On Monster Manuals

I recently picked up Skerples's The Monster Overhaul and have been using it to spice up classic monsters in my AD&D 2e campaign. It's a great book, with lots of random tables, advice, and generic maps that go along with the featured monsters. Despite that, it's not everything I want out of a bestiary, but I'm yet to find any single book that is.

When I run a D&D game, my primary bestiary is always the Monster Manual for that edition of the game. I like to run the edition "as is" for a while to get a feel for it before I start tweaking things or creating new stuff, so in a similar vein, I try to run the monsters by the book for a bit as well. After a while, I develop a sense for which monsters are particularly potent or not, and which ones are fun or boring to use, and I make adjustments as needed.

But again, no bestiary has proven to be everything I want it to be. So, I like to supplement the primary text with Monster Manuals from other editions, third party products like The Monster Overhaul, folklore and medieval bestiaries, and inspiration from books, films, video games, and the like. Sometimes I just Google "[monster name]" and see if I can find anything interesting on wikis, Reddit, YouTube, and the like (as much as I may denigrate D&D Redditors and YouTubers, they are occasionally capable of producing interesting ideas).

Seeing as how I've not found a single bestiary to rule them all, it got me thinking about what exactly is everything I would want out of a bestiary. What is my ideal Monster Manual? To answer that question, I'll look at past and present Monster Manuals, what I like about them, and what I feel they're missing.

Lost Knowledge

The actual descriptions of the monsters in original D&D's Book II: Monsters and Treasure are pretty sparse, but charming and utilitarian in their presentation. The book introduces a few details which are important to me, which no longer appear in modern Monster Manuals: number appearing, % in lair, and treasure type. A few entries also have miscellaneous information like when, how many, and what types of leaders are present in a group (for example, 30 bandits will be lead by a 4th-level Fighting-Man), or whether an orc band is transporting a wagon train, how many wagons there are, and how much gold they're carrying. By comparison, modern D&D Monster Manuals have none of the above guidance, and they rarely get so specific about things like group composition or wagon train contents (for better or worse). 

In 5e, four to six young red dragons might be a "balanced" encounter for a party of six 20th-level characters, but does it "make sense" in the context of the fictional world? How many dragons typically travel together? The answer can be whatever the DM wants it to be, but this wasn't always the case: OD&D tells me that one to four dragons will be encountered - two dragons will be a mated pair of adults, and any additional dragons will be very young offspring of the two.

I know, of course, that most dragons - particularly a family of dragons - will have a lair, but unless I intentionally place a dragon's lair on my map, how do I know when one is found? OD&D tells me that randomly encountered dragons are 60% likely to be in their lair. We can also intuit from the % in lair value how significant the lair is to the monster - dragons are encountered in their lair more often than not, while elementals, by comparison, never are (presumably, they don't have lairs).

Obviously, dragons hoard treasure. In 5e, treasure hoards are generated based on a monster's CR. CRs are broken into tiers (1-4, 5-10, 11-16, and 17+) and, aside from the whims of the dice, hoards within a certain tier are identical, so an ancient red dragon's treasure hoard will be comparable to and maybe indistinguishable from a Demon Lord's (Fizban's Treasury of Dragons does change this, but hopefully my point is still clear - if not, imagine that I'm using any monster other than dragons as my example). OD&D tells me how big of a hoard (if any) and what type of treasure different monsters collect. Some collect primarily coins, or gems, or art objects, or magic items. Some don't collect treasure at all. Dragons have treasure type H, which is more or less the largest type of hoard in the game.

5e has "leader-type" monsters like the goblin boss, hobgoblin warlord, and bugbear chief, but little information is provided as to how these monsters actually organize themselves into groups. Not only do I not know how many goblins typically make up a dungeon gang, wilderness scouting party, or warband - I also don't know how many goblins are typically marshalled under a boss, or in their lair, how many bosses might be present. Certain 5e books - like Volo's Guide to Monsters, Fizban's Treasury of Dragons, and Bigby Presents: Glory of the Giants - have details like these for certain monsters, and it's no surprise that these more specific monster manuals are some of my favorite - and some of the most useful - modern D&D supplements.

Now, I want to take a quick detour to the 1981 D&D Basic Set, because I think this is the first time individual monster types are given their own morale scores (OD&D had morale rules based on Chainmail, but I don't think morale scores became a part of monster "statblocks" until Basic - I'm happy to be corrected if I'm wrong). With unique morale scores for each monster, the DM is given a simple metric for determining which monsters are more or less likely to run at the first sign of trouble or fight to the death, as well as those - like most undead - which never flee, no matter what, making them especially dangerous opponents.

5e has an extremely lacking optional rule for morale which is just a DC 10 Wisdom saving throw for every monster. Aside from that, the default assumption, presumably, is that the DM simply decides if and when it makes sense for the monsters to flee. I've written before about 5e's underwhelming morale mechanics and how I handle morale in my own 5e games.

It probably sounds like I'm being willfully obtuse. It's not especially onerous for a DM to figure out on their own how many dragons should appear in a group, something as simple as a coin flip could determine whether they're encountered in their lair or not, any remotely genre-savvy DM knows that dragons have big hoards of treasure, the number of goblins under a goblin boss is however many I need for the "story", or however many makes for a "balanced" encounter, and I have a pretty good idea of which monsters are likely to flee a combat and when. 

But, as someone who is imagining so much and making so many decisions already in order to prepare for a game, I appreciate the guidelines which are provided in a Monster Manual like this. They obviate the need for me to imagine or decide yet another thing for myself. One could also argue that because these details are all a matter of setting, their exclusion provides the DM more "freedom" to decide what they want for their unique world. However, the 5e Monster Manual is not setting-agnostic - every bit of flavor text assumes the DM is using the default Forgotten Realms setting. If it's fine to include those details, why not these other guidelines from Monster Manuals of old? Even if they were included, the DM is still free to change whatever they like.

Fantastic Naturalism

AD&D's Monster Manual provides a hint of what's to come in 2e's Monstrous Manual. This is where we get what I call "companion monsters", or monsters that are typically found in the lairs of other monsters. For example, 60% of goblin lairs will be protected by 5-30 huge wolves, and 20% will contain 2-12 bugbears. 

Like with OD&D's detailed accounting of "leader-types", these still serve a gameplay function- in OD&D, it's important to detail the number of bandit leaders because the player characters might end up fighting them, and the same can be said of AD&D's wolf- and bugbear-filled goblin lairs.

However, AD&D is also where "Gygaxian Naturalism" explodes. That is, we start to get a lot of information that serves seemingly little or no gameplay function:

"The intention behind Gygaxian Naturalism is to paint a picture of a "real" world, which is to say, a world that exists for reasons other than purely gaming ones. The implication is that monsters have lives of their own and thus go about their business doing various things until they encounter the player characters. Exactly what they do is described by reference to game mechanics, whether it be the numbers of non-combatants in a lair or spell-like abilities that help the monster do whatever it naturally does when it's not facing off against an adventuring party."

Monsters begin to be treated like real-world animals or people. For example, a goblin lair will contain female goblins and goblin children equal to 60% and 100% of the number of male warriors, respectively. If goblins are less like monsters and more like people, it only makes sense that they would have children in their lairs. 

Sometimes these creatures are given stats, like "infant giants fight as ogres", but more often than not, the assumption seems to be that they are noncombatants. They could serve other gameplay functions - maybe the player characters need to sneak through a nursery of slumbering goblin infants, or could (Evilly) occupy said nursery and use the infant hostages to draw out the goblin chief - but more often than not, as in The Keep on the Borderlands, the grisly implication is genocidal - if the players want to wipe out the goblin lair, they better be ready to butcher a bunch of goblin workers, wet nurses, and children!

This is ultimately a matter of taste. For me, if a campaign is going to feature a quest like cleaning out the Caves of Chaos, then in that campaign, monsters are going to be monsters - the goblins spawn out of the underworld fully formed, supernatural and Evil, and must be destroyed at their magical root. If instead goblins are like people, then any quest involving goblins will be much more nuanced and reflective of real-world conflicts between people - they won't be inherently Evil, and the goal of the quest will never be to go kill all of them in their home (but certainly, if the characters are Evil, that is an avenue they might pursue).

As a result of Gygaxian Naturalism, we also get nice little tidbits like 75% of griffon lairs will have one or two eggs or fledgling griffons for every two adult griffons. Fledgling griffons sell for 5,000 gold pieces and eggs sell for 2,000 gold pieces. One could argue that this is problematic in another way, in that money-hungry players (i.e., most players) are incentivized to go out and drive griffons into extinction in order to make a quick buck. 

