Spes Magna Games

The twice-monthly (or thereabouts) sessions of Man Day Adventures have been through a few game systems over the years: AD&D (2nd edition), the d20 System (3.0, 3.5, and Pathfinder), Sine Nomine’s excellent Stars Without Number, brief excursions into d20 Modern, Swords & Wizardry, and Mutants & Masterminds, and, most recently, the fabulous Dungeon World for a rollicking campaign under the auspices of three GMs.

As July 2015 bears down on us, we prepare to bid a sad adieu to one of Man Day’s adventurers, who is leaving the U.S. for a new life in a foreign land. The consensus is that his final Man Day will be the final act of our Dungeon World campaign. Further, it seems most likely that our next game with be Fate Accelerated (or FAE), published under both the Open Gaming License and Creative Commons Attribution license by Evil Hat Productions.

To prepare for the upcoming new campaign, I trundled my virtual self to DriveThruRPG and purchased FAE. While I was there, I also picked up A Spark in Fate Core, published by Genesis of Legend Publishing. This latter product bills itself as a “Fate World Building Toolkit” and, since one Man Day adventurer had talked several times about using FAE to create a collaborative campaign world, it seemed like a well duh acquisition.

FAE claims that it can be used to play (just about?) any genre. The players get together, decide on a genre, and then make characters that fit that genre. I’ve run across this claim before (GURPS, for example), and I’ve almost always been at least somewhat underwhelmed. Often, it seems based on my experience, the system claims to work for (just about?) any genre, but then the system ends up working against that claim because the system itself is too rigidly defined.

Keeping in mind I’ve not played FAE yet, it does seem as if FAE avoid at least this pitfall. Characters are defined more by narrative hooks than by ability scores. These hooks come in three flavors: a high concept, which “is a single phrase or sentence that neatly sums up your character”; a trouble, which is that “one thing that always get you into trouble”; and at least one other aspect, which is something “really important or interesting about your character.” Characters also have approaches, which describe how characters accomplish tasks. Each of the six approaches are rated as a bonus ranging from +0 to +3. One character might be Flashy +3, whereas another character might be Careful +3. Lastly, FAE recommends each character start with one stunt, which “is a special trait that changes the way an approach works for your character.” Stunts either grant a bonus (usually +2) or else let the character ignore certain rules in a predefined circumstance.

Since the action resolution system starts and ends with narration built around some combination of high concepts, troubles, aspects, approaches, and stunts, a huge range of activities can be accounted for without dozens of pages of rules. For example, one of the sample characters, Reth of the Andrali Resistance, has “Suncaller of the Andral Desert” as a high concept. This lets him “magically call forth the power of fire.” FAE doesn’t include pages of fire spells or powers. Instead, Reth’s player would narrate Reth’s desired course of action, such as:

“I lunge at the robot, sheathing my body with flame, as I attempt to slam my foe.”

The player would then roll four Fate Dice, apply Reth’s Good (+3) Forceful modifier, and then compare the result to the robot’s defense total. The degree of success determines the results, ranging from failure to short-term benefit to damage to more damage plus a possible short-term benefit. Pretty much everything works more or less like this (narrate, roll, determine results). The use of Fate Points can further amplify results or even establish facts about a current scene.

In short, I kind of psyched to give FAE a test drive. There are oodles of reviews for the system out there, many of which do a better job explaining things than I do. Check them out.

So, what about A Spark in Fate Core? In short, it’s almost exactly what I hoped for. ASiFC offers a step-by-step method to collaborative world building that helps ensure all players at the table have a pretty much equal say.

This process starts by listing favorite media, such as a particular television show or comic book. Each player then explains the inspiration for his choice. For example, if I choose Pee-Wee’s Playhouse as my favorite, I would then expand on this choice by noting how much I like the all of the goofy supporting characters such as Cowboy Curtis and Billy Baloney. After all players have shared their favorite media and related inspiration, the group then decides on a genre that incorporates those media and inspirations. The genre should have a descriptor that shows how the group’s take on the genre stands apart from the genre’s most common examples.

