Let's roll some dice, watch some movies, or generally just geek out. New posts at 6:30 pm ET but only if I have something to say. Menu at the top. gsllc@chirp.enworld.org on Mastodon and @gsllc on Twitter.
I’ve been prattling on for weeks as to how I’m relearning1st Edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons (“1e”) and posting images of my recent purchases from the DMs Guild. On Tuesday (8/24), I received my last shipment for the time being: The print-on-demand reprints of the 1e Players Handbook, 1e Monster Manual, and 1e Fiend Folio. This happened.
I ordered three books from the @dms_guild. Delivered yesterday. One came back damaged. I was frustrated. Contacted customer support. Provided details and pictures. They've already shipped a replacement. Quick, easy, and professional. #ADnD#DnD#RPG
— Rob Bodine, #Attorney by Day, #Nerd by Day & Night (@GSLLC) August 25, 2021
Because people have asked about the quality of the materials (addressed in this post), I think a longer story is in order. The reprinted Fiend Folio is available only in soft cover, and that apparently allowed the cover to get caught up in the glue that binds the packaging. Moreover, the ends of the packaging were open. I’m genuinely surprised that nothing fell out during shipping, but it’s clear that the books were able to move around far too much. That movement almost certainly contributed to the damage.
Here’s the thing: The product is technically usable. The only damage is to the back cover, so while that makes it “ugly,” all the substance is there. But I don’t want ugly. I’ve already arranged to purchase an original, hard copy of the Fiend Folio from a friend. As with all my 40+ year-old original copies, that will go on the shelf not taking any further abuse. Buying the reprint is about having a clean copy for my daily use, so the starting point needs to be new/mint condition. In other words, I’m being high maintenance, and perhaps unreasonably so. However, the DMs Guild is accommodating that. They sent three emails at various stages of analysis and shipped a replacement by the next morning.
For the record, the DMs Guild uses the same engine as Drive Thru RPG. If I log into one, I can see my purchases with the other. Accordingly, Drive Thru RPG deserves the credit as well, so it’s important to mention that here. In fact, the response to my complaint was from them.
The only open question is this: Do I have to return the damaged copy? In my complaint form, I mentioned that I’d be happy to do so if they sent a return label from FedEx, UPS, or whomever. They didn’t mention that. I may be able to keep it, but I don’t want to abuse the system. If they don’t want it back, then I’ll probably give it away to someone who doesn’t mind the damage. Spread the wealth, and all that.
DMs Guild customer service is yet another reason to buy from them.
Edition wars are an unfortunate reality of our community. They’re silly. Why should anyone care what someone else is playing or how? I haven’t been pondering that question, but my revisiting of 1e has made me think of the source of this tension. In other words, I’ve been contemplating how the play styles differ. Not everyone plays a particular edition the same way, but looking at my own anecdotal experiences and hearing people prattle on about how much better their way is than others, I have an answer to that question. The answer is important because I plan to run 1e as written. This is a rather silly notion considering how vaguely some rules are written and that some rules are so ridiculous that they won’t be used, but that’s the point. Any modern player playing at my 1e table deserves to know what to expect, and their instincts are likely based on modern notions of game play.
Time
As a general matter, I first want to revisit time in 1e, because it drives every consideration I’m going to discuss. Draconian timekeeping (q.v.) is designed to keep the game from slowing to a crawl.
You may ask why time is so important . . . . It is a necessary penalty imposed upon characters for certain activities. Beyond that, it also gives players yet another interesting set of choices and consequences. The latter tends to bring more true-to-life quality to the game, as some characters will use precious time to the utmost advantage, some will treat it lightly, and some will be constantly wasting it to their complete detriment. Time is yet another facet which helps to separate the superior player from the lesser ones.
1e DMG, p. 38
As arrogant as that last part sounds, Lord Gygax makes a good point. I’m all for immersion, and applying the right bits of logic to the calculus of consequences helps players immerse themselves in the game. If players want to check every square inch of a wall for a secret door, that’s fine, but it takes a lot of time, and they’re inviting multiple encounters with wandering monsters, just like they would if the situation were real. Given a choice between finding the door and almost assuredly being TPKd, I suggest players let the whole door thing go.