I like it though, mostly because it generates a quest hook other than "slay the griffons" (i.e., "acquire a griffon egg or fledgling griffon", which doesn't necessitate killing the griffons), and because it allows player characters to obtain young griffons which they could potentially raise and train as mounts, which is fantastic in the literal sense. It is also up to the players to decide if the coin is worth compromising their characters' morals (if they have any). In my 2e game, the party declined a quest from an Evil wizard who wanted them to acquire pegasus eggs for his sinister experiments. Later, they encountered an adventuring party who gleefully took the wizard up on this job, which provided an Evil contrast to the party's Goodness.

The 2e Monstrous Manual is one of my favorite bestiaries of all time (in no small part due to Tony DiTerlizzi's evocative and stylized illustrations). It terms of statistics, it adds little compared to 1e's Monster Manual, but for better or worse, it goes all in on Gygaxian Naturalism. If AD&D 1e is the encyclopedia of D&D in general, 2e is the edition which produced D&D's encyclopedia of monsters.

The text describing each monster is incredibly exhaustive compared to OD&D's and 1e's sparse and often ambiguous entries. The downside is that a good amount of the monsters' game mechanics are buried within paragraphs of what would now be described as "flavor text". When running 2e, I often have to make a bulleted list of notes to accompany the monsters I want to use. As a result, it's not super useful at the table (my random encounters in the wilderness often suffer from a few minutes of dead air while I skim the monster's description for relevant game information), but it's terrific if one has the leisure of reading ahead of time, as it offers an abundance of inspiration.

Modern Manuals

All of this is not to say that I don't like D&D's modern Monster Manuals. I actually quite like the way monsters are presented in 5e's Monster Manual (as usual, I am skipping 3e and 4e because I never DMed either edition, so I'm not super familiar with those entries). 5e's statblocks have most of the information a DM needs. 

I like that the monsters have ability scores and skills (which I think began in 3e), which allow them to interact with the system in much the same way as players (even if I don't see why I might ever need to know how good a monster is at Persuasion or Performance). I like that monster's actions, bonus actions, reactions, and special defenses are all plainly stated. 

5e has an at times bizarre and obtuse rules vernacular that requires some research to parse, but once I familiarized myself with the lingo, I found it exactingly specific and easy to run. A knock-on effect of this is that spell descriptions have been greatly simplified, meaning that spellcasting monsters are no longer a pain to run (some of this is also attributable to the fact that I play online exclusively and am not fumbling around with multiple books, which makes this more difficult).

I like the addition of legendary actions, resistances, and lair actions, which make "boss" monsters more formidable and engaging to run. Some of the more powerful monsters have incredibly lengthy statblocks as a result, but because the information is organized in a standardized way, I've never found it too difficult to use. Compare 2e's dragons to 5e's dragons and let me know which one seems easier to run out of the book.

The presentation of flavor text is streamlined, too. Monster descriptions usually have two or three bolded headings which organize the information into chunks. If one imagines a spectrum of complexity from OSE's easily digestible bullet points to OD&D and 1e's snappy blurbs to 2e's lengthy and jumbled encyclopedia entries, 5e's Monster Manual is between OD&D/1e and 2e, which I think is the sweet spot.

Still, I can't help but mourn for what's been lost since 2e, and books like The Monster Overhaul make me wonder what else is possible. Aside from just mashing books from different editions together to fill in the missing pieces, what more does a Monster Manual need?

Hooks

I don't want monsters that simply exist, but monsters which do things in the world. Them being monsters, these things are often detrimental to the citizens of Fantasyland. Monsters cause problems that need to be solved. Problems generate quest hooks which adventurers can pursue. A hook can be as simple as "the monster is killing people, so adventurers are needed to kill it", but that gets boring fast.

Alternative hooks are often implied in a monster's description, but not always. More recent monster-focused 5e books like the aforementioned Fizban's and Bigby's provide tables of adventure hooks for dragons and giants respectively. Not every monster is suited to having a bunch of quest hooks tied to it, but I would be happy to have as little as a d4 table for more versatile monsters for whom it makes sense.

Goals, Personality Traits, Ideals, Bonds, and Flaws

This information is important for roleplaying monsters - after all, they don't exist solely to be battled and killed. Monster Manuals usually provide some information about what a broad type of monster generally wants and how it behaves, but they rarely account for individual variation. 

The Dungeon Master's Guide has tables for generating these details for NPCs in general, but these don't always apply easily to specific monsters. A dragon wants different things, behaves differently, and has different secrets than a giant, and the same can be said of goblins, orcs, kobolds, and the like.

I might settle for some ideas as to what different monster types might want, but I also wouldn't be mad about having one table for beholders, another for mind flayers, and another for aboleths, for example.

Lairs

This is implied or outright stated for a number of monsters, but there aren't often a variety of options presented - trolls live in troll holes, hook horrors live in cliffside caverns, and satyrs live in forest groves. I would like at least three ideas for unique places that each monster could either inhabit or be encountered in. If these options are specific to the various terrain types where the monster can be found, all the better.

I also really like the "generic" maps included in The Monster Overhaul. If I roll a random encounter in the lair of a beholder, lich, or troll, I can easily pull the book out and improvise something using a map from that book. I don't have to make something up spontaneously or go frantically Googling "beholder lair map". The 5e monster-specific books also include some generic monster lairs, which I appreciate, but I would like to see it more - generic caves, burrows, mines, dormant volcanoes, gloomy ruins, camps, shipwrecks, islands, mountain peaks, pocket planes, and so on.

Variants

This is something that's done in quite a few Monster Manuals. 2e's entry for the hydra has the standard hydra, the Lernaean hydra, the pyrohydra, and the cyrohydra. 4e I think had a variety of goblin types - for example the cutter, sharpshooter, and shaman. 5e has variants for some of its monsters as well - the deathlock, an undead warlock from Mordenkainen's Tome of Foes, has a standard version as well as variants for the Archfey, Fiend, and Great Old One warlock patrons.

It's easiest to do this with humanoids (just design them similarly to the different player character classes) and spellcasters (just change their spell list) but I don't see why we couldn't also have, for example, harpy variants - tropical bird harpies that use illusion magic instead of enchanting songs, or vulture harpies that practice necromancy, reanimating the skeletons of their victims after they've picked the bones clean. Maybe it's not a harpy anymore if its main thing isn't singing, but I don't know - D&D never seems to have a problem with bastardizing real-world mythology, which I think is fine, because D&D isn't trying to replicate real-world myths.

The Monster Overhaul is particularly good at presenting variant monsters - different types of undead dragons, more colors of "chaos frog" (slaads), and t-rexes with special attacks and abilities, for example.

Useable Materials

This element is inspired by Dungeon Meshi, which is of course a manga (and now an anime) about eating monsters. The Monster Overhaul also has some information on what different monsters taste like and what the effects of eating them are. I had a player character in my last 5e game whose whole thing was eating monsters. I like the idea, but it's not exactly why I'm bringing up Dungeon Meshi.

What really amazes me about Dungeon Meshi is how creative it is about how characters in the world make use of monsters and their materials, even if it means challenging popular conceptions about what classic D&D monsters fundamentally are (despite the fact that the original manga's author Ryoko Kui never played D&D, Dungeon Meshi is undeniably very D&D).

For example, when I saw that one episode of Dungeon Meshi was titled "Living Armor", I thought, "How in the world are they going to eat that?" Well, spoiler alert I guess, in Dungeon Meshi, living armor (or animated armor, to use D&D parlance) is actually armor inhabited by an edible mollusk creature. To give another example, mimics aren't amorphous shapechangers that imitate mundane items - they're hermit crab things that live inside of chests. The characters use golems made of earth as living vegetable gardens, and make sorbet out of ghosts. I haven't read the manga or watched all the episodes on Netflix yet, but this kind of creativity is so exciting and inspiring, and I can't wait to see what weird uses for monsters come up next. 

This reminds me of bits in the AD&D Monster Manuals where unique materials are called out for certain monsters: the aforementioned griffon eggs; ankheg chitin which can be fashioned into lightweight, strong armor; manticore pelts which sell for 10,000 gold pieces, and so on. It's not quite as exciting as some of the ideas in Dungeon Meshi, but it demonstrates that those same principles can apply to D&D. 