This process of players taking turn sharing, arriving at group decisions, asking and answering questions, et cetera, continues until the world has a scale (small or large), a list of facts, a title, several Sparks (the system’s name for potential problems or sources of conflict), a group of Faces (important NPCs), and noteworthy places. The GM uses the Sparks to set up issues that impact the shared story. One Spark is a Legacy Issue; it used to be a problem, but now serves as history and culture. Another Spark is the Current Issue. This is the main focus of the campaign to start with. A third Spark is an Impending Issue. It’s not a problem yet, but it will be eventually.

The process described in ASiFC is simple enough, flexible, and truly collaborative. The downloadable PDF is free. If there had been a pay what you want option, I’d have paid for it. It’s worth at least a couple of bucks, and ASiFC‘s process is generic enough that it would work well with just about any game system.

Tags: A Spark in Fate Core, Fate Accelerated Edition, reviews

During our last Man Day Dungeon World game, my son Christopher lost another character. His cleric, Brother Hurak, fell in combat against the forces of evil. This week, while we’re on Christmas vacation, Christopher made up his new character, Roland the Paladin, and we decided to take him out for a test drive. I downloaded Michael Prescott’s Tannòch Rest-of-Kings, and started to ask Christopher some questions:

Q. Why are you going back to Tannòch?
A. To visit the nuns who nursed me back to health. Also, to visit the mausoleum to see if it reveals anything interesting about the history of the region.

Q. Why did you need nursing?
A. Injured by cannon shot during a fight against paynim pirates.

Q. Mother Marta doesn’t like you. Why?
A. I offended her somehow. (The nature of the offense remains undefined.)

Q. To get to Tannòch, you have to take a boat from a nearby island settlement. What is that settlement’s name?
A. Pterx.

Roland started on the beach near Pterx. The natives mostly earn their livelihood by fishing. Roland approached the village chief and asked about passage to Tannòch. Robert, the chief, named a price, but Roland confessed he had no coins. He did offer to work for his passage, so Robert introduced Roland to Kemp and his sons, Jethro and Jedd. Kemp told Roland that he could earn his passage by working the following day out of the reef, diving for oysters. Roland agreed and spent a quiet night on the beach.

Early in the morning, Kemp woke Roland, who left behind most of his gear since scalemail and a halberd wouldn’t be much use in an outrigger canoe heading out for oysters. Kemp instructed Roland as the proper use of a sturdy fishing knife and the net-bag tied to his belt. Roland dived with Jethro. The first few dives were uneventful, but during the third dive Roland noticed that Jethro had vanished. Thinking quickly, Roland found Jethro grappling with a deadly hooked octopus in a recessed section of the reef. Roland swam to the rescue, bringing his bear hands to bare against the dangerous cephalopod mollusc. The fight was short and fierce, and Roland drove the creature away, but not before he’d suffered some injuries. Jethro had been hurt badly.

When the group returned to Pterx, news of Roland’s heroic rescue of Jethro spread quickly. He was feted by the locals, hailed as a man of courage and nobility. Chief Robert gave him a finely made scarlet cloak as a gift. The next day, refreshed and ready, Kemp personally rowed Roland out to Tannòch, saying he’d be back in a week to fetch the paladin. Roland climbed up the rugged caldera until the interior saltwater lake came into sight. There, in the lake’s middle, stood Rest-of-Kings. Roland took one of the rowboats tied up at the nearby quay.

Tying off the boat at the base of the stairs leading switchback up to the tower, Roland began the climb. He was about halfway up to the door when a hulking figure, silhouetted by the noonday sun, lurched into view atop the parapet.

“Leave tribute to me, or I’ll kill you and lick your brains from the bowl of your skull!” the figure growled.

“Who are you?” Roland replied.

The figure lobbed a sizeable rock at Roland. The paladin through himself forward, avoiding the stone, which smashed into the stairs behind him. Unfortunately, he landed clumsily, and the impact jarred his halberd from his grasp. The weapon slid over the edge of the stairs, dropping several yards before it wedged in a rocky crack. Roland slid over the edge, dropping after his weapon. Another rock struck him from behind, spinning him into the air. He rolled and bounced, and both he and his halberd splashed into the water below. Standing waist deep in warm saltwater, Roland spotted a sinewy, slick-skinned monstrous humanoid slicing through the water. As it lunged out of the water, claws and fangs bared, Roland snatched up his halberd and attacked. The polearm bit deep into the ogre’s body, but the monster’s momentum slammed Roland hard into the rocks.

