The Ice Cave

Ran this last Friday.  Following the destruction of the goblin lair the party had encountered, and having known all along that these were merely a front for a drow elf lair further into the mountain, the party decided on a change of crew.

See, except for the two new players in my campaign, neither of whom have reached 5th level yet, all the characters involved in the goblin fight were henchfolk of the players' higher level characters.  The players had selected a "C"-crew ... as the players call them, made of 1st to 5th level characters.  It's an opportunity for a player to invest in a different class, characteristics, short-term goals and so on.  But the drow promised to be a tougher go, so the party opted to bring in the "B"-crew ... 5th to 8th level characters, excepting one 10th level thief that hasn't been run in a long time, and the two lower-level new players.  Time had to be spent bringing the character up to date before it could be used, but that didn't matter because the players had a great session.

The choice to head back to town and change parties was inspired by the players revealing a secret door through the use of the stone shape spell, on a guess, at a dead end.  This revealed a stairwell to a room filled with offal and the crucified corpses of six goblins, presumably by the drow elves to send a message.  Believing they'd found the start of the drow (they'd met a few when first entering the caves), they opted to bring in the B-crew.

Here's what the dungeon they revealed Friday:

The stairs being in the upper right, they moved down to room A ... a 15 ft. wide room (each hex is 5 ft.) that went 280 ft. straight up (A.).  This wasn't self-evident at first; infravision won't reach that high, nor with torch or lamplight.  The 10th level thief, Ivan, whose primary study is setting traps, saw right away the the first ten rungs of the ladder were designed to set off a dweomer of some kind, though what specifically couldn't be determined because it was out of sight.  Think of it as seeing an aura of residual magic, as you've learned how to do this.

The ladder's rungs would be set off by pulling down, so from within the goblin lair he made shims and deactivated the trap.  He started up, followed by the 8th level monk (Shalar), but was called back down by the 8th level illusionist (Penn), who cast ultravision on most of the party.  This made it possible to see the top, so a segment of the party climbed the ladder to the top.

B. is a room filled with blue ice, intensely cold, very slippery, with white ice coating the walls, ceiling and the top 15 rungs of the ladder.  The sharp turnaround at C. worked like a curling slide, with a 20 ft. drop over 30 ft., from the top of the ladder down to the turn.  There was a low wall, about three feet, at the top of the ladder, but as the ice coated everything, moving at all forward from the ladder's top meant probably losing footing and sweeping down into D., which at this time was unknown to the players.  It might have been a 200 foot plunge straight down, for all they knew.

Once at the top, Ivan identified the alarm spell that was set to go off when the ladder was touched below.

After much deliberation, they obtained the 20 ft. ladder from location E. on the map depicting the goblin lair.  They lashed the end of the shorter ladder, so that it laid down towards point C.  This had only the effect of allowing more players to join the group at the top, to discuss what to do next.  They lowered a rope through C., easing Ivan down around the corner, who got a look at D.

This room was filled with more blue ice, formed like a smooth frozen pool about the center; and atop this center was a 25 ft. young white dragon, sleeping.  The party had made this suggestion already, and so weren't entirely surprised; but they weren't pleased either.  Unfortunately, the dragon expert in the party, the 7th level cleric (Widda), was still back on the bottom (A.), and was one of those who hadn't benefitted from the ultravision spell.

Nonetheless, if Widda could see the dragon, she could identify how strong it was, and how dangerous; they got Widda up and helped her down the ladder to the rope.  So Widda could see (she had infravision, but by my rules this was useless in a deeply cold cave), the 4th level druid (Tavrobel) cast faerie fire on the cleric.  This emits a light glow, so in the ice cave this was enough. 

My dragons are different from AD&D, but the upshot was, 6 hit dice, 2d6 h.p. per die, near grown (so only 7/8ths of the rolled hit points) and not likely to wake up so long as loud noises and aggressive spells weren't employed.  The breath weapon, equal to the beast's hit point tally, would average about 37.  Most of the party could take that, but it's not a great way to start the destruction of a drow elf lair.

