A little over a week ago I started reading "The Chronicles of Narnia" to my daughter, starting with "The Magician's Nephew". (Purists will argue over the 'correct' reading order, and seem to come down in favour of publication order. However, this makes TMN a prequel, and prequels suck, so I'm sticking with chronological order.) Now it's fair to say that the Narnia stories are of little relevance to gaming for the most part - Gygax was aware of them but didn't really rate them, the setting is overly allegorical for consideration, and so forth. However, there are some things that are of some use...
Early in TMN, before even the founding of Narnia, the two protagonists find themselves transported to "the wood between the worlds". As the name implies, this is a gateway realm between different worlds (that takes the form of a great wood filled with many pools). That is, it's another Transitive Place, like the Infinite Staircase, the Astral or Ethereal Planes, and so forth. That's probably one that's worth borrowing.
The other idea that's worth lifting comes a bit later in the book, where the various characters step into a pool and find themselves in... Nothing. That is, they've stepped into a realm that hasn't been created yet, and so they aren't really anywhere. (From there, of course, the story is heading towards the founding of Narnia, but that's not important right now.)
That's got to be an intriguing notion worthy of some thought - some areas in the multiverse that are still, somehow, 'blank', and that are therefore open for a passing divinity/wizard/villain to fill with whatever they see fit. Or, to put it another way, they're demiplanes ready to be established.
D&D has lately become a game of epic quests to save the world from the latest Big Bad Evil Guy du jour. Traditionally, though, although that was always an option the game also featured such things as establishing a keep, running a kingdom, attaining divine ascension, or even establishing an entire demiplane. The quest for Nothing would seem to be a useful step in the pursuit of that last... and may be a worthwhile thing to add to the multiverse.
Friday, 22 March 2019
Thursday, 21 March 2019
The Final Phase
My efforts at scanning and shredding all of my old RPG notes have reached their final phase. I've now scanned all the setting materials, all the old character sheets, a million pointless rules revisions, and a lot of other assorted dross. All that remain are some maps.
Nine maps, to be exact, each of which is made up of two or four panels taped together.
That's not too bad - in each case it's a matter of scanning each panel, then using Photoshop to combine the resulting files into a single large file. Then archiving those. Each map should take about half an hour to get through. Compared with the efforts to date, that doesn't seem to bad.
What has been interesing about going through the maps, though, is that it has shown up something surprising: they're not actually too terrible. Granted, they're not publishable quality, but there's a reason for that - I'm not a professional artist. But they do provide a lot of useful information, do so clearly, and aren't an utter embarrassment.
A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.
The upshot of this is that I'm reconsidering my previous position that I was generally terrible at this aspect of the game. It's entirely possible that my issues with mapping have actually been more to do with determining what to map (and applying the necessary time), rather than an inability to actually draw the resulting map.
Still, I'll be glad once this task is done and over with!
Nine maps, to be exact, each of which is made up of two or four panels taped together.
That's not too bad - in each case it's a matter of scanning each panel, then using Photoshop to combine the resulting files into a single large file. Then archiving those. Each map should take about half an hour to get through. Compared with the efforts to date, that doesn't seem to bad.
What has been interesing about going through the maps, though, is that it has shown up something surprising: they're not actually too terrible. Granted, they're not publishable quality, but there's a reason for that - I'm not a professional artist. But they do provide a lot of useful information, do so clearly, and aren't an utter embarrassment.
A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.
The upshot of this is that I'm reconsidering my previous position that I was generally terrible at this aspect of the game. It's entirely possible that my issues with mapping have actually been more to do with determining what to map (and applying the necessary time), rather than an inability to actually draw the resulting map.
Still, I'll be glad once this task is done and over with!
Tuesday, 19 March 2019
Perform Skill vs Tool Proficiency
One of the biggest proud nails in the 5e ruleset is the overlap between the Perform skill and the various tool proficiencies in musical instruments. This isn't helped by the fact that the Bard is the character most likely to take either proficiency - and indeed is likely to have both.