But let’s now look at the difference in playing style that are driven by the rules as written.
Being Too Thorough is Suicidal; Stay Focused on the Mission
In any given adventure, not every monster must be killed, not every secret door must be located, and not every magic item must be found. Modern players have the expectation that they’re not going to miss anything, which seems to come from an arrogant notion that their low-level characters can save the world. They shouldn’t expect to be capable of that. Even high-level characters don’t save the world by killing every last orc on the planet. They stop the world-ending ritual or diffuse the apocalyptic relic. Players of all levels should focus on their characters’ mission. If their job is to find the noble’s missing child, then they should be laser-focused on that. Once they find the child, or determine the child’s final fate (that got dark quickly), they should return back to home base, collect their reward, and rest up. Sure, there’ll be some leftover creatures, but that’s a fight for another day (and perhaps even for someone else).
This (as well as everything that follows) is enforced by way of the draconian tracking of time. 1e threatens players with wandering monsters, most of whom don’t hold any useful information, and even fewer carrying any treasure. With the limited resources 1e characters have, they’re unlikely to survive if they dawdle. Besides, the noble isn’t paying them to find every secret door. Sometimes that will be necessary, but in most cases it isn’t. 1e will still give focused players plenty of opportunity to decapitate bad guys. If the players bring unnecessary encounters upon themselves, their characters’ survival rates will quickly drop to 0%.
In the first column, fourth full paragraph of page 109 of the 1e PHB, there’s a great paragraph on this topic. It starts, “Avoid unnecessary encounters.”
Cats Aren’t the Only Ones Killed by Curiosity
If the characters find a magic item, they’ll not likely be able to use it until after the adventure. Sometimes wizards may be able to deduce the effects of a potion by sampling a small drop, but sometimes they won’t learn what they think they learned, especially if the potion has multiple effects. It’d be great if the sword the party just found were magical, but not if that magic is a curse. Sometimes it’s best to leave the testing for later when time isn’t a factor. That means that most items won’t be safe to use until after the adventure. But hey, feel free to tell me to shove it and grab that Sword -2, Cursed (1e DMG, page 166). Damn the consequences!
Not Everything is About Offense and Defense
Sometimes I wonder why anyone would play a wizard in 1e. The spell progression is terrible, and in 1e, utility spells are absolutely critical. I strongly suggest that every caster tries to gain the following spells if they’re on their spell list: Detect Magic, Dispel Magic, Identify, Neutralize Poison, Remove Curse, and Wizard Lock. During a trip through an adventuring site, players will inevitably need a means to stash safely what they’ve found along the way, hoping it isn’t stolen while the players continue their mission. Wizard Lock may prove invaluable in that regard. If a single character has been poisoned in an otherwise trivial encounter, that poison will continue to damage the character until dead. Identify allows using an important magic item during the adventure in which it was found. In other words, modern players need to consider seriously giving up Magic Missile, et al. to start their adventuring, or at least limit how often they choose to memorize it. It would seem that the more spellcasters, the better, but the same thing could be said about fighters and thieves for other reasons. There are always tough choices to make.
Some Things Are Abstracted
Even if I were a poet, I doubt I could express in words how much I like this. There have been too many arguments or unexpressed frustration (often lost on the socially-unaware DM) around too many tables. DMs insist that the players didn’t say what they needed to say to indicate they were looking for traps. Players insist that the DM’s description was unfairly vague or incomplete. Many complain that it’s the person on the other side of the screen that’s to blame. Some of that goes away in 1e through the use of dice in ways modern players don’t experience.
For example, to determine if a party is surprised in 1e, roll a d6 (1e DMG, pps. 102-03). Whether or not the character was dozing off at that particular moment, or whether the character’s sword was on hand, etc. are sometimes determined by a die roll, regardless of whether the DM explained it ahead of time. To determine the distance at which an encounter starts, roll an Xd6 depending on the environment (1e DMG, pp. 49, 62). To find a secret door, roll a d6 (1e DMG, p. 97). Sure, characters can, for example, increase their odds of surprising a group of goblins by walking at one inch per hour, but that takes time. Players should expect taps on the shoulders from trolls that’s snuck up from behind them.