The player behind Widda (and Shalar, too) hit on setting a glyph of warding at point C.  My version of this spell allows the character to invest any spell from their lexicon into the glyph being created.  Widda's collection wasn't that great for offense spells, but it was pointed out that her cure serious wounds was reversible.  My version of that spell cures 20-48 h.p.

This was a plan.  Widda set the glyph (technically non-aggressive, as it's just a glyph), and everybody headed back down to A., taking the positions shown, backing off into the cave below the stairs (and Torvik, the 1st level ranger, on the stairs).  Ivan removed the shims from the trap, moved back and let Shalar set the trap off.  Penn, shown at the bottom of the great shaft, cast wraithform and held the spell without discharging it on herself, concentrating.

The alarm went off.  They heard a very distant roar ... then a very distant but terrific scream of pain as the dragon triggered the cause serious wounds.  It had 43 hit points, well above average; it took 32 damage from the glyph.  This was more than half, thoroughly stunning it by my rules ... unable to stop after launching itself through C., it hit the far wall at the top of the shaft for 2d6 collision damage; this took another 9 out of its hit points, leaving it with 2 remaining.  It also left the dragon at the top of a 280 ft. drop; we calculated it's relative time to react before hitting the bottom by calculating a falling velocity halved by wing resistence.  Total, 8 seconds.  Not enough time.  The illusionist went wraithform and the dragon hit the bottom, dead.  Shalar took two damage from the scales and boneshards flying round the cave.

So, technically, Widda one-offed a dragon.  There was much rejoicing.

What with exploration, deliberation, doubt, problem-solving and ultimately bringing it off, three hours passed.  We called the session.  I'm going on vacation 8 days from now, so we won't be playing again for six weeks.

A quick point about Torvik.  Though only 1st level, he was as relevant and important to the overall game as any other player.  And, despite Widda and Shalar being the only two to get any actual hands on experience (and there wasn't much, as I award only 10 pts. per h.p. done), it is a dragon and there is treasure, which everyone gets a share of; and experience from, as the risk was taken by every member of the party.  If the dragon had had more hit points; if the cure serious had done less; then there would have been at least one breathweapon for most everyone to face.

This is how, in my game, a 1st level character can join a 6-8th level party, participate and go up levels faster than other characters.  Tavrobel started with the "A"-crew six months ago, switched to the C-crew after, and is now part of the B-crew.  She's the player's only character, but soon she'll be 5th and will have a second character to become part of the C-crew.  Torvik started with the C-crew and is now with the B-crew.

Secondly, note the various ways in which rules above were used.  Ivan didn't "check" to see if he saw the trap.  He did, because that's his knowledge level.  Nor did he need to roll to deactivate it; it's a very simple trap.  Ivan has set off loads of traps in his past.  He's paid his dues.

In each case, spells and sage abilities meshed to give the players information and solve problems, often by using the spells in new and different ways.  At no time did anyone need to make anything like a "perception" check.  The party walks into a room every time and sees everything.  In no way does this diminish the experience, nor the danger, and it wastes far less time making rolls that don't really contribute to game play.  Perception is just a way for the DM to do "gotcha" moments when players fail the check.  I don't like the overuse of gotcha moments.  I prefer an upfront crisis that needs immediate, effective and sustained action.  I'll do a surprise, but usually only if the players have blundered into something without checking first.  That is, "checking" in the sense of "I look at the ladder before I climb it."

And by that, I don't mean five minutes of the character listing off everything about the ladder looked at, like many old-school game DMs insisted upon when I began playing.  "Look at the ladder" means all of that in short hand.

Finally, after forgetting to get this picture taken for a couple of months now, here's a shot of my DM table arrangement:

Caught the player next to me with her eyes closed.  The person taking the picture would be in the chair on my right.  The screen up and behind me duplicates what's on my screen ... so nothing I'm looking at is hidden.

Enjoy your own D&D games, please.