Taking stock of his injuries and surroundings, Roland noticed the half-eaten corpse of a nun in the water nearby. The glint of metal in her clenched fingers caught his eye. Roland pried the ring of keys from her dead hand. He also noticed that a deep crevice in the rocks at the waterline led into a cave. Figuring the rock-tosser on the parapet couldn’t hit him if he were underground, Roland entered the cave. He climbed up a bit and found a relatively flat surface on which he could rest. Time passed.

Hours later, Roland lit his lantern and explored deeper into the caves. He eventually found himself in a higher, smaller cave. Part of the cave wall had been dug away, revealing a brick wall, which had been partially breached, presumably by the now-dead dwarf lying under some rubble. Roland squeezed his way through the gap in the wall, finding himself in the mausoleum in the tower’s substructure. It soon became obvious that someone or something had been smashing open the burial spaces and breaking the urns kept therein. Roland soon found the looter, a monstrous, one-eyed ogre. Before Roland could act, a gust of charnel-house wind roared through the chamber, and Roland’s lantern went out, plunging the paladin into absolute darkness. An instant later, the monster lifted Roland and hurled him roughly against a wall. The lantern shattered.

“Give me the diadem of the weylords,” a sibilant voice hissed in the blackness.

Fumbling in the dark for a torch, Roland stalled, admitting he didn’t have the diadem. He asked why it was desired.

“My master, Halad al Bim, promised it to me, but upon his death, it was brought to this place and interred herein.”

Roland remembered that he had seen a tomb marker with Halad’s name engraved upon it. “I can take you there if I can see,” the paladin said.

Shortly, the torch was lit. The monstrous creature, who called itself Stanus Ash-Eater, made promises that Roland knew would not be kept. He also deduced that the monster’s bizarre appearance probably meant that Stanus was not a natural ogre, but had been magically transformed into his current shape. Roland, followed by Stanus, returned to Halad’s tomb marker. The paladin opened it and pulled out the urn. Stanus roared, exhaling noxious black fumes which forced their way into Roland’s lungs, inducing weakness. Roland invoked his divine authority and told Stanus to back off. The ogre retreated, but demanded the diadem. Roland dug into the urn, discovering nothing but ashes.

“It’s not here,” Roland said.

Stanus charged. The fight was brief and bloody. Roland rammed his halberd’s spike into Stanus’s good eye, driving the monster across the room, crushing his skull against the stones. Roland sustained injuries as Stanus’s powerful arms lashed out before the ogre died.

“Oh, thank Cicollius,” said a woman’s voice.

Roland whirled about to see Mother Marta standing near the opposite wall.

“You must help me, Roland,” Mother Marta said. “This ogre is not the only one who….”

Her words trailed off. Roland caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Rising from a pool of Stanus’s blood mixed with funerary ashes was an emaciated figure, covered in gore. Its eyes burned with madness.

“At last, I live again! Return to me my diadem!”

Roland interposed himself between the ghoul and Mother Marta just as the senior nun disappeared into the wall. The ghoul’s powerful, fanged maw crunched into Roland’s right elbow. As the paladin staggered away, the ghoul noisily chewed and swallowed bone and flesh.

“Mother Marta is the one I seek,” it gurgled, and then raced off into the darkness.

Roland, seriously injured, collapsed.

“Get up, Roland,” Mother Marta said, stepping back through the wall. “No time to rest. I cannot evade that creature forever. Take this dagger. You can’t wield that halberd with only one arm.”

Mother Marta bound up Roland’s wounds with special wrappings and poultices, healing some of his lesser injuries.

“How are you able to move through walls? Are you a ghost?”

“Tut, tut, young man. I’m no such thing. I carry with me the collected artifacts stored in Rest-of-Kings, including the periapt of the earthen kings. With it, I move through stone as if it were water.”

“Take me out of here,” Roland demanded.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Mother Marta said. “Now quit your dithering and kill that ghoul.”

With that, she vanished into a wall again. Roland grumbled and set out in the direction the ghoul had run. He found it quickly enough, spotting it in time to avoid its ambush. In a fearsome battle, the pair rolled and grappled, Roland stabbing with the dagger, the ghoul slashing with its fangs and claws. As the silver-bladed weapon bit into the monster, Roland felt it possible to acquire the creature’s knowledge by eating some of it, and that, if he chose, he gnaw off part of the undead horror while fighting. Roland ignored these options, and finally rammed the blade deep into the ghoul’s black, ichor-filled heart.