There are a few possible ways to nail this one flat:
Option 1: Just Ignore It
As the name implies, you could just ignore it. This is especially attractive because, as noted, the character most likely to have the relevant proficiencies is the Bard, who is likely to have both. Moreover, the Bard is most likely to make the checks using their most favoured instrument, so they'll almost always both apply.
Option 2: Remove the Perform Skill
A second option is to remove the Perform skill entirely. Make 'singing' another tool proficiency (effectively, just another instrument), and likewise 'oratory', 'acting', and so on. The downside of this is that the lines between the various different 'tools' are not immediately obvious.
Option 3: Perform Trumps Everything
In "Xanathar's Guide to Everything", a mechanism has been added to allow characters to learn new tool (and language) proficiencies. However, no similar mechanism exists for skill proficiencies.
Therefore, there's an argument for treating the Perform skill as proficiency in all instruments. A character who doesn't want to expend one of their very limited skill proficiencies on that can choose to pick up an odd instrument here or there, but it's less efficient. (That feels somewhat unsatisfactory, but it would work.)
Option 4: You Need Both
Alternately, there's the argument that you should need both - if you're performing using a lute, you need to be proficient in both Perform and the Lute. If you're missing either, you don't get the bonus. (I would, however, argue that expertise should apply if you have it in any of the appropriate areas.)
The appeal of this is then that you can apply the same to language proficiencies and social skills (so you can only Persuade the orcs if you speak Orcish), which has a certain neatness to it. And it also feels right - I know only too well that simply playing an instrument reasonably well doesn't automatically imply you can do so under the pressure of an audience's gaze. But it is rather inefficient, especially since it applies only to one fairly narrow niche area.
Conclusion
On balance, I'm leaning towards solution #1 (that is, just ignore it), unless and until it bugs someone in the group. However, if the players were to demand a solution, I'd probably lean to solution #3. And, if I were writing a theoretical 6th edition, I'd go with #4.
There are a few possible ways to nail this one flat:
Option 1: Just Ignore It
As the name implies, you could just ignore it. This is especially attractive because, as noted, the character most likely to have the relevant proficiencies is the Bard, who is likely to have both. Moreover, the Bard is most likely to make the checks using their most favoured instrument, so they'll almost always both apply.
Option 2: Remove the Perform Skill
A second option is to remove the Perform skill entirely. Make 'singing' another tool proficiency (effectively, just another instrument), and likewise 'oratory', 'acting', and so on. The downside of this is that the lines between the various different 'tools' are not immediately obvious.
Option 3: Perform Trumps Everything
In "Xanathar's Guide to Everything", a mechanism has been added to allow characters to learn new tool (and language) proficiencies. However, no similar mechanism exists for skill proficiencies.
Therefore, there's an argument for treating the Perform skill as proficiency in all instruments. A character who doesn't want to expend one of their very limited skill proficiencies on that can choose to pick up an odd instrument here or there, but it's less efficient. (That feels somewhat unsatisfactory, but it would work.)
Option 4: You Need Both
Alternately, there's the argument that you should need both - if you're performing using a lute, you need to be proficient in both Perform and the Lute. If you're missing either, you don't get the bonus. (I would, however, argue that expertise should apply if you have it in any of the appropriate areas.)
The appeal of this is then that you can apply the same to language proficiencies and social skills (so you can only Persuade the orcs if you speak Orcish), which has a certain neatness to it. And it also feels right - I know only too well that simply playing an instrument reasonably well doesn't automatically imply you can do so under the pressure of an audience's gaze. But it is rather inefficient, especially since it applies only to one fairly narrow niche area.
Conclusion
On balance, I'm leaning towards solution #1 (that is, just ignore it), unless and until it bugs someone in the group. However, if the players were to demand a solution, I'd probably lean to solution #3. And, if I were writing a theoretical 6th edition, I'd go with #4.