Distance
A few weeks ago, I complained about 1e’s obsession with the inch. Everything is in inches, requiring players to translate inches into feet or yards depending on whether they’re outdoors. However, the more I’ve thought about it, the more I like it. Movement and attack ranges are measure in inches. Indoors, 1 inch equals 10 feet, but outdoors 1 inch equals 10 yards (30 feet). That seems unnecessary at first, but I can’t easily brush aside the distinction. Missile weapons and spells have ranges expressed in inches, which means they have different ranges indoors and outdoors, and that makes sense. When outdoors, the wide open areas should open lanes for casting and missile weapon attacks against enemies. Indoors, the walls, fixtures, and furniture can block attacks that are even a fraction of a degree off from their intended direction. Decreasing the size of an “inch” indoors accounts for that.
This takes away yet another opportunity for tension. If a player states that they should have a greater range outdoors because they’re in a desert, the DM can end the discussion with little resistance by pointing out the rules account for that, already having tripled the range for the player’s arrow attack. Of course, there’s always flexibility — a DM may treat a dense jungle as “indoors” for these purposes — but the less opportunity for tension, the better. Besides, I’m already accustomed to translating inches to the appropriate units, at least while reading (we’ll see about playing).
I’d be interested in any other aspects of the game you think would require an adjustment for modern players. Many of you have been thinking about this longer than I have.
In preparation for my return to AD&D, I’ve been reading the sourcebooks, but I needed a break. I wanted to get into the nitty-gritty, so I decided to read an adventure that seemed like a good candidate for running my first 1e game since 1982. Last weekend, I chose L1: The Secret of Bone Hill, because it’s low level and most of the people with whom I regularly gamed who also responded to my announcement said they weren’t familiar with it. It was the perfect choice, until I realized it wasn’t.
AD&D v. Modern Gaming
None of us want to turn D&D into A&A (i.e., attorneys and accountants). Tracking rations, encumbrance, the number of non-magical arrows you have, and the like gets tedious quickly, so modern D&D isn’t often played that way. (Of course, all my writings are giving my anecdotal experience. YMMV.) However, there’s a method to that madness, and I didn’t realize I missed it until I started reacclimating myself with 1e. The DM is expected to keep track of time (which is tedious) so that the players don’t constantly waste time searching every inch for secret doors, traps, etc. (which would otherwise make the game itself tedious). While I’m a big fan of passive perception speeding up these aspects of the game, I don’t like its consequences. I’ll be more specific tomorrow, but for now: Suspending your disbelief in magic and monsters for the sake of the game, if you’re not treating the game world like it’s a real world, then you’re not immersing yourself in the game world, and that takes a lot of the point of playing the game away from me.
Despite how much work it will be, my intention is to track time per the rules, which will inherently punish dawdling and unnecessary combats. That’s where L1 breaks down. It’s the consummate sandbox.
Defining “Sandbox”
To me, a sandbox can be as innocuous as the DM refusing to spoon feed the players. The DM gives you your specific goal, but it’s up to the players to figure out how to achieve it. If the players have no idea how to start the rescue, it’s still up to them to ask those that could provide suggestions. If players have been playing the game for even a short time, they should know by now that a town constable exists. They should know that the town guard exists. They should know that the town has a mayor or other leader. They should know that there’s such a thing as sages. They should initiate contact with all these resources, rather than receive suggestions from the DM. This encourages the immersion in the game world that I like to talk about. Place yourself in the game world and pretend it’s real. No voice in the sky is going to shout down from the heavens, “Hey, go ask the mayor!”
However, L1 is the most sandboxy of sandboxes. It’s not just that players aren’t given the solution to their problem; they aren’t even given a problem. There’s no defined mission, which means that, by design, all the conflicts for the adventure represent picking exactly those fights that the game system discourages. That’s not a good way to get modern players to learn the system. It cuts against everything I’ve said above about my experiences on how AD&D differs from modern play. Unsurprisingly, L1 received a lot of bad reviews, and still does.
