Tag: Dungeons & Dragons

As I commented on Men Who Lived Deeper in the Shadows, in a fantasy roleplay campaign world, most people are rogues. I first got this idea from the blogpost, Hit Me Baby One More Time, and its description of 1st-level Thieves in B/X (e.g., 1981 Basic Edition D&D):

…At 1st level the thief looks almost like any other urban Normal Man…but it’s just an act. Even at 1st level he has abilities that set him apart from the general populace. The thief’s cunning and grace makes him an excellent combatant compared to the Normal Man (better attack matrix), and his wit, luck, and powers of observation make him immune to hazards that the NM would suffer (better saving throws)….

Working from that, a zero-level Rogue basically is a Normal Man; they do not have those abilities that set 1st-level’s apart. We also arrive at this conclusion by process of elimination: a Normal Man has neither the cantrip-only magic of the zero-level caster classes nor the improved combat ability of a zero-level Fighter.

All this leads me to a conclusion: as Rogues dominate the zero-level “tier”, they should likewise at 1st level.

The dice only exist to give players a chance to fail at something. The dice do not allow you to do things, you do that yourself when you declare your action. Rolling dice only gives a chance of hindering the players, not helping.

D&D is at its core, a dice game in which you declare your action and then roll dice to see if you fail. If you don’t, then you continue onward to gain power and glory.

— The Dice are Not Your Friend – Farooq’s Gaming Blog

Author’s emphasis. Alas, that blog is gone, and the Internet Archive does not have a copy of it.

The blogpost Why A Soldier Is A Rogue Not A Fighter is a great example of thinking about character classes in new ways. It focuses on 5th Edition D&D, but it inspired me to ponder the concept in earlier (and OSR) editions.

One detail repeatedly stood out: Rogues (I do prefer that class name change) are not proficient with shields. While a soldier-Rogue wielding a (two-handed) polearm would not need it, a shield is all the more valuable when one is wearing only light armor. It should be there.

Then it hit me. If I rephrase “not proficient with shields” as “gains no benefit from using a shield,” the dissonance between mechanics and aesthetics disappears. We so often let the game mechanics alter our roleplay; e.g., if your character gains no mechanical benefit from using a shield, you would have them stop using one. But how would they know, in-character, as inexperienced soldiers? If a shield was available, and they were not wielding a two-handed weapon, they would certainly use it.

I am presuming a 1st-level Rogue here as that is what a unit of village militia would consist of. Higher level Rogues could recognize the non-benefit and/or learn how to benefit (i.e., be given proficiency).

For most of the Sunday weekly (virtual) 5e D&D gaming this year, I roleplayed a human fighter named Urion. Inspired by this, I had him prefer gems and jewelry over coins for his share of any treasure found. He is now 11th level, and has accumulated quite an eclectic mix of bling—most of which he wears. Here it is:

• small silver cube (?)
• gem-encrusted dagger (100gp)
• silver necklace (25 gp)
• polished brass pin in the shape of unicorn with jewel horn (75 gp)
• small silver key (?)
• silver ring of 26 pierced silver coins (27 sp)
• large jade thumb-ring (10gp)
• bronze & green quartz brooch (25gp)
• silver & beryl ring (50gp)
• silvery (copper-nickel) dagger, (10 gp)
• electrum serpent bracelet (50gp)
• jade pectoral (50gp)
• silver-coin necklace (36gp) [x8]
• agate ring (5gp)
• jade bracelet (20gp) [x2]
• platinum key on chain (20gp)
• blue quartz (10gp)
• obsidian (10gp)
• turquoise(10gp)
• lapis lazuli (10gp) [x3]
• amber (100gp)
• remorhaz tooth

The bronze, jade, turquoise, and obsidian came from the Hidden Shrine of Tamoachan adventure.

A D&D/d20 mechanic that is all-but-universal is some kind of attack improvement when wielding a weapon in each hand.

I find that to be the complete opposite of the primary—and, in my opinion, obvious—reason for the choice: giving you something else to parry/deflect enemy attacks with. I see no benefit to you when attacking; if you make an attack with the off-hand weapon, you are going to be parrying with the main-. A momentary swap, not an addition.