Wednesday, 6 March 2019
My Worst-Ever GM Mistake
Like most long-term GMs, I have a lot of war stories to tell. And, also like most long-term GMs, I prefer to tell the stories of all the times the game was awesome, when everyone went away happy, the dice fell just so, and the bad guys made a satisfying thump when they hit the ground.
This isn't one of those stories. This is the tale of my worst-ever screw-up as a GM. Fortunately, it was a mistake I only ever made once, and it's one that I learned a great deal from. As Yoda says, "The greatest teacher, failure is."
(I'm no fan of "The Last Jedi", but Yoda's scene is truly great - in those few minutes he has the two best lines in the film, and indeed the two best lines in the whole of Disney-SW. The above is one.)
Anyway.
The campaign was my long-running "Rivers of Time" chronicle for "Vampire: the Dark Ages" (we went through various eras and various rulesets in that campaign, but at that time it was V:tDA). Having thoroughly run out of ideas for the campaign by that point, I came up with what I thought was a clever approach: one of the PCs woke up one morning stripped of all his hard-earned supernatural power. For reasons unknown, he was suddenly mortal once again.
Now that, by itself, was already a hugely risky move. If there's one thing players hate, it's losing stuff - they've 'worked' hard to earn all these powers, and levels, and magic items, and so on, and to have the GM suddenly strip those away tends to be the opposite of fun.
But I was lucky enough that my players trusted me with this, and did so on the understanding that it was going to be a temporary thing. Which was fair enough. The story progressed with the character gradually settling back in to a mortal life, enjoying a little peace and serenity, and things being generally good.
But the character was also approached by one of the villains of the campaign, who told him that he knew what had happened, and was willing to teach him how to reverse it, in return for "just one small thing" - a favour that the PC could now do that would normally not be possible. So far, so good, and the player duly played his part, carefully considering whether to go for that deal with the devil, or whether to instead retire to a mortal life. In the end, he went for it.
Now, what the player didn't know was that the aforementioned villain was lying. He had no special knowledge, he had no way to restore the character's abilities, but he'd seen an opportunity to carry out his agenda, so he took it. (It is worth noting that this was a long-established villain with a history of lies and villainy. So this shouldn't have been a totally unexpected betrayal.)
Thus far, everything was okay. I was on thin ice due to the "you've lost your powers" thing, but otherwise okay. Then came the crucial moment when for the bad guy to reveal his betrayal. And that's where it went wrong.
We were role-playing the scene in the first-person. Thus, when the villain asked whether it was done, I said "is it done?" And so on, and so forth. And then the moment of truth - the player stated that he'd done what was asked, and therefore it was time for the villain to make good.
And the villain laughed in his face.
Now, the reason that this was an especially shitty thing to do was three-fold. Firstly, the immediate impact was that I laughed in the player's face. Which is never a good approach. The second problem is that we then had a screwjob within a screwjob - I'd screwed the player by 'stealing' his character's powers, and then my NPC had screwed the PC by tricking him. That conflates the two things, to a point where I was, in short, being a right bastard about it. And then the third problem was that the PC, having lost his powers, wasn't in a position to actually do anything about it - the NPC in question was vastly more powerful than that PC at that time.
All in all, it sucked. And it was a rotten thing to do to a player. (As I said, my worst-ever GM mistake.)
As it happened, it all worked out okay. The PC promptly got his powers back by other means, and shortly thereafter got his revenge on the villain for that humiliation. So at least there was some catharsis. Plus, that plot point then proceeded to pay off for the remainder of the campaign, which ran for another eighteen months or so (despite my having almost completely run out of ideas already).
So that story does have an ending that maybe isn't 'happy' but is at least not a disaster.
Anyway, there it is - my worst-ever GM mistake.
This isn't one of those stories. This is the tale of my worst-ever screw-up as a GM. Fortunately, it was a mistake I only ever made once, and it's one that I learned a great deal from. As Yoda says, "The greatest teacher, failure is."