War Stories & Experience

Dead of winter and my orchids are blooming.  At least, when I bought the plant 16 months ago, that's what the tag said.  I don't really know plants.  The plant was flowering when I bought it, but the flowers were just half the size of these seen here.  After a couple of months, the flowers died, the stem died, and all that was left were the plant's fern-like green leaves.

Patiently, however, I maintained the plant, watched it grow several new stems and, some three months ago, it began to grow the stem that became these flowers ... great big white ones, 5cm, or 2 inches wide.  It's funny how small things can produce such pleasure.

Some have asked about the reference I made to the Portuguese treasure ship in a late post.  I don't wish to go into it at length, but okay.  The players contested with a giant octopus of double the book's size, several high level undead and four mind flayers.  The flayers were stripped of their "steal brain" ability, and much reduced in "psionics."   Instead, I gave them three basic abilities: (1) a singler interactive mind, so they could perfectly coordinate attacks; (2) perfect ESP, so they instantly knew the strengths and ability of all the players; and (3) the ability to jointly add to their control one player per round (with save vs. charm).  These powers were enhanced by the players having to fight underwater, and therefore having to do without most of their spells, including the 11th level druid's most cherished spell, conjure fire elemental.  There was far too much dependence in their lexicons on fire and other impractical spells under water, all around; and in any case, the flayers would have known instantly which spells they intended to cast, instantly.

This combination was devastating.  At least half the party's fighting power exists in my daughter's 9th level ranger, whose strength, +2 sword and attacks per round makes her hit like a hammer.  Once the ranger was mind controlled, the party was nearly TPK'd just dealing with her.  Thankfully, the druid has many, many hit points and simply sustained damage as the rest of the party was able to stun or kill all the mind flayers in a given round, so the mage could enfeeble the ranger with a wand and they escape with their lives.  It was very, very close.

The octopus was intelligent, as the players discovered, and did not care about the ship or the treasure; and here's a point worth discussing.  The 2nd level druid in the party, who had just joined the campaign two runnings before, used speak with animals to discuss affairs with the octopus.  She deactivated the octopus with game play, not the druid 9 levels her senior.  In your face, people who think you can't start a 1st level character with a party that's 7th to 11th level.

The party sorted themselves, went back and finished off the mind flayers (and it was close again).  This let them explore the situation.  The ship was entombed in a pile of sand and stone blocks, put in place by the mind flayers, with the stern up and the bow pointed down.  They had discovered the flayer's entrance to this and had explored a small set of rooms and discovered the ship's hull; they'd broken into that to find the bilge and the orlock below the main mast.  With the flayers dead, they perceived where the stern ought to be and used stone meld and brute force to dig down into the Captain's cabin.

That brought the last big fight between the party and a group of 2 spectres and 3 wights, all able to drain experience levels.  The party fought them, made a host of spectacular saving throws and held together their integrity ... but having reason to believe there was more of this kind of thing further into the ship (they'd encountered a wraith earlier that they'd backed away from), the party took the treasure they found in the cabin and vamoosed.

As I said, there was a lot of treasure.  This included piles and piles of boxes and trunks, including an earlier haul of silver and copper they'd found in the bottom hold.  The silver pieces amounted to 300,000 coins and the copper was 370,000 coins.

Since the party had a ship, once they were restored to their ordinary lungs, they parked the ship over the derelict and spent days lifting the treasure out.  One player had a water breathing spell and they'd made friends with the local tritons.  This meant keeping all the relatively worthless coins, since these weren't comparable in value to the jewelry, gems and gold they collected.  The silver is only worth 18,750 g.p. altogether (16 s.p. = 1 g.p.), and the copper only worth 1,927 (12 c.p. = 1 s.p.).

This has pestered me for a month now.  I like giving copper but it's a waste of time, since in gold piece value it's just not important.  Silver, too, as the players have risen, is just as wasteful.