There is no functional difference between sword-and-dagger and sword-and-shield. That swap likewise works with a shield; I bash or swat you with my shield, but my weapon’s role becomes protection for that moment.

A modern D&D mechanic I agree with is the +2 defense bonus granted by a shield. This leaves space to grant a +1 defense bonus to an off-hand weapon. The difference being size of my off-hand tool.

Instead of providing a bonus to the attack and damage rolls, magical weapons in Chainmail grant additional attack rolls per round. Conversely, magical armor negates a number of attacks per round.

The part that makes this feel properly magical is that an opponent can be reduced to zero attacks, and thus incapable of harming the wearer.

This can be used in Dungeons & Dragons almost as-is. The only question is whether the attack negation by armor is per round or per opponent. As magical weapons would only grant additional attacks per round, the complimentary rule for armor would be attack negation per round. But the magical bonus on Armor Class normally applies against every attack. If the attack negation is per opponent, a wearer could simply be invulnerable against a horde of low-level opponents.

Chainmail has a solution for this: opponents can utilize tactical teamwork which combines their number of attacks. This is superior to D&D mechanics like Help Action and Pack Tactics which would be insufficient against a per-opponent ruling.

If D&D Hit Points are not simply meat points but also luck, grit, et. al. (which I believe), then weapon damage needs to also scale by level.

Why should a duel between two high-level fighters take much longer than one between two lowers?

I see three options (for fighters):

1. Weapon damage bonus of +1 per fighter level. No change to number of attacks.
2. Weapon damage is one die per fighter level. No change to number of attacks.
3. One attack roll per fighter level. No change to weapon damage.

Clerics had to wait for the AD&D Second Edition supplemental rulebook Player’s Options: Spells & Magic for cantrips, there named orisons.

In both editions of AD&D, Cantrip/Orison was a first-level spell. That was the cost for them. A first-level caster got four cantrips for the expenditure of a first-level spell. Thus the three grades of zero-level magic-user granting use of 1, 2, and 3 cantrips per day. This can easily be mirrored for clerics.

As you may have guessed, my musing on zero-level magic-users is based upon Old School concepts. These are appropriate cantrips (again, from AD&D’s Unearthed Arcana):

I concur with Aaron the Pedantic that Attack Cantrips Are The Worst. I do like modern systems’ inclusion of ritual casting. A practical definition of spell slots is the special preparations for when you need to cast a spell in a time-constrained situation. Every spell should be castable via multi-minute ritual—perhaps even attack spells. Being able to throw a Fireball or Lightning Bolt at a castle every 10 minutes is not that far from gunpowder siege cannon.

As is all-too-normal these days, two Web searches on the identical keywords yielded different results. My search for “zero-level magic-users” before I posted Part 1 did not surface their mention in AD&D’s Unearthed Arcana rulebook. Here it is:

I do not remember this passage at all. I only remember zero-level options for the Cavalier class; also in Unearthed Arcana, but it was included in the original Dragon Magazine #72 article on the class.

It is very close to what I was thinking.

In older editions of Dungeons & Dragons, there was the concept of a zero-level Fighter: not as good as a 1st-level adventurer, but better than Normal Men (also a term from older editions).

I got daydreaming about zero-level equivalents for magic-users, clerics, and rogues. People with perhaps insufficient potential to ever advance to 1st level but potential, nonetheless.

But what could they do that Norman Men could not? Something I want to explore via microblogging, here. So more to come.

TL;DR: -2 AC penalty.

As I revealed in my storyline, Elmö’s Obligation, Xenograg has a taboo that his head must be bare to perform sorcery. Obviously, this includes helmets. So I have always been curious about how Dungeon & Dragons Armor Class (AC) is/should be adjusted when a combatant is sans helmet.

I never agreed with Advanced D&D’s no-called-shots-except-in-the-case-of-bare-heads rule. This is literally not exceptional enough of a case.

The house rule I have seen most often is a -1 AC penalty. It is one I have used, but it feels insufficient.

Then the answer came to me while I was thinking about the difference between a (chain) mail shirt, which is medium armor in D&D, and (chain) mail armor, which is heavy armor. What is the difference?