After all, if monsters are creatures that exist in the fictional world, it only makes sense that people in that world would have all sorts of uses for them. Perhaps kraken ink and cockatrice feathers can be used to pen powerful spells. Harpy vocal cords can be fashioned into magically enchanting string instruments. Griffon eyes can be used to craft magical lenses that grant enhanced eyesight. I don't see any reason why each monster couldn't have at least one or two such uses. This is especially true of those monsters that don't keep treasure, and so don't offer much of a reward when they're defeated.

My Own Private Monster Manual

In short, my ideal Monster Manual would have clean, detailed information about the mechanical abilities of monsters in my chosen system. The 5e Monster Manual statblocks are a good example as to how relatively complex monsters can be outlined in a specific, rules-oriented language that is (usually) easily parsed by someone who's proficient in it (although the language sometimes leaves something to be desired).

Monster entries would also have flavor text descriptions akin to slightly more detailed bullet points - perhaps three to four very short paragraphs that describe the monster in some sort of default setting which the DM is free to alter. The bulk of the description would instead be replaced by a series of tables with quest hooks, roleplaying prompts, and lists of lairs, monster variants, and usable materials for each monster.

Finally, the monster's combat statistics would be supplemented with statistics and information which root it firmly in the fictional world's imagined ecology - where is the monster found, how many of them form a group (in a dungeon, the wilderness, or a lair), what other monsters it associates with, how likely is it to be found in its lair, and what treasure can be found there.

That's quite an ambitious Monster Manual. I'm certainly not going to be the one to write it, and I don't begrudge the Monster Manuals we have for not being all of these things. The point I guess is that it's worth it for the DM to have a few different Monster Manuals in their collection, and to collate the parts into a more complete whole when possible. 

AD&D 2e Play Report: Session 20

We played the 20th session of our AD&D 2e campaign earlier this week. Last session's play report is here.

To recap, the party had concluded the previous session by ambushing a heretical priest and zombie lord, Themar, and his zombie minions. The clerics in the party used their godly powers to turn the majority of the lesser zombies. The warriors in the party - and their numerous elf henchmen - held the remaining zombies at bay and picked off the turned zombies at their leisure while a select few battled Themar. Themar unleashed a powerful burst of dark energy which instantly slew the party's beloved elf henchman, Yinvalur, and raised him as a zombie.

Eventually, the party defeated Themar, made the hard decision to kill the Yinvalur zombie. They found a bunch of gems on Themar's corpse, and we concluded the session.

Party Roster

• Bernhardt Dalton, NG human cleric 5
• Magicheart, NG pseudodragon
• Orlina, CN human cleric 1
• Corym Vadercast, NG elf fighter 3/mage 3
• Haymond Baler, LG human fighter 4
• Yuliana, NG human cleric 3
• Karven Stone, LE dwarf thief 5

The party had an hour of overland travel left in the day, and they had some elf hirelings to return, so they headed off towards the wood elf camp, which was about a day's travel from Themar's lair. As they set up camp in the forest, I rolled a random encounter. The party was approached by another group of adventurers.

I determined that this was a low-level group, and had already prepped one for such an occasion: the Combatants of Composure. This was yet another iteration on the Gladiators of Patience, and got a bemused chuckle from my players.

The Combatants, it turned out, were on their way to Ryl Themar. The party had been gone for a while, so another group had gone looking for them. The Combatants were led by the LE human fighter Corbyn, so I reasoned that they were probably hoping that the party had cleared out some of the tomb's monsters while, unfortunately, dying in the process, allowing the Combatants to mop up and take the treasure. I described the Combatants as friendly, but maybe somewhat disappointed to find the party still standing.

The party was certainly in a weakened state, but they also had a total of thirteen members (four PCs, two henchmen, and seven hirelings). The Combatants had four characters with class levels (one 2nd-level and three 1st-level) and six hirelings. If the numbers were more in their favor, the Combatants may have tried strong-arming the party into surrendering their plunder. I rolled a morale check for them and concluded that they weren't willing to risk a fight.

One of the player characters let slip that they had left a few areas of the tomb unexplored - namely, burial chambers where there might be treasure. This piqued the Combatants' interest, and they began to entertain the idea of continuing on to the tomb and poking around. The elves in the party didn't like the sound of that, and urged Corym to convince them to reconsider, or else they might have no choice but to stop them.

The party worked together to convince the Combatants that there were powerful undead still haunting the tomb, along with traps and ancient elf curses. Haymond's +6 reaction roll modifier from Charisma managed to persuade them. Instead, the Combatants joined the party at camp, intending to head back to town in the morning.

In hindsight, I could have pushed things a little more here. The wood elf camp is supposed to be a secret. The party was accompanied by a band of wood elves and wasn't immediately returning to town. The Combatants could have pressed this issue, inquiring as to where the party was headed, or even attempting to follow them there. The elves would probably have done quite a bit to prevent these brigands from finding their camp. 

That night, Corym's watch was interrupted by a piercing shriek. A pride of griffons crashed through the forest canopy, talons outstretched towards the party's many mules.

This was something of another flub, as technically griffons are active only during the day. Not a big deal, but I wanted to mention it.

The most interesting thing about griffons - besides just looking cool, or the possibility of riding one - is their love of horse meat. When horses or horsekin are present, griffons have a 90% chance of attacking, foregoing the need for a typical reaction roll. It doesn't matter how sizeable or well-armed the party is - the griffons simply can't resist.

The party currently had five mules, including one which the Combatants had brought along. So, the griffons attacked. The party was roused by the griffons' shrieks, and moved quickly to defend their mules. I made it clear that the griffons were after the mules, and that the player characters could choose whether to stand in their way or let them go.

There were five griffons in total. After the first round, two of the griffons lost morale and flew off. The remaining three were eventually killed by the large party. Many of the player characters were bloodied during this fight. One of the elf hirelings and one of the Combatants' men-at-arms were killed. 

The party harvested beaks, talons, feathers, and eyes from two of the griffons, allowing the Combatants to harvest the third one. I use The Thieves Guild's Harvesting and Loot tables to determine what valuable resources can be collected from monsters as a quick and easy reference in the event that players want to carve up their kills. According to that resource, griffon feathers are used in the fletching of +1 arrows, and their eyes can be used to craft eyes of the eagle, both of which are fun, thematically satisfying applications that excited the players. They preserved the griffons' eyes in Bernhardt's ever-present barrel of pickled fish.

The next day, the parties parted ways. The elves carried their dead with them. The Combatants left their fallen mercenary to rot. The party made it back to the wood elf camp without incident, returned their elf hirelings, and set out again. They had two hours of travel left in the day, and it would take them ten hours to get back to Mythshire, so if they spent the rest of the day traveling, they would reach town at the end of the following day. It might have been safer to stay with the elves and recuperate, but they decided that they were in a hurry.

While they were making camp at the end of the day, they heard a large group of small humanoids approaching. Bernhardt cast obscurement to create a 50-foot-wide blanket of fog around their camp. The approaching creatures split into two groups to encircle the fog. A voice cried out that they knew the party was using magic to hide, and the creatures would wait until the fog cleared and then they'd take all their treasure.

Karven snuck silently out of the fog past the creatures, then around the perimeter to count them. There were about thirty kobolds. Karven silently backstabbed one and pulled its body into the bushes. He tried to take out another, but was detected. 

The kobold who would have been Karven's victim cried out that there was a heavily-armed, scary-looking dwarf hunting them in the fog. I made a morale check, which the kobolds failed, and they scattered into the woods. Karven threw three darts at them as they fled, hitting for maximum damage with each. With their d4 hit die, three more kobolds were killed.

Satisfied with this result, the party continued setting their camp. The night passed without incident, and they reached Mythshire the following day. They met with Zylra, the matriarch of the elf enclave which had given them the quest to defeat Themar. They collected their reward of gold, and Zylra presented Corym with a suit of elven chain, which would have been Ash's, had he lived.

I new that Karven's player was fiending for some elven chain, and I had already decided that completing this quest would net the party some. It made sense that a young elf warrior like Ash would be gifted some eventually, and now that the character was dead, it made sense to gift it to another elf who had helped the enclave; especially since Corym is a fighter/mage. It made less sense to give the chain to an evil dwarf.

Still, I made it clear that this was Corym's to do whatever he wanted with it. If he wanted to give it to Karven, he could. The player chose to keep it. There will be more elven chain down the line, I'm sure - just keep helping out the elves.

