character might have, but it doesn’t really connect to the rest of what goes on in a game. I’m also not thinking of background here as a method to blend archetypes (as I think that is handled adequately by the path, prototype, trait features), though it can be used to justify such blending if desired.

In addition to setting the reward structure of the game (which is the primary system purpose), background has the secondary use of giving players a bit of information that can be useful for role-playing and have some diegetic consequences within the campaign world (the fifth duchess of so-and-so should have some knowledge about noble houses if she grew up with her family). Background can still provide minor mechanical resolution bonuses (+2 bonus to relevant tasks) and thus serve the same purpose as past profession or secondary skills. I was influenced by Jack Shear’s “leading question” background structure (see here and here), but have tailored potential options more closely toward particular campaign foci.

Here’s the default background table, suitable for treasure hunting and picaresque adventures.

OUTCAST BACKGROUNDS

  1. Bankrupt. Your business failed (due to incompetence or something else?) and you must now take up adventuring, perhaps fleeing creditors.
  2. Murderer. You killed someone in anger or passion, and ran rather than face justice.
  3. Antiquary. You are fascinated by the remnants of the past and obsessed with unearthing them. This obsession has overridden all past attempts at a normal career.
  4. Bandit. You survived as a parasite on society by waylaying others in the wilderness. Treasure hunting is a slightly more ethical (and potentially much more lucrative) alternative.
  5. Transgressor. You broke the laws of custom or purity. Was it forbidden love? Whatever the reason, you are no longer welcome in what was once your home.
  6. Deposed tyrant. You once had great power, but were overthrown (by the common people? or another lord?) and now have nothing but the equipment on your back.
  7. Burglar. You survived by stealing from those with more than you, generally by breaking into their abodes. The underworld is perhaps more deadly, but the payback is better and there are no guardsmen trying to throw you in jail.
  8. Instigator. You tried to change some aspect of your home or your society, but failed (for now). Did you fight against inequality, or perhaps for the honor of your caste, family, or tribe? In any case, you were exiled as a threat to the status quo.
  9. Survivor. You are the last of your town or family, the only one to escape some terrible disaster or disease. What caused the others of you kind to be no more? Was it due to the conscious actions of some other group or entity, or a natural disaster?
  10. Outlaw. You have been blamed for a crime (true or false?) and fled.
  11. Mercenary. You fought for those that paid you (perhaps as an adventurer’s retainer) and slowly accumulated enough money and equipment to be more self-sufficient. Who was your past employer? How do they feel about you no longer working for them?
  12. Slave. You were born into bondage (or perhaps kidnapped at a young age?). You escaped (or were freed). Does your past master still live? Are you hunted?
  13. Diabolist. You unleashed (or were blamed for releasing) a great demon. Did you do this on purpose or by accident? Was it a ritual you participated in directly, or was the demon released in some other way? Did you think you could control the demon?
  14. Farmer. You once tilled the land, but your crops turned to dust, either due to exhaustion of the land, corruption from some fearsome beast, or vile sorcery. Your family, if you had one, did not survive.
  15. Soldier. You were a professional soldier, but your unit is now disbanded. Was it destroyed in battle, or were you victorious? Why doesn’t your past lord require your services anymore? Were you good at soldiering?
  16. Orphan. You have survived on your wits alone for your entire life, living hand to mouth, but your ambition is boundless. It’s time to pull yourself up by uncovering the treasures of the past.
  17. Hunter. You survived on the edges of civilization by catching wild game and selling meat and furs. Your previous hunting grounds no longer provide the same bounty (why?) and you were forced to move on.
  18. Amnesiac. Your memory was lost (or stolen?) and you don’t know why. Your past is a blank slate. Is this a unique loss of memory, or part of some common pattern affecting many?
  19. Protector. You once were tasked with the guardianship of another. Were you a lord’s honor guard, a magician’s retainer, or something else? Your previous ward is, however, no more. Was it your fault?
  20. Apprentice. You once studied under a sorcerer, but now are on your own. Were you a failure at studying the dark arts, or are you now a journeyman, seeking the secrets of the ancients? Is your past master still alive, and are you on good terms? If so, the master may be able to help you from time to time, but may also want something in return.
  21. Surgeon. You once treated the sick, infirm, and wounded. That is, until a rich and powerful patient died and you were blamed, either for incompetence or intent. Who could you not save?
  22. Conscript. You once fought as a conscript in a war not of your choosing, and when you returned (if you returned), nothing was the same. Or perhaps you were originally from another land, but demobilization left you where you are presently?
  23. Ex-cultist. You once were part of a strange sect, but have since become disillusioned. Your previous home distrusts you because of your associations, but the cult itself is no longer your place either. What was the basis of the cult, and does it still remain? If so, how do they feel about ex-cult members?
  24. Exhumer. You released something that was once imprisoned. Was this a sealed crypt? Or maybe an ancient machine? Was the release accidental, or on purpose and perhaps due to greed?
  25. Daredevil. You do it for the excitement and the adrenaline rush. The treasure is incidental, an excuse and a method to fund future delves. Civilization does not provide outlets for your compulsions.
  26. Gambler. You lost it all. Maybe you still owe someone (or something) a great debt?
  27. Smuggler. You used to transport things (stolen goods? forbidden writings? slaves? intoxicants?) that people in power didn’t want transported. Your previous route is no longer open or profitable, for whatever reason, and the common trades are not for you.
  28. Compelled. Something that you don’t understand calls you to adventure. Perhaps it is just voices in your head, perhaps it is something deep below which has managed to find a way into your consciousness, or maybe it was the curse of a dying sorcerer.
  29. Con artist. You have pulled one too many schemes and need to skip town (again). Maybe you are tired of making your living off the gullibility of others, or maybe you just think the dark places will be more lucrative.
  30. Stranger. You are from another time or place. Perhaps you were locked in stasis and recently awoke. Perhaps you stumbled through a one-way cosmic door (was it a mirror? a portal? a machine that was meant to go both ways but failed?). No matter the cause, you are stuck in your present circumstances, a fish out of water.

The advantage to doing things this way is that it succinctly communicates the nature of the game while not closing off other potential game structures that may come into play later.

Short digression on Hexagram philosophy. I want to provide sensible defaults which fit the expectations of adventure fantasy gaming while making the different parts of the game (what the players do, what the referee does) fit together in the most efficient and effective way possible. You should be able to follow a checklist of things to do and end up with all the necessary things in place, even if you are unfamiliar with the traditional game structure. The system should also communicate the expectations to everybody involved. For example, the suggested procedure for referee prep will not include guidelines for heraldry if the campaign is about making the land safe for the living by killing as many zombies as possible (oh, and campaign focus can change partway through, and the game system will respond; more on that in a future post).

Okay, back to reward structures. Other possible backgrounds with associated reward structures include:

  • Curiosity: exploration, discovering new monsters, antiquities, mysteries
  • Slayers: destruction of a implacable threat (undead, demons, aliens)
  • Agents: missions, case files
  • Remnants: something was scattered that must be found (could be people)
  • Heros: rendering aid
  • Prophecy: the what is determined, but not the how or the who

Each one of those could have a table of backgrounds and guidelines for XP rewards, and may be mixed and matched.

I’m also thinking about presenting these parameters as explicit player game choices to be made at the beginning of the campaign, and as the campaign progresses. As in, everyone gets together and someone says, hey: let’s play an agents game. Shifting reward structures could also potentially be a player-initiated action. As always “player” includes referees, but using that particular word frames the issues in a way that invites player participation.