How much of the body is covered by the armor.

Therefore, foregoing head protection lowers your Armor Class one category. In Old School D&D clones, this equates to a -2 penalty.

It is the simple elegance and clarity of the explanation that tells me this is the correct answer.

My first edition of Dungeons & Dragons was the 1981 Moldvay Basic but I quickly fell victim to Gygax’s marketing of Advanced D&D. It was years before my brother and I found anyone else who had the game, so all I had was the TSR products as-written. The 1983 World of Greyhawk boxed set was the one and only campaign world, then. The encounter tables in the Glossography became unforgettable as they set the bar for NPC experience levels. The entry for “Men, Patrol, Knights” is the best example of this:

Ignore the high-level officers. The average knight is at least a 4th-level Fighter. His squire is 2nd- or 3rd-level. Even the serjeants are 1st-level Fighters, which is meaningful as AD&D has the concept of “zero-level” for commoners a little better at combat (e.g. militiamen) than the rest. Other entries in those tables have similar experience level distributions.

Regardless of rules edition, these are high levels for average warriors. Knights are elite professionals, true, but all of them in (what 5th-edition D&D calls) Tier 2? D&D presumes that all character classes will be present in equivalent distributions, so Tier 2 spell-casters will also be common. Porting these levels as-is into 5e would not change my point at all. One of my many quibbles with 5e is its continued power inflation from 3e. Even more than with character classes, I disagree with Knights being 8d8+16 HD opponents and peasants having 16 Hit Points.

This has a huge impact upon the rest of a campaign world. How many of us have carried these assumptions into our own custom worlds? It has taken me years (decades!) to truly see that knights, for one, can still be feared killing machines at lower experience levels. That even comes with a bonus: they also become mortal, which every non-hero should be. If you are keeping the spell-caster equivalency, this also lowers the magical power level of your world—a very good thing, in my opinion.

In 5e terms, I see a squire as a 1st-level Fighter. An average knight would only be a 2nd-level Fighter. Higher levels are still available for experienced knights, of course. Against peasants and militiamen, a 2nd-level Fighter is a sufficient killer but is also at risk of being slain by a few enemies working together.

For further discussion on this topic, I highly recommend JB’s (B/X BLACKRAZOR) blogposts Hit Me Baby One More Time, 1st Level Magic-Users, and One Man Army.

[El Cid confronts the soldiers taking Prince Alfonso to the dungeons of Zamora.]

El Cid:

Will you give me your prisoner, or must I take him?

Guard Leader:

[incredulous] There are thirteen of us, and you are alone.

El Cid:

What you do is against God’s law. Were you thirteen times thirteen, I would not be alone!

— “El Cid” (1961)

That last line is a declaration of a D&D paladin, if there ever was one.

Many years ago, I was the Computer Statistician of my High School’s varsity football team. It was an unique position on the managerial squad. One of our coaches had purchased a software application for analyzing opposing teams’ offenses. Team scouts would collect the kind of data the application could analyze. My after-hours job was mostly data entry of any newly-arrived scouting reports but, more importantly, of running the analysis report of our next opposing team as soon as all relevant data was entered.

These reports were printed out on wide fan-fold paper because the bulk of each one was numerous ASCII grids that corresponded to lateral field positions. These simple graphics helped non-technical coaches interpret the results—statistical breakdowns of behavioral tendencies in an opponent’s play-calling. The breakdown categories were the traditional ones scouts and coaches use without computers: 1st-and-10, 2nd-and-long, et. al.

So I learned early that computers could be used for more than just playing games. They could be used as tools to help me play other games better. Even games that had nothing to do with computers.

I had found Dungeons & Dragons in Middle School, and already knew a few things about probability and statistics. I had been an user of computers, though mostly for playing games. I had even hacked game data once or twice. That only made the game easier to play; it did not make me a better player.

As the football seasons progressed, I watched those reports be used by the coaches to make our team play better through adaptation to our opponents’ patterns of play. Knowledge was power.

All that led to computer programming. My first original programs were various tools and toys for or related to D&D. I still write them in my leisure time, today. I intend to blog about them someday. See the Game Programming category for those posts.