Spes Magna Games

From the AD&D Monster Manual, page 76:

“Leaders and above will always have two weapons. If a subchief is with a group the tribal standard will be present 40% of the time. The standard is always present when the tribal chief is. The standard will cause all orcs within 6″ to fight more fiercely (+1 on hit dice and morale check dice).”

Way back when, our characters fighting hordes of orcs (or similar evil humanoids) targeted leaders. The idea was simple: Those leaders were stronger. Defeating them clearly showed that our characters as more powerful, which caused the rank and file to lose morale and flee. My main character, Lord Korbok, even had a magic spear that pointed out enemy leaders within a certain distance (6”, if I recall correctly).

As a DM, I loved using large groups of humanoids. I even used the typical weaponry breakdowns to determine how many of the monsters were armed with what weapons. Leaders were assigned X number of subordinates. Organized humanoids, such as lawful evil orcs and hobgoblins, fought with as much military precision and discipline as I thought I understood. The leaders barked orders, and the position of the standard bearer shifted in order reinforce weak points, signal a push in a particular direction, or indicate a specific target.

The benefits from being within 6” of the standard are simple: “+1 on hit dice and morale check dice”. Orcs inspired by the standard’s proximity are less likely to break and run. I applied the “+1 on hit dice” as an attack roll bonus, but I’m not sure I like this interpretation as much at age 54 as I did at age 14.

If I were to run that humanoid horde today, I’d be more literal. An inspired 1-HD orc would fight as a 2-HD monster. This changes the orc’s THAC0 from 19 to 16, an effective +3 to-hit bonus. I’d also be inclined to grant the affected orcs more hit points (what later editions of D&D refer to as temporary hit points). Not only does the more ferocious orc hit harder, but it’s also harder to kill due to an additional 1d8 hit points.

For additional fun, at least some standards ought to be magical.

Magical Standard: All magical standards must be held aloft by the bearer, and the magical standard must be visible for it to have any effect. This requires the use of at least one hand. Creatures allied to the bearer who are within 6” of the standard fight more fiercely, gaining an additional hit die (to include hit points) and a +1 on morale checks (if applicable). A magical standard has one or more additional powers, all of which function the same way as the aforementioned effects. Roll 1d8 and consult the following:

1-2: +2 bonus on saving throws versus charm and fear

3-4: 50% magic resistance to sleep

5-6: +2 melee damage bonus

7: +1 melee attack per round

8: Same as result 7, and roll 1d6 to determine a second power.

Tags: 1E AD&D, magic items

Today’s musings about OSRIC, venture into strange territory. Let’s set up the first steps into this new land with some background.

Back in the day, Basic D&D and AD&D had rules that covered quite a lot of the in-game activity that characters might attempt. These rules covered topics as diverse as hiring mercenaries, exploring wilderness regions, building strongholds, and researching new spells. Some rules applied to specific characters. Can a thief move silently? Well, maybe, but there’s a defined percentage chance for that.

Can non-thieves move silently? Well, maybe, and here the rules get a little loosey-goosey. Elves and halflings can some of the time. What about fighter? Can he move silently? His choice of armor probably answers that question. Is he wearing plate mail? Then, nope, he’s not moving silently, but what does that mean? How noisy is he? One answer might be, “Not so noisy that he still can’t surprise most creatures on a 1 or a 2.” That’s a third of time, which is better than any 1st-level thief’s chance to move silently, and that doesn’t seem right, which shows that the answer doesn’t quite work.

1E AD&D has a secondary skills table in the Dungeon Masters Guide. Lord Korbok, my dwarf fighter/thief, was a teamster/freighter. What does that mean? If he’s loading or unloading a wagon, is there a die roll involved? Can he demand union wages for his labor? It would seem so because later the Dungeon Masters Guide shows that a teamster earns 5 silver pieces a day for his work, but what if the teamster is also a 9th-level fighter and a 12th-level thief? (Okay, that question is probably a bit silly.)

Questions such as these (and many others) didn’t have defined answers. These answers boiled down this: Whatever the DM says is the rule. Players could make suggestions, but the DM had the final say. Often when I’ve DMed, I deferred anywhere from in part to in whole to the players for these sorts of answers. In the process, the players help define the minutiae of the campaign world. I know other DMs have done the same sort of thing.

In short, no rule set can possibly account for every variable or answer every question.

Which brings me to the brilliant Marvel Heroic Roleplaying Game (MHRG) published by Margaret Weis Productions. MHRG is about as different as 1E AD&D as a game can get. There are no secret dice rolls in MHRG. Everything occurs out in the open as part of a shared story, and both players and the GM can use their dice rolls to modify the game in some interesting ways. Two of those ways are the creation of assets and complications, which are kind of the opposite of each other.

An asset is created when a dice pool generates a total that succeeds against the target number. In 1E AD&D terms, this is like an attack roll. The successful action has an effect die (analogous to 1E AD&D’s damage roll). This effect die, however, may not represent damage. It may represent an asset or complication. Put most simply, an asset increases the odds of success for another action, and a complication decreases the odds of success for another action.

