Thieves and Assassins Setting Traps

At last, a subject I've been too lazy to address.  Here, Tardigrade's comment earlier today was prescient:

"... By pointless I mean, situations where that skill is needed will hardly, if ever, come up. For example, in a funhouse style dungeon, traps are everywhere. In a magical 15th century setting, who in the world is building crossbow traps or putting needle traps in chests? Find and remove traps becomes a solution looking for a problem."

I can count the number of times I've had a player ask to set up a trap in a game on one hand.  If I add the times I've done it in someone else's game, double that number sounds about right.  Unquestionably, there ought to be players out there who would set traps up with every session, two or three times a session, if they had a mind for it.  Yet somehow, most people have an inherent sense that traps are a cruel and improper form of warfare; or they have a sneaking suspicion the trap's going to go off in their face and they'd rather not deal with it.

So, although I do mean to get around to substantively creating exhaustive rules on how to make traps, and exactly what sort of traps can be made with how much knowledge, I haven't had any call for it.  Players with the opportunity to pursue the ability don't.  When they have the ability they don't use it.  As such, Tardigrade's comment doesn't only apply to removing traps but setting them as well.

Which I find odd.  Since my beginning to play, there has been a love affair between players and traps that can be definitely be found in fetish land.  They're hardly covered in the original books, at least mechanically, but they're scattered everywhere in every dungeon environment like poplar fluff in late May.  The common examples like arrow traps, spear traps, falling blocks and doors, sliding walls, oil that pours out from the ceiling so that the trap can light it with a match, even illusionary walls, had to wait for pamphlets full of tricks and traps to explain how they worked, precisely ... and always in a way that would barely work with 20th century skills (remembering these ideas all come from the last century), much less the late 13th century, when most D&D takes place (that being the approximate era where Gygax's vision of combat, politics and social development coincide).

I've discussed this before, but briefly: traps are a problem.  It's nice if a trap pares a few hit points off a player, though in modern versions this is repaired with a fingersnap.  If a trap actually kills someone its a DM-Player relation problem.  It's not like a random encounter with a motivated tick ("enthusias-tick"), where the creature would probably have been dispatched early if the party hadn't been sloppy or unlucky.  Killer traps are designed to kill player characters, forcing us to ask, why does this trap even exist?  What game purpose does it serve?  Certainly not experience; and while traps might add a little tension, they're also a motivational wet blanket.  Take the trap out of the dungeon and players DON'T miss them; I've never had a party reach the end of a dungeon and tell me how disappointed they were it didn't have "more traps."

Which is why I feel the balance of traps ought to be in the player's hands; and like other skilled abilities, knowledgeable players ought to set up the same trap over and over with fail-safe capability.  A simple penalty can be imposed regarding how long it takes to set up a complex trap, how long to take it down and how the pieces have to be transported, as well as how much knowledge you have to have and how much the pieces cost.  This is only sensible.

And irrational traps that employ illusionary technology that doesn't exist in the books; or machinery that doesn't rust or seize up from dust; or heavy pieces under tension that just don't give even though the trap was set 8 years ago; well, either these things have to be explained "in game" by some form of magic, material or profoundly secret knowledge just not available to the common person.

Additionally, any one with trap setting skill ought to be able to "smell" a trap, within reason.  This constant "checking for traps" jargon is timewasting, dull and unneeded.  If skilled characters walk within 10 feet of a trap, whether or not they're looking, say, "Something is wrong."

"What?" asks the player.

"There are scratches around the door that no one else could see, but suggest to you that there's been some 'special work' done here.  You suspect a trap."

"Hm.  I look around the door."

I know.  DM's don't do this because, as ever, they think "the unknown" has this magic fairy dust that turns every straw campaign into gold.  But letting the players know up front that there's a trap draws their attention, gains their interest, makes them feel in control of their environment, which stuffs their chests full of pride and doesn't change a damn thing about still having to get past the trap without fucking up.  As I said with my last post, hiding information from a player is a bug, not a feature.

Trappings

Traps are a fetish.

Earlier today, Dennis Laffey posted about them, citing a few comments from this blog.  There he discusses the logic of traps, their general value and how we ought to consider them.  My feeling is that he skips over certain factors about traps; factors that we'd rather skip over because, to be frank, they spoil the show.