Laziness
Obviously, the fundamental problem with running Bone Hill can be solved simply by giving the characters a specific mission. However, I want to approach the game as lazily as possible at first because I want to minimize the chances of running a terrible game. A good mission requires a bit more than, “Save the princess!”
For me, the only criticism that sticks, though, is one I’ve never seen mentioned: It goes into painstaking detail on what characters need to do to succeed, detect things, etc., mentioning spells and items to which characters of levels two through four won’t have access. However, I still want to run it.
Okay, settle down. I know that millennials aren’t teenagers, and that millennial jokes have grown tedious (as are your complaints about those jokes). This isn’t that, so don’t have a fit. Just enjoy the jokes.
Sundays now are lazy days for me. I either post something silly or other people’s work. Usually both. Today, well, I’m still on a D&D kick, so it’s about other people’s D&D work.
My recent revisiting of First Edition AD&D has me revisiting the art as well, which endured longer for me than the game did. My favorite art work comes from Jeff Dee, but there are tons of others that I loved. I forgot the name of them but never her art. Darlene Pekul, now known simply as Darlene, created a ton of material for TSR. You can see a lot of her material here. Grand DM posted a couple of her most iconic work here.
I found Darlene on Facebook and friended her. She provided her Patreon link, which you can use to support her continued work.
Writing about 1st Edition D&D over the past few weeks has affected how I write on Mythology Monday, Caturday, and . . . whatever Sunday is. Here’s my example today care of MeWe.
Analogizing the herding of cats to the mustering of gamers at a convention is insulting. To cats.
Dungeons & Dragons and Forgotten Realms are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, LLC, who neither contributed to nor endorsed the contents of this post. (Okay, jackasses?)
This coming week, this battle is going to boil over as Kessel and I engage (pun intended) in another joint effort. Among other things, I’ll ask why *I* must use the middle initial, but he doesn’t.
NewbieDM is going through a similar journey to my own, only he’s looking at playing an older version of the Star Wars RPG. One of his recent threads caught my eye, in particular, this one.
lightsaber duels are a mixture of a few things… melee combat… social/psychological combat… change of environments…. force powers….
This had me thinking, “What’s the greatest lightsaber duel in Star Wars cinema?” I’m referring to the movies only because I’ve never watched any of the animated series. I copied Kessel Q. Junkie on this post because I’m convinced he knows more about Star Wars than George Lucas. So, let’s look at each duel in movie-universe, chronological order within NewbieDM’s framework. I’m including only those combats that were between force-aware users because I don’t want to waste my time on wannabes. Snoke’s guards aren’t, to my knowledge, force-aware. Despite some quotes from those involved, Finn was never established as force-aware within the context of the movies, so his battle with Kylo Ren in The Force Awakens also doesn’t count. Even the mass battle on Geonosis doesn’t count, which is a damn shame. We’ve never seen so many lightsabers in one place at one time.
Jinn v. Maul, The Phantom Menace
No conversation, no change of environment, nothing peculiar about the combat, and no force powers beyond a jump. They can’t all be contenders.
Jinn and Kenobi v. Maul, The Phantom Menace
This is the one that everyone — even Prequel haters — most often cite (as far as I can tell) as the best lightsaber duel, but I disagree. It probably made for the best display of melee combat, and used both force powers and a change in environment in that combat, but the social/psychological combat was no different than you’d expect in any on screen battle. To me, this criterion requires an attempt to convert someone to the other side morally speaking. That’s not present here. They never even spoke with Maul. Three out of four ain’t bad, but it ain’t perfect.
Anakin and Kenobi vs. Dooku, Attack of the Clones
No real force manipulation, and psychological warfare is only an afterthought based on a prior conversation with Kenobi, which took place a long time ago (pun intended). The entire fight took place in only one cavern. The combat was reasonably good, but none of this sounds like #1.
Yoda vs. Dooku, Attack of the Clones
Force manipulation, good combat (with damn funny special effects on Yoda), and mild psychological warfare (really, just shit-talking, though, which isn’t ideal). Hooray! But all within the same environment, with terrain not really playing a role at all.
Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi vs. Count Dooku, Revenge of the Sith
Again, there’s no change of environment. Terrain is largely irrelevant and is subsumed within the category of use of force powers, which were used to pin an already unconscious Kenobi. Nope.
Obi-Wan Kenobi vs. General Grievous, Revenge of the Sith
Well, Grievous did say that he was trained in the Jedi (Sith?) arts, so this counts. No interesting psychological manipulation and only the most minor of force powers in play keeps this from the top spot.
Palpatine vs. Mace Windu, Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, and Saesee Tiin, Revenge of the Sith
Minor change of environment, a small use of force lightning, decent combat (but with two disappointingly easy deaths), and if you read the novelization, there’s a good about of psychological manipulation. But novels don’t count, so there’s only a bit of manipulation at the end directed towards a non-combatant, Anakin. Very close but no cigar.
Yoda vs. Palpatine, Revenge of the Sith
Change of environment, use of force powers, and psychological shit-talking, but the lightsaber aspect to combat was a bit undersold. I want that to be the foundation on which the other criteria are built. Still, this is very close, and it appears to me that, on the whole, Revenge of the Sith did a better job with lightsaber duels than any other movie.
Anakin Skywalker vs. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Revenge of the Sith
Here’s some more proof of the assertion I just made. This duel had good melee combat, a change of environment with good use of terrain, and the use of force powers to supplement the combat. But the psychological warfare wasn’t true lightsaber duel worthy. This was closer to a hurling of insults than any attempt at conversion. No one was moving anywhere on the morality continuum. Everyone was set in place.
Kenobi v. Vader, A New Hope
The melee combat is dated, and there was no change in environment. It served it’s purpose, and a New Hope is arguably the best Star Wars movie, but this wasn’t the best lightsaber duel.
Luke v. Vader on Dagobah
Doesn’t count, but even if it did, it employed only the psychological weight of a lightsaber duel. No change in environment, weak combat, and no force powers. Let’s move on.
Luke v. Vader, Return of the Jedi
This duel gives us psychological manipulation and a decent combat, but the use of force powers is limited other than when Palpatine sticks his nose in it, and there’s no change of environment. Like the climactic Phantom Menace duel, this comes close, but only one can be the best. This ain’t it.
Ren vs. Rey, The Force Awakens
Minor use of force powers and manipulation, and no change of environment. Disqualified! Scene.
Ren vs. Luke, The Last Jedi
Force projection nonsense. I don’t even think this should count, but many of you will, so here we go. The combat was a bit boring, there was no change in environment, and the use of force powers wasn’t to my liking. YMMV. I will say this, though. The psychological manipulation wasn’t what I gave as basis for a good lightsaber duel, but it really worked here. Luke tricking Ren was a clever use of manipulation. I’ll allow it, but this still doesn’t win the top spot. Part of the scene.
Rey vs. Ren via Force Projection, The Rise of Skywalker
Again, I don’t think this should count, so I analyze it under protest. There were two environments because they were in different places, and the melee combat was mediocre. It should be the foundation of a lightsaber duel, but it played second fiddle to the psychological manipulation. That’s the only strongly satisfied criterion. Nope. Not the best. Scene.
Rey vs. Ren on the Ruins of the Death Star, Rise of Skywalker
Not much along the lines of a change in environment, but it was a neat environment. There was a weak attempt to convert Rey before the battle occurred, and the only use of force powers appears to be lip service. It’s as if they threw them in there just to make sure that they’d score a higher rating on a blog post like this. But the actual melee combat itself was pretty good. Not good enough to win though. Scene.
Luke v. Vader, The Empire Strikes Back
I skipped this one, and I’m sure you all know why. This is the clear winner. There was a noticeable upgrade in special effects from just one movie ago, making for a more interesting melee combat, and that fight involved a change of environment. Peppered throughout are the use of force powers beyond just jumping around, and multiple psychological ploys, all of which were designed to convert Luke to the dark side through appeals to his ego, greed, and need for family. The movement is a little stilted because it was the second-earliest movie in the series with dated special effects, but this lightsaber duel is the complete package from a dramatic point of view. Sorry, Maul, but you lose.