The party rested in Mythshire, then traveled for a day to Southreach. This is where we concluded the session. The party has plenty of errands in the city, and we were close to our end time, so it made sense to leave all that for next session.

D&D is a Problem-Solving Game

The argument that D&D is combat game goes like this: A game is "about" what it has rules for. Because D&D (specifically 5e) has far more rules for combat than for anything else, it's a combat game. 

I don't really have or care to have an opinion as to whether "system matters", aside from the simple fact that one should play a system they enjoy, and that yes, there are other games besides D&D which facilitate an experience that is not like D&D. D&D is not the all-encompassing system that some people treat it like it is. I don't want to play a 5e-compatible farming simulator or whatever, but I also don't care much if someone else decides to till that barren soil.

I do think things are a bit more nuanced than "If most of a game's rules pertain to X, then the game is about X." So, I wanted to try to articulate what kind of game I think D&D is.

Is D&D a combat game?

I see it broadly like this: D&D is first and foremost a fantasy roleplaying game. More specifically: D&D is a fantasy problem-solving game, with a greater or lesser focus towards combat as the primary problem-solving method, depending on the edition, DM, and players. Different editions have greater or fewer rules for things other than combat. Different DMs prepare greater or fewer scenarios which they anticipate the players will resolve using combat. Different players are more or less inclined towards fighting everything their characters encounter.

5e, allegedly, specifically leans towards combat because it has a lot of DM- and player-facing rules for it. There are a lot of monsters, for example, and most of the statistics for those monsters are oriented towards fighting them. Most character abilities are combat abilities. The DMG goes into great detail as to how to create a combat encounter.

The very specific guidelines for building combat encounters (plus online tools to assist in doing so) makes it relatively easy to quickly create a combat scenario that is "balanced" for the player characters' level to the DM's taste (i.e. easy, medium, hard, or deadly).

If the DM has a session coming up, and nothing prepped, it's easy to open the Monster Manual, pick a monster for the player characters to fight that week, and build an appropriate encounter which will eat up a lot of game time. It's easy to force the player characters to fight something - the monster of the week is causing problems, and if the player characters go investigate, it attacks them and tries to kill them - now they have to kill it. It's a convenient crutch for the unprepared or inexperienced DM.

It's not so easy to instead create a non-hostile NPC to oppose the player characters socially, determine why they're opposed to the characters, what would convince them to leave the characters alone, and how hard it should be to convince them to do so. It's not so easy to design such an encounter to take up all or most of a session. It's not so easy to force the player characters into a social confrontation with the NPC.

But it's also not impossible. The DMG has guidelines for creating NPCs with ideals, bonds, flaws, and goals, and for adjudicating social interactions with those NPCs. They don't read as strongly as "rules" because, by comparison, combat has numbers and statistics and all sorts of things that appeal to people who think that numbers = rules, and combat in D&D is expected to have that structure. 

Social interaction is looser, and more nebulous, and it should be because it mostly involves person-to-person interaction and only the occasional rolling of dice, informed by predetermined NPC characteristics (again, provided by the DMG) and DM judgment. But because there are fewer hard numbers and because lifelike people in a fantasy world are somewhat hard to conceptualize, many DMs shy away from prepping these types of scenarios in the same way they prep combat scenarios.

So, inexperienced or underprepared DMs are going to tend to lean on combat a lot, prepping many encounters to which the only solution is fighting. Players under such DMs are going to learn to expect to fight most of their problems. If that is one's experience with D&D, it's easy to see why so many people see it as a "combat game".

Ancient Mechanisms

Compared to 5e, older editions have far more mechanics which support modes of play other than combat: rules for generating dungeons and wilderness environments, stocking them, and structured dungeon and wilderness exploration procedures make it easier to prep an exploration scenario; reaction rolls make it more likely that not every monster will immediately attack the player characters - some may even want to help them; morale rules make monsters less likely to fight to the death, which can turn combat encounters into chase scenes or social interactions; player characters gain most XP from acquiring treasure, not killing monsters. 

In the latter case, the goal is to acquire the treasure by any means necessary - if fighting can be avoided, then that's great, because characters can advance without undue risk. The problem to solve is getting the treasure, not killing the monster.

Pretty much all of these mechanics had been discarded by the time we got to 5e: the DMG has a pretty lackluster dungeon generator (with monsters in a whopping 50% of rooms) and an unsatisfying optional morale mechanic; reaction rolls appear only in Bigby Presents: Glory of the Giants, for some reason; experience points are "most often" rewarded for combat, not gold, though I argue that instead they should be rewarded for overcoming challenges of all kinds.

As a result, a 5e DM will probably only know about these mechanics from familiarity with past editions - either from having played those editions, from reading the old books, or from word of mouth. This is why I'm grateful for blogs and for the OSR: for turning me on to bits of knowledge that make the game far more enjoyable for me and my players, but which have been lost in modern editions of D&D. The blogs, in turn, have peaked my interest in reading about and running older editions of the game.

The problem is that as D&D develops, valuable tools from prior editions are dropped, and those tools are lost to new players who aren't familiar with the game's history. Most new DMs and players are unlikely to be familiar with any edition beyond the current, most popular one, and the current version of the game teaches new DMs - via the DMG - only how to prep combat encounters, and it teaches players - via their characters' abilities - to expect to solve their problems using combat.

Right?

Sort of. 

Goals of Play

It's definitely true that most of 5e's rules lean towards combat, and that the procedures for prepping combat encounters are very mathematically detailed. However, I want to look at the chapter in the DMG on creating adventures, specifically "Location-Based Adventures", on page 72. That section has tables for dungeon goals, wilderness goals, and "other" goals.

All of the goals presented by these tables can be viewed instead as problems to solve. The "Dungeon Goals" table has exactly one entry out of 19 which explicitly says, basically, "Fight a monster" ("Slay a dragon or some other challenging monster"). There are a few other entries that could be loosely interpreted as "fight a monster":

• Stop the dungeon's monstrous inhabitants from raiding the surface world [by fighting them]
• Foil a villain's evil scheme [by fighting them]
• Destroy a magical effect inside the dungeon [by fighting it]
• Pursue fleeing foes taking refuge in the dungeon [and fight them]
• Clear a ruin so it can be rebuilt and reoccupied [by fighting everything inside]

Those are all assumptions, though. The player characters could find out why the dungeon's inhabitants are raiding the surface world, and convince them to stop by other means. The magical effect might not be a monster, but a complex trap to disarm or a restless spirit to placate. The fleeing foes might parley with the characters, or need to be captured (alive) and brought back to civilization to see justice. The ruin to be cleared might be filled with traps and hazards, rather than monsters. 

The other two tables are similarly diverse in the goals they present. What this indicates to me is that 5e is meant to be a problem-solving game, and these tables are prompts with which the DM can generate problems for the players to solve however they wish.

Achieving those goals might involve fighting monsters along the way, but combat is a part of the game (and often, a fun one), and one that both DMs and players anticipate engaging with from time to time.

True, the combat-orientation of D&D's rules might lead the DM and/or players to anticipate combat and prepare or consider no other solutions, leading to a bias towards combat, but that's a playstyle issue. It isn't being strictly enforced by the DMG itself. The fact that the first step in prepping a location-based adventure is to determine the party's goals, and that so few of those goals explicitly state that something has to be fought, suggests to me that player characters are supposed to experience a wide array of goals and problems during their adventuring career.

It's not like fighting is the only skill at the player characters' disposal. They have character knowledge, the ability to perceive and intuit things, social skills, equipment other than weapons, and magical abilities that allow them to understand languages, disguise themselves, charm others, and the like. They can do anything that a person in the real world can do, and more. The players have their own real-life skills and knowledge they can draw upon as well.

The rules for social interaction aren't robust, but they're sufficient; the players (via their characters) and DM (via their NPCs) have a conversation, and when the outcome of that conversation is in doubt, an ability check is rolled, based on the NPC's disposition towards the characters. I drew upon old-school reaction rolls and other materials to make my own social interaction mechanics more robust, because that was my preference, but doing so isn't strictly necessary for this aspect of the game to function. 

Similarly, I supplemented my prep procedures with more old-school mechanics to make combat less of a default method of interacting with NPCs and monsters. 

Well, that's just great - I added some mechanics that aren't in the rules and now my games are less combat-oriented. That doesn't mean the game itself isn't about combat.