I've made a decision about this, however, and discussed it with the party.  They agree.  The question is whether the coins shouldn't be given more value than their gold piece equivalent, just because they are coins.  In general, should the cold value of items be the only factor in determining their experience?  If I obtain a plate and cup used by an enemy, I have the memory from whence those objects came ... that should have relevance as to the experience I gain as a plunderer.

I propose giving 1 x.p. per 3 silver pieces ... and measuring objects that would normally be listed on the experience table as costing silver coins on these same lines.  If a sack of wheat worth 15 s.p. is seized, then it would be worth 5 experience ... even though it's technically worth less than a single gold.  But not because of what it's worth, but because of what it is.

In turn, 1 x.p. would be given per 5 copper pieces, along these same lines.

Naturally, were this the case, I'd have poured out less than 300 thousand silver.  Or, perhaps, I've have given less actual gold.  The silver would be worth 100,000 experience.

I see great benefits to this.  Small, "worthless" items wouldn't be, and in general I could award treasure without challenging the balance of wealth vs. player costs quite so much, which matters as the players move into higher levels.  I see a similar benefit with low level parties, who could count on meaningful experience returns on smaller amounts: a group of goblins, say, carrying a paltry total of 30 s.p. and 90 c.p.  Altogether, that's 28 x.p. for treasure.  It wouldn't even be 2 if we counted only it's gold value.

As I said, the party's agreed.  Why not?  Experience is experience.

Nasty

I haven't pitched at a trade show since my 20s, and I must admit I have some reservations.  By my count, the Fan Expo is 23 days away, but already I have had it demonstrated to me what the biggest problem is going to be.

War stories.

I'm going to be sitting at a table selling a book about role-playing, but there are going to be far too many RPGamers who will see that as an opportunity to spill their guts about their worlds, their game design, their personal insights and gawd knows what other crap encircling their lonely, unsupported viewpoint of the hobby.

Twice in the last week I have had someone launch into a theoretical rant about what role-playing games are and what DMs need to do - despite their knowing that I've just finished a researched book on the subject.  One very well meaning friend did it just a couple hours after purchasing the Guide . . . but I don't fault him.  People love to talk about role-playing.  So as long as I'm selling the book, I'm not going to be an 'expert,' I'm going to be a confessor.

That is more than clear.

I have met this one type, however, that confounds me.  This is the fellow (I haven't met the girl version yet) who sees the book as a challenge - perhaps a threat.  They want to come over and let me know very clearly that they're a great DM, they know everything they need to know, they certainly don't need a book . . . and somehow it is very, very important that I know all this.

Any time that I have pitched, it has been for other people.  I did sell advertising for a small zine I ran during the 90s but that's not the same as hitting random people in a crowd.  As I've gotten older, I've come to understand a bit better why some of those guys I worked for years ago were such pricks. They had to be deluded about their products.  They had invested heavily - usually too heavily - in product they had to move and they weren't able to view the process from any position except with mixed ambition and desperation.

I am pleased that I am not in a place where I'm desperate.  There's no question I need to sell, but since I find the aspect of pitching the Guide as helpful and positive for the reader, I am not thinking 100% about me and my bottom line.  My bottom line is in a good, comfortable place right now.  People seem to like the book, the content, the look and the ideal.  That's a sound, reassuring mental viewpoint to start from.  I feel confident, I feel ready.

But I am going to have to move those challengers off the reservation when the time comes, because I know they're not going to buy the book.  It's going to be a matter of principle with them.  In the bigger picture, even if they were to buy, after much work, they're going to be a wet blanket for everyone else. For that challenger, the conflict is going to exist between him and me.  He's going to push that conflict, because what he's selling is intimidation, conceit and very much repressed fear.

For me, there is no conflict. I'm right, I did the research, I worked like hell on the book and I can't help everyone.  I don't care if this guy 'gets it.'  I don't care if he buys.  I only care that he takes his conceit on the road.  I've paid for the table; I have to be here.  As he's paid for the privilege of walking through the Expo, I want him to keep walking.