Watch it before it’s taken down!
If I forgot any, please let me know. I apologize, but I can’t be expected to remember all of them. After all, . . .
On Friday (July 23, 2021), I mentioned that I was relearningAD&D 1st Edition (“1e“) with the intention of running it. As I read through the Player’s Handbook (“PHB“), certain mechanics or text will strike me as odd or surprising, but in either case worthy of discussion. In fact, the most surprising thing I’m experiencing is that I’m finding a lot more great ideas in 1e that we’ve since abandoned. I find myself asking, “Why?” As a result, I’ll be writing several posts over the next few weeks. I’m sure everything I’m thinking has been discussed before — sometimes be me — so perhaps my questions have been answered, and my concerns resolved, years ago. My experience with RPGs is relatively limited in scope, having played a small number of games, so I’m sure a lot of what I’m going to say has been incorporated into games I’ve never even heard of. (Some have certainly been addressed by future editions of D&D themselves.) Nevertheless, bringing this directed conversation to the public is new to me, so here it goes.
This series has gotten a lot of feedback, most of which has been extremely helpful. For example, between that feedback and further analysis on my part, I’ve changed position on Armor Class Ratings. It’s a great theory, but it’s implemented poorly in 1e, in part because of the specifics of 1e’s mathematical framework. I’d like to see it in a game, but not in 1e. So, hooray for the hive mind!
However, this is not a nice post. On Facebook, I asked a question about how to balance encounters in 1e. Specifically, I asked where that information is provided. I got an answer from the overwhelmingly helpful: the tables at Dungeon Master’s Guide, pages 171 and 177-179. From that I was able to get even more information by looking through Monster Manual II, pages 133-134, and Field Folio, page 100-110. However, several answers came from a perspective that I encountered frequently but never understood. Despite my acknowledgement within the question itself that some encounters should be trivial or impossible for story reasons, I received quite a few lectures on, well, the fact that some encounters should be trivial or impossible for story reasons. Some people seemed downright offended by the fact that I was even asking the question, as if there’s never a place for an encounter where the fight is challenging but winnable. This was duplicated on another Facebook post where I published a link to my post on boring magic items. In that post, my first substantive statement was:
DMs balance encounters to suit the game they want to run. Maybe they want the encounters to be average, harder than average, or easier than average, but whatever the balance they want, that’s what they want.
Nevertheless, I received criticism for not acknowledging the very point I made, including placing words in my mouth that were, in fact, that exact opposite of what I wrote.
Let me be clear: I’m not criticizing that style of play. This has nothing to do with how difficult you want your encounters or campaigns to be. That’s a matter of taste, and everyone’s entitled to play the game they want to play. My concern is that a few don’t understand the distinction between the nature of the question and play style. Even if DMs want all encounters to be exceptionally hard or exceptionally easy, how can they make them that way if they don’t know how to balance encounters? That is, if DMs don’t have a clue as to where the even balance point is, how do they know that their exceptionally hard encounters are indeed exceptionally hard? They don’t, so what they’re criticizing is my insistence on knowing whether I’ve accomplished my own goal, whatever it may be.
This isn’t championing old school gaming; it’s discouraging DMs from being prepared, and DMs with no idea what they’ve written are most certainly not prepared. Even if players shouldn’t have any sense of what they’re facing – that makes little sense unless negotiation or retreat is always a practical option – DMs should know what they’re throwing at the players. DMs should know that 4 orcs is too easy for a 10th-level party, and that Asmodeus is too hard for a 2nd-level party. Again, this isn’t to say that either encounter is per se inappropriate; it’s simply saying that DMs should know which is which. Throwing a merciless (i.e., won’t negotiate), 8 HD, never-surprised, barbed devil at a party of 1st-level PCs that can neither run away nor fight their way through is nothing more than a conscious choice by the DM to TPK that party. Why would anyone want to do that? If a DM does not want to do that, why would any DM want DMing to be an annoying trial-and-error process spanning months of gaming sessions to get enough sense of the game to avoid it?