Mother Marta reappeared again. “Well done, paladin. Well done. Now rest, and let me minister to your wounds.”

More time passed. Mother Marta’s healing arts restored Roland’s strength and healed his elbow, but not without leaving behind some ruddy scar tissue. She explained that three ogres, led by Stanus, attacked Rest-of-Kings several days ago. Most of the nuns were killed when the ogres set fire to the upper floors, which partially collapsed.

“One ogre remains, Roland. You must slay her, but the climb up the parapet will be difficult. She has locked the trapdoor leading up to the parapet from the ruined upper floor.”

Roland produced the key ring. “Will these help?”

“Indeed they will.”

Several minutes later, halberd in hand, Roland was gingerly making his way through the ruined, rubble-choked upper floors. The locked trapdoor was in view. He reached out to grab a bit of cornice, hoping to steady his way along a narrow ledge overhanging a drop of several yards. The cornice crumbled loose under his weight, pulling down a section of the ceiling as well. Roland fell, and a large slab of rock landed on him. As he looked up through the hole in the ceiling, a monstrous hag with nails like iron spikes crawled into view and started to descend spider-like toward Roland.

“Time to lick your brains from the bowl of your skull!”

The ogress pounced, and Roland roared with the effort of hefting the stone slab. It toppled partially onto the ogress. Roland swung his halberd, striking a powerful blow. The ogress hissed in rage and fear, scrambling up the wall toward the hole in the ceiling. Roland hurled his halberd like a spear, but to no effect. The monster vanished from sight, and Roland climbed up after it, but not with its speed and nimbleness. As he emerged through the hole leading up to the parapet, a rock slammed into his hip.

Roland rolled to his feet. The ogress stood on the other side of the tower’s upper spaces, a large rock in each clawed hand. Roland charged. The ogress through the first rock, which Roland blocked with his gauntleted hand. He heard and felt hand bones crack. He swung his good fist at the monster, but it hoisted him overhead. Just as it threw him off the tower’s roof, Roland rammed a brutal jab into the monster’s forehead. Bone collapsed. Eyes bulged and bled. Roland tumbled through the air, catching a projection. His momentum and weight popped his shoulder out of socket. As he blacked out from the pain, he started to fall again.

And then woke with a start in a bed. Mother Marta sat nearby.

“Rest, Roland,” she said. “Fortunately, I was able to use the periapt’s power to help catch you before you fell to your death. Well done, young man. Well done.”

Tags: Dungeon World, game play

Last OwlCon, I played in an Arabian Nights-inspired adventure that used Barbarians of Lemuria for the rule system. It was quite a hoot. Our characters explored a lost jungle island, fell victim to the machinations of the serpent people, and alternately engaged in fleeing in terror and fighting for their lives. As the session came to an end, we got to “epilogue” about what happened to our characters after the adventure.

I narrated briefly about how my character, who had killed the ship’s captain during the adventure, managed to set himself up as the new ship’s captain, much to the delight of the crew and the gaggle of wenches being entertained by my character’s tale of adventure. Every other players did the same for their characters, and then the GM added his own epilogue, revealing an unexpected twist. In each case, the epilogues could serve as plot hooks. So, if that session were not a convention game but part of an ongoing campaign, the GM could use my epilogue to explore another sea adventure with my character as ship’s captain.

I liked epiloguing so much that I added it to both sessions of Stars Without Number I ran at OwlCon. It seemed to be a big hit with the players. Best of all, at the end of the session, I had one potential plot hook per player, plus the epilogue that I added as the GM. (I remember one of my two GM epilogues describing the lost space yacht shifting out of warp near inhabited space while on board the Cthulhoid horror in the form of a long dead mother comforted her long dead son.)

I remain intrigued by epiloguing.

The basic idea is simple. After an adventure is over, each player gets about two minutes to describe some of that adventure’s consequences as they relate specifically to that player’s character. Each player does this, taking turns in whatever manner seems appropriate. Then, after all the players have epilogued, the GM gets to add his two cents worth. The events of the epilogue are assumed to happen during the downtime between adventures.