Let’s say I’m playing Captain America leading a team of heroes past a group of A.I.M. guards. Stealth is of the essence. As Captain America, I could rely on my Covert Expert specialty, but that doesn’t really help the other heroes, some of whom may not be particularly sneaky. So, I explain to the GM that I’m going study the guards’ patterns, analyzing their fields of vision and habits to find the best way to slip past their post without being noticed. I roll my dice pool and succeed. Let’s say my chosen effect die is a d8. This becomes an asset called Best Route d8, which can then be used to aid another hero’s attempt to be sneaky. (Nota Bene: If I spend a Plot Point, that asset becomes persistent, able to be used by more than one hero.)

A complication is an asset in reverse. Imagine that I’m playing Henry Pym as Ant-Man instead of Cap, and that the situation involves a fight with a giant, nigh-invulnerable robot. As Ant-Man, none of my attacks stand much of chance of damaging the robot. So, instead of fighting, I use a combination of shrinking and scientific expertise to get inside part of the robot. After criss-crossing a few wires and dislodging a transistor or two (represented by a successful dice pool roll), I create a Systems Malfunction complication (which would have an effect die attached to it).

All of this leads up to to the topic for my next blogpost: What if OSRIC had a simple but meaningful system to simulate this sort of narrative control?

Tags: 1E AD&D, Marvel Heroic Roleplaying, OSRIC

Many, many years ago, I had a stable of AD&D characters. The chief among them was the dwarf fighter/thief Lord Korbok, about whom I’ve written here. Another character of mine that saw play up until the late-80s was a high cleric named Morgaf. His claim to fame was his gauntlets of ogre power and magic hammer. Morgaf made it to about 7th or 8th level as a cleric. He was as likely to wade into melee as he was cast a spell. One of Morgaf’s favorite spells was sticks to snakes, especially against an enemy archer. A quiver full of arrows suddenly holding a bit more than a half dozen snakes (about 35% of them venomous) tended to spoil the enemy archer’s aim.

For some reason, 5E D&D doesn’t include sticks to snakes in the Player’s Handbook. The spell might appear in one of the many additional books published for 5E, but, if so, I don’t own that book. So, here’s my 5E version of the classic AD&D cleric spell plus a new spell.

And which of you, if he ask his father bread, will he give him a stone? Or a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall ask an egg, will he reach him a scorpion? (The Gospel According to St. Luke 11:11-12)

Sticks to Snakes
1st-level transmutation

Casting Time: 1 action
Range: 30 feet
Components: V, S, M (a small piece of bark and several snake scales)
Duration: Concentration, up to 1 minute

By means of this spell, you change one stick or stick-like wooden object that you can see within range into a constrictor snake. As long as you concentrate, you can use a bonus action to verbally command the snake to move and attack on your turn. If you don’t issue any commands to the snake, it defends itself from hostile creatures, but otherwise takes no actions. If your concentration is broken, the snake does not disappear. Instead, it is no longer under your control, and it will act as the DM determines. Regardless, the snake reverts to its original form 1 minute after you transmuted it or when it is dropped to 0 hit points.

The stick or stick-like object you target cannot be larger than a javelin and it must be nonmagical. If the stick or stick-like object is in the possession of a creature, that creature is permitted a Will save. If successful, the spell has no effect. Otherwise, the snake moves immediately into a space adjacent to the creature.

At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell using a slot of 2nd level or higher, you can target an additional stick or stick-like wooden object for each slot level above 1st. Roll 1d6 for each object transmuted. On a 5-6, the spell transmutes the object into a giant poisonous snake instead of a constrictor snake.

Venomous Banquet
3rd-level transmutation

Casting Time: 1 action
Range: 60 feet
Components: V, S, M (a snake’s fang)
Duration: Concentration, up to 1 hour

Choose a point you can see within range when you cast this spell. An amount of food sufficient to sustain three humanoids or one steed within 15 feet of the point you chose transmutes into either a swarm of poisonous snakes or a swarm of scorpions (use swarm of poisonous snakes statistics for both, but the swarm of scorpions has no swim speed). A swarm created by this spell reverts to its original form when it drops to 0 hit points or when the spell ends.

The summoned swarm is friendly to you and your companions. Roll initiative for the swarm, which has its own turns. The swarm obeys any verbal commands that you issue to it (no action required by you). If you don’t issue any commands to the swarm, it defends itself from hostile creatures, but otherwise takes no actions.

At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell with certain higher-level spell slots, you cause more swarms to appear: two swarms with a 5th-level slot, four swarms with an 7th-level slot, and six swarms with a 9th-level slot.

Tags: 5E D&D, AD&D, Catholic, spells

Here I am, finishing up the 30-Day D&D Challenge in a bit more than thirty days. Lesson learned? Don’t start this sort of thing the same month I go back to work for a new school year.

Day 25: Favorite Magic Item

This is an easy one. My oldest character, Lord Korbok, had a set of six magical nails called the nails of Prynn. Each nail was about 6-inches long, and each was sturdy enough to support a couple hundred pounds. When one of these nails was held point-first against a surface and the command word spoken, the nail would insert itself into the surface. The nails were extracted via another command word. The magic of the nails was strong enough to have them penetrate worked stone. Korbok used them for climbing. He also used them in combination with his cloak, which permitted him to dimension door a certain number of times per day. Korbok would poke a hole in a door with a nail, peek through the hole, and then dimension door to the location he could see.