But This Is About Game Design
Of course, this may not be the fault of DMs. The game system itself may not provide the tools necessary to make this determination, creating that annoying trial-and-error period. As this article points out, 1e could have done a better job. In fact, much of what is discussed in that post is already part of the design process of a game a friend and I are designing. (I’m tempted to do a lot of work and apply those principles to 1e.) The first box set for the Dragon Age RPG certainly falls into that category as well, providing no guidance for building balanced encounters. I was trying to do something cool by throwing something other than just another band of brigands at the low-level players. The encounter was a TPK not only because of the tremendously overpowered creatures I used, but also because their nature kept the characters from retreating. How is that fun? It’s not risky. There’s absolutely no risk at all. Those characters had a 0.000000% chance of survival. They couldn’t have won even if every single one of their d6 rolls was a 6. Did I throw the DARPG equivalent of Asmodeus at them? Nope. They were giant spiders. Giant spiders! That was an impossible encounter because the spiders showed no mercy, they were faster, and they were a superior combat force. This stupid encounter wouldn’t have occurred if there were challenge ratings attached to the creatures. Clearly there’s no story benefit to walking through the forest and dying at the hands of randomly appearing giant bugs, so why leave that as certain to occur eventually? I don’t think a single one of those players played the game again, because of course they didn’t.
I know that (many think) a game system can’t be designed to be perfect in this regard (damn, have we all been sold a bill of goods on that one), but that’s not a reason for it not to give us a good approximation, especially considering that most game designers in fact do a decent job with it. I know the dice can always roll consistently high or low, but that’s the nature of all RPGs. I know that there are min/maxers out there who game the system, but that’s also the nature of all RPGs. I know that there are tricks and traps (as 1e calls them) that make weak monsters stronger, but other game systems account for the effect of tricks and traps within their challenge rating system. None of these facts impact my argument in any way whatsoever. In fact, they don’t even address it because, as I showed, they are neither unique to 1e nor unworkable.
A game isn’t fun unless there’s a chance at both success and failure, regardless of how that success or failure is achieved. Allowing those chances to bounce from high to low prevents the game from getting stale. However, when they reach anything near 0% or 100% – not because of an occasional story necessity, but because of poor game design or game control – I have tremendous difficulty finding a reason to play. Ergo, I want to know exactly how to design encounters, and I want my DMs to know too. That’s not a lot to ask.
But here’s what really bugs me. As I said, it may not be the DM’s fault, but there are people that proudly revel in such imprecision. This is the way they claim they want to run their games, having no clue whether they’ve created a scenario that’s easy, challenging, or absolutely unwinnable. They literally might as well just roll a single d20, and if it’s [greater|lower] than a target number proclaim, “You’ve [won|lost] D&D!” Then everyone can go home and watch Netflix. I’m not the slightest bit interested in being at those tables; most people aren’t. YMMV, but some of the criticism seemed to be a reflexive reaction to specific keywords rather than an appeal to logic, so I’m not sure they believed what they were saying. I bet they don’t create impossible encounters, which I define as not having at least one means of success (combat, negotiation, or retreat).
But hey, maybe not, and that’s okay. Different strokes and all that. If you get a thrill out of killing characters with absolutely no chance of success, and the players somehow enjoy that, more power to you all. As always, play the game you want to play.
Some of You Are Your Own Worst Enemies
Disagreement is wonderful because it opens one’s eyes to other possibilities. Mischaracterizing of my words and mean-spirited snark, however, are not. (Humorous snark is always welcome.) A small few (none of whom were on MeWe) fell into the stereotypical role of an “old school gamer” that immediately launches an illogical and unfair attack against anyone who ever mentions “balance” (among other keywords). This creates a greater barrier to player recruitment than any game designer ever could. I’d love to play a game via Zoom with an experienced 1e DM before attempting to run my own game, but I won’t take the risk of being stuck with a DM like that. At least religion and politics deal with important social consequences. The fact that people behave this way when discussing games is perplexing.