If we can forget for a moment the irrationality of moving parts still in a state where not only can they function after centuries, but apparently reset themselves, how was this trap even made?

This is screenshot from the movie, just as Indy dives for the floor.  Note the slot on the same floor.  Here's the same shot a split second later:

This is the second blade cutting across the floor [apparently, it's not enough to kneel before god, it's also important to forward roll immediately thereafter ~ I don't remember that move in church, but to see a whole congregation doing it would have been pretty funny].

Where is this light coming from?

Again, how was this trap made?  We get a shot of these wooden gears above what appears to be a pit, but Indy doesn't give this possible accessway a glance.

It's painfully evident from both shots that the center of the blade is equal with the rock face, which means the fulcrum of the blade would have to skim the edge of the rock ~ the need to provide the folcrum with space would have made a huge slot in the rock that would have been immediately obvious.  And where exactly is the mechanism?  Buried in solid rock?  Plus I must point out the glistening quality of the steel, plus the SIZE of the blades, whom someone brilliantly fashioned on an anvil to be so perfectly flat that it would disappear in a slot so narrow it isn't supposed to be visible.

But ... NONE of that matters, because it isn't supposed to matter.  We're supposed to overlook it, because this is fantasy adventure, because the Grail isn't real either, so who really gives a shit?  The film insists that we are supposed to just go with it, because it's fun.

But here's the thing.  The Last Crusade spends about half an hour of screen time doing everything it can to feed the theory that the Cup, for all it's magical properties, is real.  We're fed a steady stream of semi-literate history, we're pounded with the magnificent genius of these two archeologists, his dad's life work, the incredible research it took to get the diary together, the necessity to have this profoundly detailed and researched diary ... all to feed our sense of immersion and believability.  And after all that, we're shown these two ridiculous blades and told, "Hey, look, fuck it, it's fun, don't pay too much attention."

Uh uh.  Stories don't work that way.  You don't get to spend an inordinate amount of time building credibility here so you can piss it all away there, and have me turn a blind eye.

Here's our next trap.  I won't go into the use of "Iohovah" being used by Crusader soldiers (which is a diatribe in itself), or that if "J" was the first letter, that small "E" is a long, long way away.

[and I thought Indy read the book; you know, the book that explained everything?  Was it written "J" in the book?  No, I don't think so]

Oh well, I'll continue on the mechanics presented.  So we have the fakeroo, we get to see Indy almost fall ... giving us this shot:

It is plain to see that there is no supporting pillar for the "I" that he has to step on to get past ... so how was this floor laid?  If with scaffolding, how was the wood removed, and why aren't we getting into the tomb that way?  And how is Indy hanging on, if the whole floor is unsupported?  Shouldn't the whole floor simply give way?

I presume this is a continuation of the earlier passageway behind the gears ... but again, where the hell is all this light coming from?  And why is this room lit from above?

Yeah, yeah, adventure, fun, suppress logic, blah blah blah.

How was this floor painted?  To get the right perspective would have been a clever trick, given that the only access is the bridge itself.  Scaffolding again?  Okay, so where is all the wood.  Plus, we have that downward light, which looks like sunlight.  Couldn't we just rapel into this cave at this point?  Would have saved us a lot of trouble, what with the grail crossing the seal and all that.

But yes, the plot had to show that Indy was worthy.  So the traps had to be about worthiness ... those good ol' American values like being able to perform gymnastics, spell and

The trip around the barn is to emphasize that where it comes to traps, we don't care if it makes sense.  Any of us who have been around at least five years have seen our share of nonsensical traps, and puzzles, and combinations of the two, ignoring the engineering marvel that would be necessary to put in traps that, apparently, a group of high school level students can solve and get around.  This is not a practical way to block or at least stymie access.

It doesn't begin with the movies, either (though everything from camp Batman back to cheezy films from the 1930s would have influenced the godfathers of RPGs).  The traps generation table shown is emblematic of the same problem.  There isn't room in the book to explain how any of these traps actually work, how complex, or heavy, or intricate the workings are, where the gas comes from, how exactly the door falls outward of the illusionary wall sustains itself when magic spells and wands have a shelf time, etcetera. We're expected to take these things at face value, it's just a game, the arrows just shoot out or the oil just falls from somewhere.

