It's Simpler Than That

I once read a statement by a seamstress that a simple black dress was far more difficult to make than a fancy one. The reason being a simple "little black dress" had nothing to cover up any errors. I think this concept holds up to gaming campaigns as well, with referees believing more and more flashier detail will cover the overall poor structure of their campaigns. Note: not saying complicated campaigns are automatically in this class. 

This thought often arises when I read about gamers attempting to explain to newcomers of the OD&D rules set. Referees talk about how simple it is ... then with no trace of irony offer up pages and pages of explanations regarding how to play this simple game.

One explanation I admire about OD&D and how to approach play came from a member of the pre-publication D&D campaigns. Using a warfare analogy, which makes sense considering the backgrounds of the co-authors and beta-testers of the rules, the following concepts were put forth:

• Fighters are the infantry, the ones bearing the brunt of the fighting.
• Magic-Users are the artillery, powerful offensively but weak defensively. 
• Clerics are the support and medical corps.
• Thieves are recon and scouts, the providers of intelligence.

I like this parallel because it emphasizes salient points. Fighters are the backbone of any army and a good general will tell you no war can be one without infantry (dog-faces, ground pounders, etc.). A successful party will have several well-equipped fighters in it. Magic-Users, like artillery, have a lot of firepower and deal mass damage but are not intended to go toe-to-toe with the bad guys. Clerics are useful in either supporting the front-line fighters or healing (sorry to all the cleric players frustrated with being treated as combat medics, but if the magic boot fits ...). Finally, thieves are adept at reconnoiter and infiltration but should only be fighting as a last resort.

Like any analogy, the comparisons begin to break down with in-depth analysis, but doesn't this explanation just lay it all out in a row for you?  Of course, after using this explanation I would go on to encourage tyros to the game to expand their characters in their own directions. Just as the rules are really guidelines, so is this just a nudge in the direction they may want to go. As a player gets a handle on the rules, these give an indication of how to approach problems presented within the milieu.

The First New Monsters

If you read my last post carefully you already know this, but the first creature published outside of the original rulebooks was arguably the Mind Flayer. I say arguably because the publication date for the premier issue of The Strategic Review is Spring 1975 and Greyhawk was published in March 1975. At any rate, here are some of the monsters that appeared in the early years of the hobby.

SR 1.1: Mind Flayer. Just Mind Flayer, by the way. The label Illithid didn't show up until the AD&D Monster Manual.

SR 1.2: Roper. Incidentally, the Ranger PC class and the first of what has been jokingly called Gygax's polearm porn appeared in this issue.

SR: 1.3: Yeti, Shambling Mound, Leprechaun, Shrieker, Ghost, Naga, Wind Walker, Piercer, and the Lurker Above. Also included was an article listing some humorous monsters with a satirical bent such as the Droll, Weregamer, and Hippygriff.

SR 1.4: Clay Golem. Greyhawk gave us the flesh, stone, and iron varieties of these monsters. This one rounded out the 4 that went on to be included in AD&D Monster Manual.

SR 1.5: Rakshasa, Slithering Tracker, Trapper. This issue also had the infamous Sturmgeshutz and Sorcery article detailing the battle between fantasy forces and a German armored division.

SR: 2.1: No new monsters. The issue did have the Bard, a new PC class. It was also the first time the 9-point alignment system saw print. Included in this issue was a great deal of errata and corrigenda for Greyhawk which would also be included in later printings of that supplement.

SR 2.2: Catoblepas. Also included was a satirical monster labelled the Denebian Slime Devil.

After issue 2.2, Strategic Review became The Dragon. As one can see, every monster appearing in SR made it into the canon, if not in an OD&D supplement (like the mind flayer) then in AD&D's Monster Manual.

Well, I'll Be Flayed!