But that's the thing - when I think about the statement "D&D is a combat game", I'm not just thinking about the current edition, or how "most" people play it. I'm thinking about D&D in its totality. It isn't one thing. Not even one specific edition is the same across groups - every table plays it differently, and the rules don't prescribe one type of play. I like my modern D&D to feel more like old-school D&D, and I modify things to suit that preference. Other DMs may modify it to feel more like Pathfinder, or Warhammer, or Dark Souls, or Animal Crossing, or whatever - whether they should be playing a different game is a conversation for another time.

So new players maybe play D&D more like a combat game than anything else, but we don't even know that for sure, and the way that most people seem to play the game isn't necessarily the same as the way the game designers are trying to indicate that one should play. It might be easier for a new DM to prepare a combat scenario, which might lead to new DMs preparing more combat scenarios, but the DMG isn't telling DMs to only ever prepare combat scenarios. 

Could the game be designed better to communicate this intent? Probably. But would people actually read the books and thus grasp this intended playstyle, or would they keep on playing their own version of D&D based on their idea of what the game is supposed to be? If the game is designed one way, but people play it another way, which game are we talking about when we say the game is a "combat game"?

So, is D&D a combat game? Yes, kind of, but also only to extent that the DM and players make it about that. I would probably be disappointed to play in a D&D game where I never got to fight a dragon, but I'd also be disappointed to play in one where I never got to talk to a dragon, or where the DM hadn't drawn up the dragon's lair so that we could explore it in detail. Some players and DMs may just want one of those three things, but the game's designers are clearly saying that there should be a mix of all three.

AD&D 2e Play Report: Session 19

We played the 19th session of our AD&D 2e campaign last night. The play report for our last session is here. 

To recap, the party was locked in battle with powerful aquatic zombies - we had started the fight the previous session, so this was a continuation of that. Corym Vadercast was unconscious, and the party was trying to extract him. They slugged it out and eventually won the day, but not before their thief henchman, Sheyla, was killed while attempting to retreat. The party cut their losses and decided to return to town to regroup. Along the way, they encountered some friendly wood elves, and agreed to return with them to their settlement. They recuperated there, recruited seven elf hirelings, and returned to the tomb.

There, Karven Stone scouted ahead and found the heretical priest, Themar, guarded by ten zombies, with another eight zombies excavating a pocket of necrotic energy to the south, across the river. The party set an ambush. Karven backstabbed the priest. Bernhardt Dalton turned the majority of the larger group of zombies. Corym, Orlina, and Yinvalur Sparkguard charged in to deal with the stragglers. Haymond Baler, Yuliana, and the elves launched a volley of ranged attacks from the south. That's where we ended the session.

Party Roster

• Bernhardt Dalton, NG human cleric 4
• Magicheart, NG pseudodragon
• Orlina, CN human cleric 1
• Yinvalur Sparkguard, NG elf fighter 3
• Corym Vadercast, NG elf fighter 3/mage 3
• Haymond Baler, LG human fighter 4
• Yuliana, NG human cleric 2
• Karven Stone, LE dwarf thief 5

This should be a pretty brief play report, since most the session was spent in combat, and I'm not going to do much play-by-play. We started the session by rolling initiative. 

Bernhardt continued turning the undead, who fled in the opposite direction and into the river, getting swept downstream (zombies are not smart). As the current dragged the zombies past, the elves fired their bows, killing the zombies over the next several rounds. 

The zombies in the pit climbed out and pressed through the narrow corridor towards Haymond and Yuliana. Haymond held them at bay while Yuliana turned a few. They were eventually overwhelmed, and Yuliana was badly injured (she had 1 hit point remaining) and had to retreat to heal herself. A few of the elves drew their swords and moved to reinforce Haymond, while the others rushed across the river to where the rest of the party fought.

Corym, Orlina, and Yinvalur battled the sole remaining unturned zombie on the north side of the river. Orlina was also badly wounded (she also had 1 hit point remaining) and had to retreat to heal. 

Karven went toe-to-toe with Themar. Themar is a zombie lord. Zombie lords can target living creatures with an animate dead spell, killing them instantly and turning them into zombies unless they save vs death. I tried to unleash this powerful ability on Karven, but Karven struck Themar with his sword before the spell could go off, so it was lost. Corym and Yinvalur had killed the last remaining unturned zombie on their side, so they and a few of the elves rushed to aid Karven.

Zombie lords also have an extremely potent stench:

The odor of death surrounding the zombie lord is so potent it causes horrible effects in those who breathe it. On the first round a character comes within 30 yards, he must save vs. poison or be affected in some way. The following results are possible:

1d6 Roll    Effect

1               Weakness (as the spell).

2               Cause disease (as the spell).

3               -1 point of Constitution.

4               Contagion (as the spell).

5               Character unable to act for 1d4 rounds due to nausea and vomiting.

6               Character dies instantly and becomes a zombie under control of the zombie lord.

When I prepped this dungeon, I rolled a 6. Uh oh.

The fact that this has a 30-yard range and affects anyone who simply catches wind of it was a bit extreme for my tastes. Looking at the map of the dungeon, this effect had a chance to instantly kill anyone who exited the entrance chamber. I instead decided that it was a special attack the zombie lord could utilize on his turn, and that it only affected people he could see. Now that Themar was being attacked by Corym, Karven, and Yinvalur, I decided to unleash this power.

Dark tendrils of necrotic energy began to exude out of the heretical priest. His vestments billowed, and the characters could see that his body was rotting beneath, infested with maggots and flies. The tendrils lashed out at those surrounding Themar - Corym, Karven, and Yinvalur would need to save vs poison.

Corym and Karven barely made their saves (i.e., they rolled the exact minimum number they needed to pass - Karven was helped by the fact that dwarves get a bonus to saving throws vs poison tied to their Constitution, or else he'd have failed). Yinvalur was not so lucky. The party watched in horror as their chad elf henchman - who had been with them since session 1 and bailed them out of several dicey battles - was struck dead. The next round, he rose as a zombie under Themar's control.

This was the players' first real encounter with a save or die effect. They had battled giant spiders with save or die poison, but none of their characters or henchmen had been bitten in that encounter. Some of them were a bit shocked. "He just dies?" Yep.

The rest of the fight was rather pedestrian. Themar had used his big dangerous abilities, and the rest of the zombies to the south were held at a chokepoint. Karven cut down one of the curtains partitioning Themar's vestibule, then worked with one of the elves to toss it over the priest's head. Themar protested the indignity while trying to crush his enemies with his fists, but he was no match for the player characters and elves surrounding him. He was slain. The remaining zombies, no longer under his sway, stood slack jawed. 

This combat was a bit of a slog once the bulk of the zombies were turned, Themar had used his powers, and the injured henchmen had managed to get out of danger. Still, the death of Yinvalur made a big impression, so the victory had a grave cost. Two other henchmen very nearly died, so it was tense for a few rounds. It was not quite as white-knuckled as the ogre fight from a few sessions ago.

Karven looted Themar's body and found a pouch of 30 gems. He skimmed a few off the top and shared the rest with the party. Bernhardt found Themar's journal, which was in Elvish, so he asked Corym to decipher it. 

Essentially, Themar had been corrupted by the evil god Malyk, who revealed to him the presence of a pocket of magical energy. Themar and his acolytes excavated the pocket, and the dark energy turned Themar into a zombie lord. He had his zombie acolytes continue to dig, and was planning to bring more elves to the tomb to be made into zombie lords like himself. They would then raise an undead army and lay siege to the lands of humankind, restoring elf supremacy in the region, albeit at the cost of all the elves being undead abominations. Typical evil zombie elf cleric stuff.

The party discussed what to do with Yinvalur's zombie, which was still "alive". Could they bring him back? Raise dead, apparently, doesn't work on elves:

When the priest casts a raise dead spell, he can restore life to a dwarf, gnome, half-elf, halfling, or human (other creatures may be allowed, at the DM's option).

 The omission of elves didn't even occur to me until I read the description of resurrection:

The priest is able to restore life and complete strength to any living creature, including elves, by bestowing the resurrection spell.

Resurrection is a 7th-level spell, meaning a priest must be 14th-level or more in order to cast it. I reasoned that powerful priests such as this could be found in the city, however, the DMG list of costs for NPC spellcasting doesn't even include resurrection, and states of raise dead, "This spell is normally cast only for those of similar faith or belief. Even then a payment or service may be requested." 