(I'm no fan of "The Last Jedi", but Yoda's scene is truly great - in those few minutes he has the two best lines in the film, and indeed the two best lines in the whole of Disney-SW. The above is one.)
Anyway.
The campaign was my long-running "Rivers of Time" chronicle for "Vampire: the Dark Ages" (we went through various eras and various rulesets in that campaign, but at that time it was V:tDA). Having thoroughly run out of ideas for the campaign by that point, I came up with what I thought was a clever approach: one of the PCs woke up one morning stripped of all his hard-earned supernatural power. For reasons unknown, he was suddenly mortal once again.
Now that, by itself, was already a hugely risky move. If there's one thing players hate, it's losing stuff - they've 'worked' hard to earn all these powers, and levels, and magic items, and so on, and to have the GM suddenly strip those away tends to be the opposite of fun.
But I was lucky enough that my players trusted me with this, and did so on the understanding that it was going to be a temporary thing. Which was fair enough. The story progressed with the character gradually settling back in to a mortal life, enjoying a little peace and serenity, and things being generally good.
But the character was also approached by one of the villains of the campaign, who told him that he knew what had happened, and was willing to teach him how to reverse it, in return for "just one small thing" - a favour that the PC could now do that would normally not be possible. So far, so good, and the player duly played his part, carefully considering whether to go for that deal with the devil, or whether to instead retire to a mortal life. In the end, he went for it.
Now, what the player didn't know was that the aforementioned villain was lying. He had no special knowledge, he had no way to restore the character's abilities, but he'd seen an opportunity to carry out his agenda, so he took it. (It is worth noting that this was a long-established villain with a history of lies and villainy. So this shouldn't have been a totally unexpected betrayal.)
Thus far, everything was okay. I was on thin ice due to the "you've lost your powers" thing, but otherwise okay. Then came the crucial moment when for the bad guy to reveal his betrayal. And that's where it went wrong.
We were role-playing the scene in the first-person. Thus, when the villain asked whether it was done, I said "is it done?" And so on, and so forth. And then the moment of truth - the player stated that he'd done what was asked, and therefore it was time for the villain to make good.
And the villain laughed in his face.
Now, the reason that this was an especially shitty thing to do was three-fold. Firstly, the immediate impact was that I laughed in the player's face. Which is never a good approach. The second problem is that we then had a screwjob within a screwjob - I'd screwed the player by 'stealing' his character's powers, and then my NPC had screwed the PC by tricking him. That conflates the two things, to a point where I was, in short, being a right bastard about it. And then the third problem was that the PC, having lost his powers, wasn't in a position to actually do anything about it - the NPC in question was vastly more powerful than that PC at that time.
All in all, it sucked. And it was a rotten thing to do to a player. (As I said, my worst-ever GM mistake.)
As it happened, it all worked out okay. The PC promptly got his powers back by other means, and shortly thereafter got his revenge on the villain for that humiliation. So at least there was some catharsis. Plus, that plot point then proceeded to pay off for the remainder of the campaign, which ran for another eighteen months or so (despite my having almost completely run out of ideas already).
So that story does have an ending that maybe isn't 'happy' but is at least not a disaster.
Anyway, there it is - my worst-ever GM mistake.
Monday, 4 March 2019
90%
Apparently, 90% of D&D campaigns end at or before 10th level is reached. This statistic does not surprise me at all - I would expect that it has been true right across the editions and applies to Pathfinder as well. Indeed, looking at my own play experience, I'm inclined to think that it is an underestimate if anything. (That said, if you discount 'campaigns' that never get beyond 1st level as outliers, the numbers become significantly tighter... and 90% still feels about right.)
In my own case, I don't have solid recollections of every campaign, or even every campaign that got to 11th level. However, I do know about campaigns that made it into the teens (that being my own, personal, threshold for "high level"). Specifically, there have been three.