The Original Pre-Psionic Rules Mind Flayer

Quoted without permission from TSR's Strategic Review Vol. 1 Issue 1. The holder of rights to TSR's material does not, in any way, relinquish their rights to this material. It is presented here in the interests of comparison and contrast to how this monster evolved in later editions of the game.


The Mind Flayer:

Number Appearing 1-4
Armor Class 5
Move 12”
Hit Dice 8+3
% in Lair 50%
Treasure F
Magical Resistance 90%

This is a super-intelligent, man-shaped creature with four tentacles by its mouth which it uses to strike its prey. If a tentacle hits it will then penetrate to the brain, draw it forth, and the monster will devour it. It will take one to four turns for the tentacle to reach the brain, at which time the victim is dead. A Mind Flayer will flee if an encounter is going against it. Their major weapon, however, is the Mind Blast, a wave [of] PSI force with a 6" directional range and a radius of 5'. All within the radius must save as indicated or will suffer the result shown: (ranges listed are in inches, I omitted the ["] from the table)

How I Built My First Dungeon

This post is an edited cut-n-paste of an answer I gave an online friend to the question of how I designed my first dungeon.

One problem with commercial modules is they were often tournament modules or very lightly modified versions of same. This gave folks who used them for inspiration a somewhat skewed view of what a dungeon adventure should be like. I've spoken with many referees who felt frustrated their modules didn't look and play like "X" ... whether X was the B2: Keep on the Borderlands or A1-3: Against the Giants. My main inspiration OTOH was from a quote near the beginning of the first volume of rules: [a] huge ruined pile, a vast castle built by generations of mad wizards and insane geniuses. Upon my first reading of the rules all those years ago several things leapt at me: huge, ruined, vast, generations, insane, genius. This, in turn, fed into my philosophy on dungeon design.

Huge, vast ... my dungeon was, looking back on it now, a megadungeon though we didn't use that term at that time. If you've ever played Tékumel you have an idea of what my main dungeon was like. If not, I'll encapsulate. Barker (creator of Tékumel/Empire of the Petal Throne) envisioned a vast underworld complex formed by each succeeding Emperor destroying the existing city and building a new one on top of it as an example of his/her glory. Over many generations these underground ruins became quite complex and containing many disassociated connections between each former city's ruins.

I was also inspired by (of all people) Elvis Presley's Graceland mansion. I read how he would build something on his grounds to support some new hobby, then tear it down when he grew bored with it and found a new interest. I seem to recall a specific example of a slot car track (a big craze back on those days) razed in order to build a shooting range [side note: years after his death I toured Graceland with my wife and children, if you ever have the opportunity you should take it. It will teach you a lot about the American psyche.]

In this manner, I envisioned sprawling areas that might have a binding theme of some sort: monster research, undead study, steampunk machines (inspired by Tolkien's vague descriptions of fell machinery), training, etc. These areas could be completely remodeled new areas or they might be adapted from existing older areas with little or no alteration.

Mad wizard also said to me: equally mad and power hungry apprentices. The best of these might have an entire level for themselves, the less powerful (or more remedial!) of these might have (what is now known as) a sub-level off another level.

I also varied level sizes and shapes. I would tape graph paper together to make larger sheets, or layout levels based on arcane/occult symbols.

As far as planning a level? Naturally I would consider depth, ingress/egress, who occupied the level above and below (or who I tentatively thought might be below). I didn't strenuously strive for realism but I usually included some kind of water and food supply but otherwise? The sky was the limit. After all, the guys who built the place were CRAZY! I could do whatever came into my mind.

At any rate, level 1 was fairly random. Like my players, I was just learning after all ... and I had no one to mentor me beyond the brief example in Volume III of the TLBB. Level 2 and 3, designed as the players explored the first level, were more of the same but I began to develop ideas with that. Humanoid factions, demi-human enclaves, an underground (no pun intended) faction of Lawful human commandos. Finally, the wizard's forces themselves began to appear. They were opposed by an Evil High Priest and her minions who were trying to take over the dungeons for themselves. Various sub-factions of each were scattered around as the overall dungeon began to develop.