I'm still working on how to make him do that.  I'd like to kick him in both shins, then have a private security guard drag him off and explain life to him somewhere private connected to the loading dock, but that's not realistic.  It will be going through my mind, however.  Any lesser confrontational stance is only going to encourage the guy, so I'll have to be polite.  The right words, however, haven't leapt into my mind yet.  I'm sure I'll get some practice.  I'll figure it out.

It's a pity that the hobby contains so many people who have adopted a "me me, me me me, me me me me me me me" perspective on things.  Were the gentle reader and I to meet at the Expo, the reader would find I'm not prepared to talk about my world.  I'm not prepared to talk about the system I'm using or the recent events that happened in my campaign or even what rules/structure I'm working on at the moment.  I will talk about the Guide.  I'm obviously there to sell that.  But in true form, I will be interested in describing the Guide to the reader from the perspective of what the Guide will do for the reader, not what it has done for me.

The reason salespeople do that is because they understand the buyer isn't interested in anything except the buyer.  It is all about the listener.  Why should you give a shit about my book if there's nothing in it about you?  You shouldn't.  I have to convince you that the book was written with you in mind - and then the book has to make good on that promise, or else you'll have nothing good to say about it.

Good writing is a self-less act.  Very few writers understand that; thus, there are very few good writers.

The fellow who collars you to tell you about what happened to him and his last session is the worst storyteller imaginable.  His story is all "me me me."  It has nothing to do with you or me, the listeners - because in no way can we relate to whatever the hell he's saying.  Almost immediately, he's describing some rule the story turns on that we think is dumb or with which we don't play, or which we find makes the story obvious and pedantic - as in, "Well of course, you idiot, did you never have that rule play out before?"  We have nothing invested in his story.  We want him to just stop.

To tell a story, you must begin from the premise, "What does the listener wish to hear?"  To do that, you must have some understanding of why the listener is here, what the listener's agenda is, what the listener is looking for, who the listener is and how the listener wishes to be addressed.  All of that demands subverting the self.

Someone will say, "Alexis, you are the biggest asshole in the RPG community. You're a conceited fraud!"

Am I?  Or have you read this far because you haven't been able to help yourself.  Because this has all been about you, or people you've met.  Has it angered you because I'm selfishly speaking about myself, or has it angered you because you're the subject?  And isn't that what I've been saying?  To make the story about the reader?

I haven't said, be kind to the reader.  I've proposed that one must be aware of, and directed towards, the reader.  And I am.  On the blog, I'm abusive because that's what this community needs.  A good shaking.  A bit of life explained on a loading dock.

But only a fool thinks this is the only way I can write, or the only subject I can write about.  The Guide is about improving your game.  That's all the Guide is about.  The blog, on the other hand, is about improving the world.  Demands a completely different writing style.  The Guide will only be bought by the curious, the affluent, the connoisseur.  The blog is read by anyone whose bored.  Completely different audience.  A completely different approach is needed.

Ah, well.  I was talking about people telling war stories.  And how annoying that is.  And how in 23 days I'm going to be standing in front of a table full of my books and listening to some boring, narcissistic fellow prattle on and on about how his world is a mixture of four different systems I consider to all be shit.  And I will look at him, and do my very best to point out that the book is non-genre and non-system specific.  And that as long as he's here at the Expo, he really should consider picking up a copy.  Then I will push a passage or section on him, and then when it's clear he's totally ignoring me so he can talk more about his world, I will pitch at a random stranger walking by or turn and ask an unrelated question of my daughter, to make it clear to this schnook that I'm not his utility. With luck, he will get the hint.

I wouldn't want having to get nasty.


UPDATE:

Hm.  I have just had a moment of clarity, thinking upon what I wrote earlier this morning.

I know, gentle reader, how volatile I am.  I know how hard I can be.  How rigid.  How unpleasantly certain.

I was only just thinking that the number one complaint about this blog, if one will go read condemnation of me elsewhere, is the accusation that I don't allow disagreement from commenters. That isn't true, as the comment field attests, but that is nevertheless the accusation - and the accusation, I believe, says something about the accuser.