Unless things go horribly awry, Man Day Adventures meets again this Saturday. I don’t know if we’ll get an entire adventure done that day. I’m thinking not, but, regardless, I think I’m going to introduce epiloguing to the group and see what happens.

Might be fun.

Tags: Convention Gaming, game play

Again, I’m not quite sure I’m a reflective enough gamer to complete the 30-Day D&D Challenge in its literal intent. I’ve run so many adventures for just about every version of D&D that I’m not sure I can pick a favorite one. I can, however, at least pick out one adventure that I’ve enjoyed, specifically The Lost Caverns of Tsojcanth. I’ve run this delightful module three different times that I remember. I’ve never had a party of adventurers complete the module with what could be called rousing success. Two parties failed; the third survived but unleashed a horrible evil.

The first time I ran Lost Caverns was in high school. I don’t remember everyone who played. Fred was there, probably running Blake. Big Greg was there, and he definitely ran a cleric of Poseidon. (Why Poseidon was a deity in the World of Greyhawk is a mystery.) There were other players, perhaps Little Greg, the other Mark, and Ben. Someone was playing a cleric of Thor.

Regardless, the adventure proceeded apace through the lesser caverns until the party reached the gorgimera cavern. Aside from the gorgimera, there were stairs leading from this cavern down to the greater caverns. I described how the gorgimera took wing as the party entered, maneuvering to attack. For some reason I’ve forgotten, the players sort of panicked, especially Big Greg. The cleric of Poseidon had a necklace of prayer beads that included the bead of summoning. So, Big Greg, thinking that the party needed direct divine assistance against the fearsome gorgimera, used this bead to call forth Poseidon himself.

I described how Poseidon appeared in all his divine majesty. How the stones shook. How the cavern grew larger to accommodate his awesome stature. How Poseidon casually swatted the gorgimera from the air, killing it, and then asked, “For what great purpose have you summoned me?”

This was not what Big Greg expected to happen, and Poseidon was displeased to have been summoned for so trivial as task of slaying a mere gorgimera. In tribute, he demanded one magic item from each party member. The cleric of Thor balked. Poseidon reminded his cleric (Big Greg’s PC) that “[n]o cleric [of a Greek mythos deity] may have dealings with clerics of other sects for any reason (on non-hostile terms) as this is considered a minor transgression by their deity and punishable by the stripping away of the third and higher levels of spells for a lunar month” (1E Deities & Demigods). Poseidon demanded his cleric teach the cleric of Thor a lesson in manners to avoid this punishment. This resulted in a cleric versus cleric smackdown which Big Greg’s cleric won. Poseidon took as many magic items as he wanted from the defeated cleric of Thor.

Then, just before leaving, Poseidon used his prerogatives as the god of natural disasters to have an earthquake strike the caverns, collapsing the paths back out of the lesser caverns to the surface and leaving the party no choice but to head down to the greater caverns despite their weakened state.

The party continued on. They eventually faced Drelzna, and the survivors managed to return to the surface, but poorer and perhaps wiser than when they went in. Lost Caverns tore through their resources, and I think the cleric of Thor was dead by the end of the adventure.

The second time I ran Lost Caverns I was stationed at either Fort Bragg, North Carolina, or Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. I don’t remember who the players were, which might mean I wasn’t running the adventure for my regular gaming groups at those duty stations. (That would be either the group with Wayne Royals or with Lewis Pulsipher at Fort Bragg, or the group with Ron Chance [no relation] at Schofield.)

Anyhoo, what I do remember transpired in the greater caverns, so I’m guessing the group did okay in the lesser caverns. I think it was during the fight against the demonic bar-lguras that one of the PCs died. The party retreated and, by accident, ended up in the cave with the chasme demons. Since the party had just suffered a defeat, I decided the chasme would be more conversational than confrontational.

For some reason, the players decided to trust the demonic fly monsters. I mean, what could go wrong? Right?

Turns out, plenty went wrong. The adventurers lamented the loss of their party member, and asked if the chasmes could help. One of them assured the PCs that, yes, it could restore the dead to life, but the process took a little time. The party agreed, and so the chasme rammed its proboscis into the corpse’s chest and pumped in a load of demonological goo. (By this time, I was just making stuff up as I went along.) The chasme told the adventurers to take the corpse with them, and after a while he would revive.