Beginning with 4th level, more themed layers began to appear. Level 4 was a town of sorts, with an uneasy peace existing under a tacit truce between all the various groups. Level 5 was a vast laboratory where bizarre creatures were experimented upon. A lot of my homegrown monsters appeared here, as well as monsters from other "realities" including many from literature. When GH came out I had the origins of the owlbear explained IMC as being from here. When Mind Flayers came out in the very first issue of The Strategic Review Issue Spring 1975 Issue 1 Volume 1, I made them the administrators of the lab and their own faction within the dungeon.

To sum up: no overarching theme beyond some kind of bizarre playground of an insane, powerful, and very rich arch-mage. He lived on the bottom level in a city populated by the minions of Chaos. Levels were sometimes themed, sub-levels were usually themed. There were lots of factions in the dungeon, association with one brought enmity with others.

I tried to keep players on their toes by throwing lots of things at them drawn from various sources. Sometimes this was to supplement my own creativity by introducing other lines of thought into my milieu. Sometimes it was laziness or artistic burnout. I tried to maintain the idea of a deadly environment with rare scattered relatively safe spots, mixing in occasional light-hearted and amusing encounters (though I tried not to veer off into slapstick comedy).

Fringe Participant

I use the concept of matrix and matrices quite often when describing my campaign milieu. Basically it means the rules I've set up for how reality works in my ... errr ... reality. Elves can't be arch-mages, humans can't simultaneously be 2 different classes at once, player-characters can't see in the dark, and so on ad infinitum and ad nauseum. For instance, I don't have cross-breed races IMC such as grizzled half-orc veteran or effete (this word can be typed with one hand) half-elf spell-slinger.

So what do I do when I get some dude or dudette who really wants to play a variant character?  Simple! I allow them to enter the milieu from outside the matrix. I make the prospective player come up with a justification for the variant PC being there. The might include an interdimensional gateway, cursed scroll, very angry deity, magical accident, and so on. If they spin a good enough tale? I allow it.

This requires a bit of adjudication on my part and a dialog with both the incoming player (and variant character) and the existing group. In this way I can keep the established boundaries of my game world while still allowing the players some freedom.

Well, It's About Surviving ... Outdoors

The Avalon Hill Gaming Company's board game Outdoor Survival (OS) gets a great deal of mention in the OD&D boxed set booklets. More than one person has questioned why, since everything needed to run a wilderness campaign is already in the rule books. The answer is rather simple: you need OS for the map board.

If the party became lost while in the wilderness, the map/board from OS came into play. This is why there are no rules in the OD&D booklets for generating random terrain: there was no need. When the party found its way again, they were moved back to the larger terrain map (Ah, yes! We're 6 miles south of where we ought to be!) and play continued from there. If players moved off the edge of the map while lost, Gary would just have them reenter from the opposite side.

The map really is handy, but with a sheet of hex paper, some map colors, and modicum of imagination you can produce something just as good. There are also a variety of maps for free created for D&D types of games available on the internet.

On a side note, I'd suggest using 6 mile hexagons for your outdoor maps as opposed to the 5 mile hex recommended in the rules. Why? Because character movement rates are generally divisible by 6 not 5. This small change will greatly ease referee burden during overland travel.

Electrum Woman & Dyna Girl!

Electrum is a not-as-beautiful-as-one-might-think alloy of silver and gold. It was listed as an optional coin in the original boxed and, depending on referee choice, was suggested to be worth either half or twice as much as gold (2 electrum to one gold coin, or 2 gold coins to 1 electrum piece). Besides being a rather ugly metal (see graphic below), electrum coins are significant for another reason.

Ever wonder why Experience Points were abbreviated XP rather than EP? According to at least one person around back on those early days, it was because of electrum pieces (EP).

And now you know!