Day 26: Favorite Nonmagic Item

I like for my characters to have some signature item. Lord Korbok smoked a pipe. He collected them (or, more often, stole them). I’ve had characters who liked fancy hats, collected trophies from fallen enemies, carried books of poetry, et cetera. For a while I ran gnome cleric/rogue in 3.5E. At least once per session, I managed to finesse (or dumb luck) my way into a situation where the gnome profited at the expense of the rest of the party. He’d then spend his ill-gotten goods to buy love tokens for another player’s female elf. These love tokens were never magical items, although they were sometimes practical, such as the time he bought her a quiver of silver-tipped arrows.

Day 27: A Character I Want to Play in the Future
Day 28: A Character I Will Never Play Again

Same answer for both: Lord Korbok.

Why I want to play him again is simply because he’s my oldest and most played character. I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to play him again. No one I know runs 1E or 2E, and, even if they did, Lord Korbok is a tough PC. After running him for years and years, he’s collected quite the arsenal of magic items, henchmen, et cetera. He’s not the sort of character that would easily get dropped into an ongoing campaign, or so I imagine at least.

Also, I’m not sure playing Lord Korbok again would be all that satisfying. Most of his adventures took place within the context of a specific group of gamers, none of whom I game with today. The most consistently present of those gamers, Fred, died a few years ago. I may encounter the same situation with Lord Korbok I encountered with his EverQuest version, Korbok Ironspyre.

Fred and I didn’t live near each other. He was about an hour away, and the obligations of family, work, et cetera, made it difficult to get together except on weekends and holidays. So, we played EverQuest. He ran a dwarf called Grusty Ironspyre, and our in-game story was that we were brothers. Grusty and Korbok had many adventures.

Some time after Fred died, I logged back onto EverQuest. It just wasn’t the same. The main reason I played EverQuest was because Fred played EverQuest, and vice versa. Without Fred/Grusty, it seemed kind of pointless. Korbok Ironspyre traveled one last time back to Kaladim. He found a low-level dwarf fighter and bequeathed all of his treasure, armor, and weapons to that newbie, and then Korbok Ironspyre retired. I’ve never played EverQuest again.

Day 29: The Number I Always Seem to Roll on a d20

I always seem to roll a whole number. I mean, seriously, what a bizarre thing to be expected to write about.

Day 30: The Best DM I’ve Had

I don’t want to say. I game with friends, and I don’t like ranking friends against each other. In my current gaming group, three of the current players have GMed in the past. I’d play with any of them as GM again. They all three have their individual strengths and weaknesses, but the bottom line is this: I don’t game with them because I admire their gaming prowess. I game with them because I enjoy their company.

Tags: 30 Day D&D Challenge

Continuing with the assumption that the slash represents the word “or”, today’s choice between elemental or plant leaves me a wee bit conflicted. I like both elemental and plant monsters. I probably use elementals more than plants, but I did once write a dungeon crawl that included every single plant monster in both the Monster Manual and Monster Manual II (counting fungi as plants, of course).

As a player, elementals have been memorable foes and useful tools. Once upon a time, Lord Korbok was operating in fighter mode (wearing his magical platemail, wielding his magical battle axe, forgoing most of his thief abilities, et cetera). Fred gleefully threw a fire elemental at us. Korbok quaffed his potion of speed, went into two-weapon fighting mode, and tore the elemental apart in a single round. It wasn’t quite what Fred had pictured.

Another time, during a game played when I was stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, I was doing something rare for me, which was playing a magic-user. Our PCs were supposed to put a stop to some pirates. We’d tracked them back to their island lair. Most of the party moved forward across the wooden piers to engage the pirates in a surprise attack. My magic-user hung back among the barrels and crates. The surprise attack didn’t work well. I asked the GM what was in the barrels and crates. He told me. My magic-user called for the retreat.

Our PCs raced back to our small boat. The pirates surged down the pier to their ships. Fear was expressed that we’d never be able to outrun the pirates.

“Don’t worry,” said my magic-user. “See those barrels?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re full of oil,” said my magic-user.

“So?”

Then my magic-user screamed out the command word for the iron flask he’d hidden among the crates and barrels, thereby releasing the berserk 24-Hit-Die fire elemental from its magical prison. It burned the pirates’ pier and ships while we rowed away laughing.

But I digress. I’m supposed to be picking a favorite elemental or plant, and so I pick the dreaded shambling mound. (Nota Bene: Click the pic for 25% embiggening.)

The 1E shambling mound was a brute. Low AC, crushing attacks, high-ish Hit Dice, half-damage from weapons, resistant or impervious to our best attack spells, and that’s not even mentioning its gruesome suffocation ability.

Get clubbed for 4d8 points of damage in a round, and then smother in entangling vegetable goo 2d4 rounds later! What fun!

Tags: 30 Day D&D Challenge, monsters