Resurrection is more powerful than raise dead, and casting it causes the caster to age three years, so one would imagine that this service would come at high cost. I told the players to imagine that they were able to find a 14th- to 20th-level priest in the city who would cast the spell for them. I then asked them to imagine what such a high-level priest would ask of a party in return, and whether or not their 4th- to 5th-level characters would be up to the task. They concluded, probably correctly, that they would not be able to procure this service. Teary eyed, the party put down the Yinvalur zombie, most likely for good.

The good news is, the party still had at least 140 years to bring Yinvalur back at a later date:

The creature can have been dead up to 10 years per level of the priest casting the spell. Thus, a 19th-level priest can resurrect the bones of a creature dead up to 190 years.

The party planned to escort the elf hirelings back to their settlement, then return to Mythshire. We ended the session there.

Bernhardt leveled up. He is now 5th-level, gains a d8 hit die, and a 2nd- and 3rd-level spell slot. Yuliana also leveled up. She is now 3rd-level, gains a d8 hit die, a 2nd-level spell slot, and a nonweapon proficiency.

On Hands (and how to use them)

Okay, weird post title. Bear with me.

This post was inspired by Warren D.'s post "WHAT'S INTERESTING ABOUT BASIC DUNGONEERING: And what is not" on the I Cast Light! blog. What got me thinking about hands specifically is Warren's thoughts on light and weapons (highlights mine):

Light: Due to torch cost and number per slot, it is easy to carry a lot of torches.

Not interesting: Carrying enough light to last 12-24 turns- easily done

Interesting: When torches extinguish-- like in the middle of a fight or when the goblins you are negotiating with get mad; how many hands in the party are occupied by torches

... 

Weapons: I've yet to find a really good way to do weapons simply outside of 1d6 damage for all types. I don't mind BX's variable weapon damage. And I do like some old rulesets sorta "first strike" if your weapon is larger than an opponents other wise smaller, lighter weapons strike first in subsequent arounds.

So here is what I have got so far: Using a weapon two-handed is a +1 to damage, using an off-hand weapon is +1 to-hit, and a shield is of course +1 AC. I do like that fighters with bows can shoot twice if they did not move and the "cleave" ability.

Not interesting: Weapon factors that are so extensive they require a separate rules discussion, trigger player obsession, and/or orient the whole of gameplay to combat

Interesting: What PCs chose to do with their hands: more armor, more weapons, or more light

What I'm interested in is how player characters choose to use their hands. It's a simple thing, but it's important - a hand can do any of the following things:

• Cast a spell with material or somatic components
• Hold a torch or lantern (providing light with which to see)
• Increase weapon damage (per my rules for variable weapon damage, using two hands increases a weapon's damage die size by one) 
• Increase a weapon's reach (most weapons with the reach property require two hands to use)
• Increase a weapon's range (ranged weapons which require two hands, such as bows, usually have a longer range than those which require one hand, such as thrown weapons)
• Interact with objects (open doors, throw levers, withdraw items from a bag or pouch)
• Make an extra attack (if dual wielding or a monk)
• Provide extra protection (a hand used to hold a shield provides +2 to the character's armor class)
• Use items (drink a potion, read a scroll, activate a wand, etc.)

It's something many DMs might not even think about, and I suspect that most modern DMs view it as one of those things - like encumbrance - which is too onerous to keep track of, and simply don't, beyond "Is the character dual-wielding, two-handing, or using a shield?" I have certainly forgotten about it a good number of times. In fact, when thinking about this, I realized that in a recent AD&D 2e session, I forgot about something very important - light.

Who is Carrying the Light?

The player characters were exploring a network of subterranean tunnels made by a brood of ankhegs. When the party first entered the tunnels, I said, "It's dark, so you'll probably want a light source. Who is carrying the light?" Then, when the party had its climactic battle with the ankheg brood, I never once considered the issue of light. Characters were firing bows, dual wielding, two-handing, and wielding shields. Who was carrying the light? Could the characters even see? I don't know.

When not in combat, the question of who is carrying the light isn't incredibly important. One might as well assume that all of the characters are carrying light unless they state otherwise. Characters might place a torch in a sconce when exploring a room or put it on the ground while they check a chest for traps. True, monsters hidden far away in the dark might target the torchbearer specifically, but in that case, the DM can simply check with the players who exactly is carrying the light before springing the ambush, after which the specifics become more crucial.

Once combat begins, it becomes very important who is carrying the light, because that character can't use their light-carrying hand to cast spells, wield a weapon with both hands, interact with other objects, duel wield (aside from using the torch as a weapon), wield a shield, or use items. That character is making a choice to benefit the rest of the party (by providing light) at the expense of their own tactical versatility. It's part of what makes light-providing spells, weapons, torchbearers, and the like valuable - they can provide light without occupying a hand.

Furthermore, the light source typically moves with the torchbearer, unless the torchbearer drops their torch on the ground in order to free up their other hand. Monsters may attempt to attack the torchbearer and snuff out the light. So, keeping track of who is carrying the light in these scenarios is very important. 

Stow, Drop, and Draw

In D&D 5e, a character can interact with one object for free on their turn, as part of their attack or move action (PHB, page 190). This includes drawing a weapon as part of the action they use to make an attack, opening a door as they move through it, picking up a dropped item, stowing an item, or withdrawing a stowed item. Redditors will happily say that according to the rules, a spellcaster wielding a sword and shield can drop their sword (no action required), freeing up a hand to cast a spell, then immediately pick up the sword again (using their free object interaction).

I hate this. It's stupid. Changing what hand is doing what is a tactical choice. It should have benefits and drawbacks like any other.

Baldur's Gate 3 is the current hotness as far as video games based on 5e go, but another 5e-based game, Solasta: The Crown of the Magister, is much better at little rules minutia like this. In Solasta, each character has weapon sets - a primary weapon set, a secondary weapon set, and a light source set. A character can switch between sets once on their turn.

So if a character is wielding a sword and shield, but wants to make a ranged attack, they switch to their longbow. After attacking with their longbow, they cannot then switch back to their sword and shield to benefit from the improved armor class. If light is an issue, the character can switch to holding their sword and torch, but cannot then switch back to their sword and shield.

This is more or less how I do it in my games, although locking characters into using predefined "weapon sets" is not exactly lifelike. Instead, I implement a stow/drop/draw action, which allows a character to switch what they're holding in each hand once per turn. They can drop their torch and draw another weapon, stow their sword and draw their wand, stow two items to free up both hands, or any combination of those things, so long as the item being held or not is interacted with just once, and the hand switches between only two items per turn. That means no dropping an item to do something with the hand and then picking the item right back up again.

To Two-Hand or Not to Two-Hand

A character who chooses to wield a two-handed weapon is making a deliberate choice. They are doing more damage if they hit, but they are sacrificing increased armor class (from a shield) and number of chances to hit (a dual-wielding character is making an extra attack each round). 

Only, are they actually doing more damage than a dual-wielding character? Using my own rules for variant weapon damage, a character wielding a heavy martial weapon with two hands does d12 damage. A character wielding a light martial weapon in each hand does d6 damage with each. If they hit with both, they do an average of 7 damage, versus the two-hander's average 6.5. Not a huge difference, but it's there.

On top of that, normally, the player does not add their character's Strength or Dexterity modifier to the damage roll from their off-hand weapon, but the two-weapon fighting style allows them to do so, which can make the disparity greater. The dual-wielder also has an extra chance to score a critical hit.

But aha, two-handed weapons only require two hands when making an attack (PHB, page 146)! The second hand is free for the rest of the character's turn, allowing them to manipulate objects, draw items, and the like. If they can cast spells, they might also use their now-free hand for that (more on that later). If the dual-wielder wants to free up a hand, they have to use their stow/drop/draw action on that turn to do so, then use their stow/drop/draw action again on their next turn to switch back. Not a huge difference, but it's there.

Shields

Shields might be an exception to the stow/drop/draw action rule. In 5e, shields require a full action to don or doff (PHB, page 146). This feels overly punitive to me. I would rule that a character could switch their shield out for another item as if that hand was holding anything else. Maybe this isn't realistic (assuming the shield is strapped to the arm), but the gamey, mechanical tradeoff decision from round to round is what I'm interested in here, not realism.

This requires another change - in 5e, a character can benefit from a shield even if they're not proficient with shields. Here's the tradeoff: "If you wear armor that you lack proficiency with, you have disadvantage on any ability check, saving throw, or attack roll that involves Strength or Dexterity, and you can't cast spells" (PHB, page 144). 