The first of these was a Dragonlance/Spelljammer combination, that was also influenced by the 2nd Edition "Legends & Lore" book - and specifically the section on divine ascension. The reason I remember all of this is that the key condition for that ascension was a minimum of 15th level... and therefore that became the entire focus of the campaign. It was also noted that the newly-released Monstrous Compendium featuring not-demons and not-devils (it's complex - the 80s were a strange time) featured a lot of monsters that gave disproportionate XP for their difficulty, and so the entire campaign became one of hacking through endless hordes of these creatures. There's a reason it doesn't feature in my "top campaigns" list... but it does feature in this list as the party did eventually achieve their goal.
The second was the "Shackled City" campaign that I've written about before. At the very end of the session the party reached 19th level. This is both the highest level I've ever gone, and also frustratingly short of the 20th level end-point in the PHB. It was also a strong reminder that 3e definitely broke down once into the teen levels, and so it was as high as I was ever going to go.
And the third and final was the "Eberron Code" campaign, which I've also written about before. That one topped out at 15th level, and was a much more satisfying experience.
My expectation is that the current work game will probably reach 10th or 11th level by the time we conclude "Storm King's Thunder", and that will be the point where we end the campaign. After that we'll be starting over at 1st level, though I'm not currently sure what campaign beckons thereafter. (It will probably be the end of the year before we get to that point anyway, so there's no hurry to make a decision.)
One last thing: the big takeaway from that statistic is something that should be obvious: when planning your character (and indeed your campaign), it's definitely best to go for something that's fun now. There's no real point in planning for what you'll do at 20th level, and certainly no point in deferring any gratification until higher levels, because the likelihood is that you'll never get to that point.
(Also, I'll note that if any of my players aren't enjoying their character, for whatever reason, I'm more than happy for them to make a switch, rather than gutting it out for it to become fun later. I'd much rather you play something you enjoy!)
In my own case, I don't have solid recollections of every campaign, or even every campaign that got to 11th level. However, I do know about campaigns that made it into the teens (that being my own, personal, threshold for "high level"). Specifically, there have been three.
The first of these was a Dragonlance/Spelljammer combination, that was also influenced by the 2nd Edition "Legends & Lore" book - and specifically the section on divine ascension. The reason I remember all of this is that the key condition for that ascension was a minimum of 15th level... and therefore that became the entire focus of the campaign. It was also noted that the newly-released Monstrous Compendium featuring not-demons and not-devils (it's complex - the 80s were a strange time) featured a lot of monsters that gave disproportionate XP for their difficulty, and so the entire campaign became one of hacking through endless hordes of these creatures. There's a reason it doesn't feature in my "top campaigns" list... but it does feature in this list as the party did eventually achieve their goal.
The second was the "Shackled City" campaign that I've written about before. At the very end of the session the party reached 19th level. This is both the highest level I've ever gone, and also frustratingly short of the 20th level end-point in the PHB. It was also a strong reminder that 3e definitely broke down once into the teen levels, and so it was as high as I was ever going to go.
And the third and final was the "Eberron Code" campaign, which I've also written about before. That one topped out at 15th level, and was a much more satisfying experience.
My expectation is that the current work game will probably reach 10th or 11th level by the time we conclude "Storm King's Thunder", and that will be the point where we end the campaign. After that we'll be starting over at 1st level, though I'm not currently sure what campaign beckons thereafter. (It will probably be the end of the year before we get to that point anyway, so there's no hurry to make a decision.)
One last thing: the big takeaway from that statistic is something that should be obvious: when planning your character (and indeed your campaign), it's definitely best to go for something that's fun now. There's no real point in planning for what you'll do at 20th level, and certainly no point in deferring any gratification until higher levels, because the likelihood is that you'll never get to that point.
(Also, I'll note that if any of my players aren't enjoying their character, for whatever reason, I'm more than happy for them to make a switch, rather than gutting it out for it to become fun later. I'd much rather you play something you enjoy!)
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