Why, precisely, is it that people become so irate when they perceive they are not allowed to enter into someone else's space in order to disagree with them.  I'm not disallowing anyone to disagree with me; I'm only disallowing them to do it here in a particular way that I find reprehensible.  I disagree with people all the time, I write it quite openly, I don't feel any limitations on my freedom of speech and I'm certainly heard when I attack others - because they come HERE and read me.

Is it, perhaps, that they don't feel as certain that I will go THERE and read their anger?  Is it that they need reassurance that they can control the dialogue on this space, specifically, in a negative way?  That is, after all, their stated agenda: they wish to disagree.  They demand to disagree and to be allowed to disagree where they will!  Damn it, nothing less will satisfy them.

I find that intriguing.  Why should they care?  Why does it matter to them?  Why is it that their 'freedom' hinges upon their right to be negative?

Well, I think I know.  I think the reader knows, too.

Fountain Tricks

I had such a fortuitous event in a campaign the other day, I had to write about it.

One of my parties has been climbing steadily into the back country of the Albanian Mountains, and had reached the town of Ohrid on the lake of the same name, on the border of modern day Macedonia. I had conceived of the town as a center for the study of thaumaturgy, music and ecclesiastical magic, and I had conceived of a trick to pull on the party.

When the party arrived, the town was having a festival. The party were permitted access through the gates, and were encouraged by the townspeople to drink and be merry. After having sold the magical nature of the town, the party was asked repeatedly if they had "tried their luck." Everyone in the town was trying their luck, which was an event where each person waited in line to turn the wheel on the town's magic fountain. The fountain was huge, and it measured - so they said - the amount of actual luck the wheel-turning individual actually possessed, or would possess for the next year.

The party naturally got in line.

As each person ahead of them turned the wheel, the fountain produced differing amounts of water, which quickly dried up. It was clear the fountain was magical. People around the party talked about their luck last year, and I described how some people were moderately lucky, and some were not lucky at all (no water). There were six tiers to the fountain, and no one ahead of the party filled better than the third tier.

The party got their turn; I had them roll a d20, then turn the crank and measure their luck. I explained that the second person's luck was determined by their own roll, and the first person's (since they were in the party together, the other members of the party who turned the wheel before affected the luck they had).

When the last party member went, they rolled a 1 on a d20. The fountain turned into a geyser, the town went mad with glee, all the tiers filled to overflowing and the luckiest person in the party had been found!

It was SO convenient that the last player had rolled a 1.

A foot pedal controlled the fountain. I had planned to make the fountain roll and flow at full volume no matter what the last player rolled - the town was simply waiting for someone tough and capable (and foreign) to step up. Afterwards, the pasha of the town wined and dined the party, gave them whatever they wished for (including magic potions), gave them all the information about their journey they could wish, and asked for just a little favor - could they please join a group of three magi descending into an oracle to give the beast within a present. The luckiest person in the world, surely, could keep the three magi safe.

In the middle of this sales pitch, the party stopped and laughed to themselves about how well I was role-playing the pasha, how interesting it all was, what they were going to do with their good fortune, etc ... while I managed to keep my face as straight as necessary. Loaded up with potions, the party descended into the oracle with the magi, who then vanished as the doors above were closed. For the party, one townsmember sacrificed himself to try to inform the party, so the party learned - too late - that the whole thing was a ploy. The potions were not potions, the fountain did not measure luck (as I said, it operated via a foot pedal, secretly used by the overseer of the fountain), and the party was screwed.

Was it fair? Of course. I absolutely figured I would fail to convince the party to go down the well that was the oracle - and then one of the party members rolled a 1. Ah, the magic of numbers. After the 1 was rolled, it was easy to believe everything the pasha and his court said.

The world is full of nasties.

So the party managed to determine their in a dungeon with a minotaur (who they saw, but haven't met yet), and a group of lepers. Fun times.