So, the adventurers took the corpse with them, and after a while the cadaver exploded, releasing several more chasme that had spawned from the demonological goo. At this time, the other chasme and the bar-lgura ambushed the party. During the resulting slaughter of PCs, two of the adventurers fled in terror, desperately hoping to find some safe haven. They found it by blundering into the magical cavern which teleported them into an alternate dimension valley populated by centaurs. Without the means to return to the cavern, and with the rest of the party dead, that particular foray into the caverns came to a screeching halt.

The last time I ran Lost Caverns was after I converted the module to 3E/3.5E for Man Day. The adventure became part of the campaign’s metaplot that pitted the PCs against a gradually revealed plot by forces loyal to Nerull, Erythnul, and Hextor to conquer a large swath of the World of Greyhawk. I replaced Drelzna with a monster called the Abyssal Mind, which turned out to be a fiendish vampiric intellect devourer.

This last group was the most successful, completing the modified module with no PC deaths (as far as I can remember). Unfortunately, they did fail to defeat the Abyssal Mind, and that horrible monster escaped its prison in the greater caverns to spread its evil on the surface. This was sort of recurring motif in that particular campaign. The PCs would defeat the forces of badness, but some element of badness would escape in order to cause trouble later on, such as when the adventurers were manipulated into freeing the Deathless One, a lich in service to Nerull.

But that’s another story.

Tags: 30 Day D&D Challenge, dungeon crawls, monsters

This past week hasn’t been a good week for getting game stuff done. I was out of town much of the week visiting Ridgeview Classical Schools in Fort Collins, Colorado. Their mission, philosophy, et cetera, are very similar to ours where I teach in Katy, Texas, so my school sent me and two other teachers there to kick down doors and loot ideas.

So, about game stuff: A couple of weeks ago, Man Day Adventures kicked off the first session of our new Stars Without Number campaign, meta-titled Amazing Future Tales. As the GM, I’ve decided to pummel the heck out SWN with rules stolen from other games. You can read about the first session here. You can check out the wacky house rules here.

Assuming you read the first session, you noticed one of the characters issuing assignments to the other characters. I didn’t plan that. The players, especially Terry, made all of that up on the spot. I liked that. It made the story more theirs and less mine. It also keeps me from having do prep work as a GM. I’ve got a bare-bones plot for the adventure. I’m ad-libbing the rest with the help of the players. How can that be a bad thing?

A few weeks ago, I played a session of InSpectres. In that game, players have wide-ranging ability to determine specific plot elements, in effect making up the plot as the game progresses. It was a hoot and a half.

To explain simply, characters have a certain number of dice divided between four broad areas of competence. The characters interact with the game environment, the player rolls the applicable number of dice, and the highest result (most of the time) determines how much of the narrative is controlled by whom. A really great die roll means the player has almost carte blanche to determine the result of the roll. Lesser results impose specific restrictions, and the least results give the GM the carte blanche.

I’m mulling using a modified version of the InSpectres narrative resolution mechanic with Amazing Future Tales. At the moment, I’m not quite sure what that’d look like. My initial instinct is for each player to have a pool of “story dice” that they can use to determine results. The player decides how many “story dice” to use for a given situation. The more dice rolled, the greater the chance the player gets to dictate the results. Once “story dice” are used, they are deducted from the player’s pool.

For example, let’s say that the players have just uncovered something mysterious (such as the man who attacked A.J. in our first session). As the GM, I don’t know who this man is. Wes said he wanted to see how combat worked, so I had his character get ambushed. Maybe one of the players, however, has a good idea about who this man is. Let’s say this player is Gary.

Gary decides to spend a couple of “story dice”. He rolls and gets a good result. Gary can then make his idea about the man’s identity, circumstances, et cetera, an official part of the story.

Gary could say, “Well, after we get him cleaned up, I recognize him as a researcher from a different station closer to the coast. He’s weak and feverish from exposure and sickness, but he could provide important information about what’s really going on the jungle.”

Could I have come up with that on my own? Obviously, since I just did, but that’s not the point. The point is that one of my players gets to help shape the narrative-in-progress to make the story more like what he wants it to be.

Again, how can that be a bad thing?

Tags: Amazing Future Tales, game play, Stars Without Number