That above rule doesn't matter (aside from making saving throws) if the character has already taken their action that turn, meaning a character without shield proficiency could take their action as normal, then whip out a shield to benefit from the extra AC. I don't want that.

So if we remove the action required to don or doff a shield, we have to go a bit further and say "You do not benefit from the bonus to Armor Class when wielding a shield with which you are not proficient." Easy.

The Buckler Shield

One thing I miss from AD&D is different types of shields. 2e has buckler shields, small shields, medium shields, and body shields. I've simplified this a bit in 5e, introducing light (buckler) shields, medium (standard) shields, and heavy (body) shields. 

A character no longer needs proficiency in shields to use one - they just need proficiency in the corresponding armor type. This means that classes which don't normally get to use shields (most bards, rogues, and warlocks) can now use some certain shields, which doesn't bother me.

Standard shields work the same as the typical 5e shield. Body shields are similar, but against ranged attacks from the front and flanks, the character is treated as having three-quarters cover (+5 to AC, instead of the +2 typical of shields).

The buckler is the important shield when it comes to the discussion of hands, because it's light and fastens to the forearm, allowing the hand of the shield arm to be used to do things like fire a bow or crossbow, cast a spell, hold a torch, open a door, or the like. So the character wielding a buckler never needs to worry about stowing, dropping, or drawing their shield.

The tradeoff is that the buckler shield only grants the +2 bonus to Armor Class against one attack per round, and only if the character uses their reaction. It comes in handy (haha), but only if the character's reaction isn't already spoken for, and it's still not as good as having a proper shield.

The Components of a Spellcaster

Finally, I want to talk about spellcasting components. There are three kinds of spell components in D&D 5e: verbal, somatic, and material (PHB, page 203). Every spell in D&D requires at least one of these components, but more often, some combination of two or all three components in order to cast. 

Verbal components are "mystic words" which are spoken aloud as the spell is cast. It's not enough to simply say the words - the combination of sounds requires "specific pitch and resonance" to "set the threads of magic in motion". It's why, in my opinion, a character cannot "quietly" or "stealthily" cast a spell. Uttering the verbal components is loud and showy - it's evident to everyone present that a spell is being cast, disgraced 5e designers be damned.

Somatic components "might include a forceful gesticulation or an intricate set of gestures". Material components are "particular objects" but can be substituted by a component pouch or spellcasting focus so long as the components has no cost and isn't consumed by the spell.

Here's where we get to hands: To cast a spell with somatic components, "the caster must have free use of at least one hand". To cast a spell with material components, "a spellcaster must have a hand free to access [the] material components". However, the hand used to access the material components "can be the same hand that [the caster] uses to perform somatic components".

It used to be that a caster's whole body had to be free to cast a spell. A spellcaster casting a spell with somatic components couldn't just wiggle their fingers. Their whole body had to move. They had to do a dumb little dance. A spellcaster could not move on the same turn they cast a spell. If they were on a ship in the middle of a storm, the rest of the party would have to brace them to hold them still so that they could cast without being thrown around the ship. This, along with proper Vancian spellcasting and simultaneous actions in combat - allowing spellcasters to be interrupted while casting - was a huge element of reigning in the power of spellcasters. 

5e has a much different conception of spellcasters. They're basically hyper-mobile artillery. They can run, ride, and fly around casting spells, and all the while, they only need one hand free. They can be restrained by a titanic boa constrictor and can still cast spells with somatic and material components, so long as they can wiggle their fingers.

I personally rule that a spellcaster can't cast spells with somatic components if they're, for example, grappled or restrained, and in that case, they also can't cast spells with a material component unless those materials are already in hand.

I'm inclined to take it a step farther. What if spellcasters needed one free hand for somatic components, and another for material components? Casting a spell which requires both is a full-body action, meaning the character has to stow or drop whatever other items are occupying their hands before they cast.

Unfortunately, the characters who would suffer most from this aren't the dedicated casters, who probably aren't holding much other than a spellcasting focus anyway - the true victims are those that straddle the line between fighting and spellcasting: artificers, clerics, druids, paladins, and rangers. These characters are spellcasters as well as characters that want to wield weapons and, often, shields.

Most of these classes have features which would mitigate the impact of this effect, allowing them to substitute some other item for a spellcasting focus. Artificers can use infused items as spellcasting foci, meaning that an artificer could infuse their weapon or shield, using it for their material components. Clerics and paladins can etch their holy symbol into a shield or, even better, simply wear it visibly on their person. Druids and - as of Tasha's Cauldron of Everything - rangers can use a druidic focus, which can be a staff, which is also a weapon (although maybe not the preferred one). 

In baseline 5e, this allows each of these character types to wield a useful item while still casting spells which require both somatic and material components (oddly, if the spell only requires a somatic component, they still need a free hand). If we change the rule to require one free hand for each of these components, then they at least need one less hand free.

These classes can also benefit from taking the War Caster feat, which eliminates the need for a free hand to use somatic components, so long as the character is wielding weapons or a shield in one or both hands (my reading of it is that the character couldn't cast a spell requiring somatic components while holding a torch in one hand and holding a potion in the other, for example).

Certain subclasses suffer more greatly - those classes which normally don't cast spells, but have subclasses which do, such as the eldritch knight fighter or the arcane trickster rogue, or those classes which normally don't wield weapons, but have subclasses which do, such as the swords and valor bards and the hexblade warlock. Since 5e is designed in such a way that casting spells with somatic components, material components, or both requires just one hand, this isn't normally a problem. If we require them to use both hands, they become much more limited. If I were to implement the house rule I'm proposing, I would likely give these subclasses some extra feature that allows them to use a weapon or shield as a focus.

Overall, I've not totally sold myself on making this change. It's not like changing a single spell or the way a class feature works, which is relatively easy - it's changing the base rules about how spellcasting as a whole works, which potentially has tons of knock-on effects. 

I'm not particularly interested in going through the whole spell list and analyzing the edge cases of which spells become more or less effective with different classes and subclasses depending on what they can and can't use as a spellcasting focus. It's the kind of thing that would require playtesting. Maybe next time I run a 5e game, I'll try it. Or maybe by then I'll have decided I don't really care.

The important take away is that I'm trying to pay more attention to what my players' characters are doing with their hands. Doing so generates interesting round-by-round decision points (holding a light source, choosing weapons, using a shield, and casting spells are all meaningful tradeoffs). This, and a healthy dose of common sense, reigns in more powerful character concepts, such as spellcasters (a wizard can't cast elaborate spells while being throttled by a tentacled beast). That at the very least is worth considering.

AD&D 2e Play Report: Session 18

We played the 18th session of our AD&D 2e campaign last night. The play report for our last session is here.

To recap briefly, the party had just defeated a clan of ogres at great cost - Derrell, their druid henchman, had died. The rest of them were low on hit points. They took two nights to recover in the empty den, then headed back to Grasshold. From there, they traveled to Mythshire to deliver the share of treasure from another fallen companion, Ash, to the elf enclave he called home. There, they learned that a nearby elf tomb was overrun with undead. The tomb's custodian, Themar, had turned to dark powers. The party recruited a new henchman, Orlina, a cleric, to join them, then headed out.

On the journey, the party evaded a warband of 50 orcs, who destroyed the party's campsite. The party decided to return to town to resupply, then set out again. Upon entering the tomb, they were ambushed by turn resistant, spellcasting zombies that dragged themselves out of the stream flowing through the complex. Corym Vadercast was brought within an inch of his life as the party attempted to make a fighting retreat.

Party Roster

• Bernhardt Dalton, NG human cleric 4
• Magicheart, NG pseudodragon
• Orlina, CN human cleric 1
• Yinvalur Sparkguard, NG elf fighter 3
• Corym Vadercast, NG elf fighter 3/mage 3
• Haymond Baler, LG human fighter 4
• Yuliana, NG human cleric 2
• Karven Stone, LE dwarf thief 5
• Sheyla, LE human thief 3

A Watery Grave

For this session, I gave Corym's player control of Yinvalur, since otherwise the player would be sitting around doing nothing until the combat ended.

The session did not get off to an auspicious start. Sheyla was bloodied, so Karven's player wanted her to withdraw immediately. Since she was badly wounded, I made a morale check for her. If she passed, she would keep her cool and withdraw carefully, without provoking a free attack from the zombie she was in melee with. If she failed, she would turn her back and flee as quickly as possible, which would provoke an attack.

She failed quite handily. She turned and fled, and the zombie clubbed her in the back of the head, killing her.