Yet that hypocrite Gygax writes this for the DM on page 20, when it's YOU making the trap:  "Whenever a thief or assassin character desires to set a trap, require him or her to furnish you a simple drawing to illustrate how the trap will function."

When those drawings of traps began to appear in the Dragon Magazine, then in various modules and splatbooks, it was plain to any thinking person that these Rube Goldbergs were farcical in concept and for their intended purpose.

Proper trap making is not about big, complicated death traps with multiple moving parts.  If we really want to lay down traps to keep people out, it's all about the numbers, baby.  Lots of traps, designed to wear soldiers down and wear on their resolve.  And no, I'm not talking about "contact poison," which was a huge and constant rage all through the 1980s before quietly going away.  Poison takes very little time to dry and become inert.  But dozens, scores, of simple, spiky, stabby little traps, with bamboo and hawthorne coated in feces, will make a hall unpleasant even after you know what's there.

But we don't want to make traps like that, because it's not "fun."  It's not silly.  It's not a challenge.  It's not "adventure."

Key point here.  When people start using the word "adventure" as an argument, we might as well paint unicorns on the road signs.

Half-Thoughts on Traps

The Dungeon's Front Door was going to include the following material, but it was cut for not fitting into the theme of the essay.  I thought I ought to include the content somewhere, however.

Traps are founded on well-understood principles: that they might be found anywhere; that they can be detected; that they can be deactivated . . . and if not detected or removed, that they will deliver damage, poison or some other consequence.  But are we willing to consider the possibility of traps that have no effects?

The practical joke with the little flag that pops out of the gun and says BANG! - though crass, remains disconcerting if the gun looks real.  The dungeon trap that is easily found - yet strangely difficult or even impossible to remove (because it is not, in fact, a trap) can easily tie a party up for a long time.  The party will go into it with the assumption that any trap can be removed.  Since this 'trap' has no discernable mechanism, however - what should the party do then?

We can also introduce a circumstance where the removal of one trap will guarantee the firing of a second trap.  We can play with this idea in several ways.  We can allow the players to find both traps (or all of them, if more than two are involved) with one roll, so that they can see plainly how the traps are rigged to go off.  Or we can stipulate that only some of the traps are found, depending on whether or not the thief rolls successfully for each trap.  I personally prefer the first option - because that suggests the thief could stop trap A from setting off trap B, if the cord on trap C is pulled in this manner (using the party's fighter) and if this flagstone in the corner is stood on (using the party's bard), compelling all the players to take some part.  Then if the traps go off, it could be the fault of the mage or the druid.  

There is a certain fascination, however, if the party realizes there are more traps, but they don't know how many or even how these traps are connected.  Add in that some of these traps may be 'dummies' and we have a real conundrum.  Hah.  And I keep saying that I don't like puzzles in dungeons!

We don't have to consider the impracticality of some fool putting this arrangement in place, do we?  I mean, we've seen Saw, we have other cultural references - we're just willing to accept that some premise exists.  A party, I'm sure, would think it reasonable that someone would put something valuable behind a mess like this.

Land Mines

Just because it is so interesting.

From Wikipedia, "Land Mines":

"The Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) text of the Wubei Zhi (Treatise on Armament Technology), written by Mao Yuanyi in 1628, outlined the use of land mines that were triggered by the heat of a slow-burning incandescent material in an underground bowl placed directly above the train of fuses leading to the mines buried 3 ft beneath.

The booby trap of this mine system had a mound where weapons of halberds, pikes, and lances were dug in, meant to entice the enemy to walk up the small mound and claim their stolen prize of war booty. When the weapons were removed from the mound, this movement disturbed the bowl beneath them where the butt ends of the staffs were, which in turn ignited the fuses.

According to the Wubei Huolongjing volume of the 17th century, the formula for this slow-burning incandescent material allowed it to burn continuously for 20 to 30 days without going out.

This formula included 1 lb of white sandal wood powder, 3 oz of iron rust (ferric oxide), 5 oz of 'white' charcoal powder (from quicklime), 2 oz of willow charcoal powder, 6 oz of dried, ground, and powdered red dates, and 3 oz of bran."

Incidentally, the sandalwood makes this quite expensive.