I’m reluctant even to ask a simple question about the rules on Facebook because of the reactions. For example, I’ve asked for the locations of rules within the sourcebooks, which means the rules I’m looking for have an historical basis in D&D. A small number infer (fairly or not) that I want to play the game in a way differently than they do, and they have a problem with that. They’re not going to be in my game, so why do they care how I play? Their objections seem petty and insecure. I believe that’s what the kids are calling “gatekeeping,” which ruins things for the rest of us. Sadly, I’ve stopped posting these musings to specific groups littered with these folks – though they’re getting this one and will likely project their holier-than-thou attitudes onto me – so I’m going to have to be content just doing my best running the game for players I know personally even though none of us have played 1e in years or decades. I’m sure this experiment will be shorter because of it. Considering these same people complain that there aren’t enough 1e players drips with irony. To the vast majority that don’t think this way (and have been quite helpful), it’s up to you to rein in these dipshits. They certainly won’t listen to me.
Everyone balances their encounters, and their overall campaign has a balance to it as well. Balance isn’t a four letter word and shouldn’t be treated as such. On the other hand, you shouldn’t hurl genuine four-letter words at people when discussing games. Well, as long as you’re not being an asshole about it. 🙂
This isn’t about making the game easy or hard; it’s about knowing whether or not you have. Knowledge is power.
On Friday (July 23, 2021), I mentioned that I was relearningAD&D 1st Edition (“1e“) with the intention of running it. As I read through the Player’s Handbook (“PHB“), certain mechanics or text will strike me as odd or surprising, but in either case worthy of discussion. In fact, the most surprising thing I’m experiencing is that I’m finding a lot more great ideas in 1e that we’ve since abandoned. I find myself asking, “Why?” As a result, I’ll be writing several posts over the next few weeks. I’m sure everything I’m thinking has been discussed before — sometimes be me — so perhaps my questions have been answered, and my concerns resolved, years ago. My experience with RPGs is relatively limited in scope, having played a small number of games, so I’m sure a lot of what I’m going to say has been incorporated into games I’ve never even heard of. (Some have certainly been addressed by future editions of D&D themselves.) Nevertheless, bringing this directed conversation to the public is new to me, so here it goes.
During the last in-person Winter Fantasy (2019), I play-tested Delve RPG, which was run by my friend, Stephen Radney-MacFarland. As sometimes occurs, I let him know what I thought about game design, but he had no choice but to listen. My sole purpose to being there was to criticize. I pointed out that my understanding (at least in the D&D world) was that characters should, on average, expect to hit on a d20 roll of 9. According to Stephen, 11 was the magic number. At least for 1e, looking at the matrices, it appears he’s right. No surprises there.
The Magic Number
My position is that the magic number should actually be 7. Any miss can be frustrating depending on the timing, but for the most part no one gets too upset if they miss on a 4 because they expect that roll to miss. On the other hand, missing on a 9, or even worse on a double-digit 11, can be especially frustrating. You expect to hit on those rolls, but if 11 is your average, then particularly tough creatures will require even higher rolls than that.
Even worse, the greater the range rolls that miss, the more often it occurs, which means you’re more prone to very frustrating bad streaks. How many times have you seen a player have ridiculously bad luck at the table? That can derail an entire session for that player.
What I suggest (and am doing) is adjusting the amount of damage a character can withstand so that the increase in hits averages out to take down an opponent in the same number of rounds. The combats are no faster or slower, but they’re always more dynamic. In this case, dynamic = fun.
NPCs
So what about the NPCs? Should they hit at the same rate? Well, more or less, yes. On this flip side, getting hit a lot adds to the tension of combat even if the net result is mathematically the same. You just don’t know if you’re going to make it. Accordingly, a game designer should make the same adjustments to PC stats to account for the increased hits.
Of course, as I’ll explain tomorrow, not all encounters are perfectly balanced for a wide variety of reasons. However, this baseline would still improve most of those encounters as well, or entire campaigns, that are written to be either more or less difficult. The level of threat the GM wants doesn’t change; just the feel of the game.
Play What You Want 