The party continued to fight. They missed a lot of attacks, and when they did hit, they almost always did minimal damage. Haymond's player rolled minimum damage three rounds in a row, in fact. The party took a few more licks, but after some nice damage rolls from Yinvalur (again, the chad elf henchman saves the day), they eventually prevailed.

The party collected what little valuables the zombies had on them (2d4 gold pieces each), and Karven took Sheyla's hoarded wealth (about 450 gold in platinum pieces, plus a healing potion - if only I had remembered she had that!). The party dumped the zombies' bodies back into the water, lest they be discovered by whatever else lurked in this tomb.

The party was not enthusiastic about continuing to explore the place, so they headed back to town. It would take them the rest of the day (they had five hours of travel time left), plus the better part of the next day.

Encounter Fatigue

I am still trying to decide whether to continue using the AD&D 1e or 2e wilderness encounter tables. The 1e tables use d100 and have more entries as a result. The 2e tables use 2d10 and have fewer encounters. I'm trying to get a sense for which set of tables is better for my purposes. For now, when an encounter is rolled, I roll d2 to determine which set of tables I use. 

The greater issue is that I'm beginning to reconsider using these tables during a session at all. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't become fatigued by having to improvise up to seven random encounters per session, depending on how far the party is traveling and in what terrain. It's no problem if the party is traveling through settled farmland, but the forest (and dense forest in particular) is proving to be more of a problem.

For example, this session ended up having four random encounters, and I would say we spent no more than a third of our game time on travel. One of the encounters happened in the middle of the night and involved 60 human pilgrims traveling in the woods. Perplexed, I ruled that instead, there was no encounter (this is somewhat of an entertaining challenge - either I improvise something on the spot to the best of my ability, or the players luck out, and nothing happens).

I think I maybe could have made something of this encounter if I'd had time to prepare it in advance. Loosely interpreting the result, perhaps the pilgrims are actually elves on their pilgrimage to the afterlife. Maybe they're skeletons on a "pilgrimage" to the tomb. But I don't know, I shy away from twisting the original intent too much.

In an ideal sandbox, the DM creates custom encounter tables for the environments in their region. The problem is that my region doesn't have clearly delineated territories. Sure, there's a big forest and a big swamp and a big desert, but there are also smaller forests and bodies of water, and multiple mountain ranges. Does each of those need an encounter table? In my 5e game, I made tables for each terrain type, which worked well, but in that case, I might as well use the tables I'm using already.

Another option is to decide how many encounters I want to detail ahead of time, then roll in advance on the existing tables that many times to determine what those encounters are, then detail just that handful of encounters. This is maybe the best solution, and allows me to save table time by predetermining encounter distance, the number of monsters, their disposition, treasure, names, motives, and the like. 

That might be what I end up doing, but it's a lot of work, and I'm currently in a bit of a "prep less" mindset, so I'm not sure. Something to think about.

Encountering Elves

The party was a few hours out from the tomb when they encountered a scouting party of wood elves. The elves had the best possible reaction - helpful. I decided that they were related to the elves in Mythshire, but that a dispute had caused the two groups to fracture. These elves continued to live in the forest and monitor the tomb, and Themar's activities.

The elves offered to lead the party to their sanctuary, where they could recuperate before returning to the tomb. The party was about equidistant from town and from the elves' settlement, but the elves' settlement was closer to the tomb, so they agreed to follow. 

Along the way, they had to rest. While camping, the party spotted a pair of minotaurs prowling in the forest. The minotaurs were indifferent and, not wanting to fight minotaurs, the party let them go on their way. 

That night, they heard a huge creature crashing through the trees overhead, clumsily flying or leaping from tree to tree, making both animal sounds and speaking in a man's voice. It sounded like it was moving around their camp, not towards it, so the party kept a watchful eye, but didn't seek the creature out. (It was a manticore - again, indifferent.)

The next day, the party reached the elves' settlement without incident. Corym and Yinvalur were honored guests at the feast that night, and the local elves thought it cute that they had brought along their human followers and their nasty pet dwarf.

Karven paid an elf to deliver Sheyla's body to Mythshire and pay for a proper burial. The party also asked around and hired seven (!) elf hirelings to help them when they returned to the tomb.

The elf settlement had a population of 70. I determined that there were no henchmen there to recruit (my rule is that 1 in 100 people in the setting have class levels), and that one in ten elves there would be the fighting type. Haymond's Charisma alone is sufficient to have up to 10 followers, so I ruled that the party could recruit all of them, if they were willing to pay (2 gp per day for 2 days, so 4 gp per elf).

Now that I've had the chance to actually review the exhaustive Monstrous Manual entry for elves, I see that there is supposed to be one 2nd- or 3rd-level fighter for every 20 elves, and one 2nd- or 3rd-level mage for every 40 elves, meaning this group of elves would have three 2nd- or 3rd-level fighters and one 2nd- or 3rd-level mage. Furthermore, in a camp, for every 40 elves there are an additional 4th-level fighter, 4th-level cleric, 2nd-level fighter/mage/thief, a 4th-level fighter/7th-level mage, a 5th-level fighter, a 6th-level fighter, and a 7th-level cleric. Like I said, exhaustive.

Only Karven is high enough level to recruit new henchmen of 2nd-level, and he is Evil (and a dwarf, to boot), so the elves wouldn't have followed him anyway, making my in the moment oversight a non-issue.

I'm also seeing now that wood elves avoid contact with strangers 75% of the time. They also only speak their own language and the languages of forest animals and treants. They keep the locations of their camps secret from outsiders, going so far as to kill people who stumble upon them.

So uh, yeah. This encounter probably shouldn't have happened this way. All the more reason for me to prep this stuff ahead of time, I guess.

Seven Elves

The party spent a night recuperating among the elves. The clerics in the party burned some spell slots topping off their wounded members' hit points in the morning. Then, the party took their seven elves back to the tomb. One player named them: Inky, Blinky, Pinky, Stinky, Finky, Winky, and Clyde. Another named them: Inhale, Sociable, Awake, Sad, Cheerful, Alert, and Civilian.

The party arrived at the tomb without incident. Bernhardt cast invisibility to undead on Karven, who proceeded to scout ahead.

Karven found a cavern where ten zombies stood guard in front of an alcove blocked off by curtains. Beyond the curtains, he found an elf priest with sallow grey skin and black veins, a cloud of flies buzzing about his head. To the south, across the stream, was a smaller cavern where eight more zombies were digging a pit with shovels. Inky black, malicious-looking magical tendrils were snaking out of the cracks in the walls of the pit. All of these zombies were noticeably different from the ones they fought earlier. They looked less powerful - more like zombie rabble than especially potent zombies infused with malign, god-denying dark energy.

The party devised a plan. While invisible, Karven would get into position to backstab the priest. Bernhardt would also make himself invisible to the undead, then get into position in front of the north tunnel and prepare to reveal himself and turn the zombie rabble. Just behind him, Corym, Yinvalur, and Orlina would wait out of earshot, ready to charge in. Meanwhile, Haymond and Yuliana would take the seven elves around the south, across the stream and in front of the dig site, ready to either open fire on the zombies to the north or cut off the zombies to the south.

This took about 30 minutes for the players to devise, and I actually really enjoy these moments. It can feel like nothing is being accomplished as the players go back and forth with ideas and hemming and hawing, but they're actually playing the game by making strategic decisions based on the information they have. The fact that they have to take this time to figure out how to approach the situation makes me feel like I managed to devise an actually interesting, complex scenario. I'm more than happy to let the players talk it out, answer their questions, clarify their intentions, and help them implement their plan as they describe it.

Once everyone got into their positions, the party launched its attack. I gave them a surprise round as a reward for good planning. Karven successfully backstabbed the priest...for minimal damage, again. Bernhardt revealed himself, turning eight of the ten zombies. Yinvalur and Orlina positioned themselves in front of Bernhardt, with Corym bringing up the rear. Haymond and Yuliana moved in with their elves, launching a volley of ranged attacks at the unturned zombies - as well as the turned ones, who were fleeing in their direction.

All told, the party killed one of the two unturned zombies and two of the turned ones. Unfortunately, Karven's backstab did little to deter the priest commanding the undead, who turned angrily to face him.

That's where we wrapped up the session. Next time, the party must deal with the heretical priest, Themar. Haymond, Yuliana, and the elves will have half a dozen frightened zombies bearing down on them, and perhaps half a dozen more emerging from the pit to attack their flank. Themar has a few nasty tricks up his sleeve, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if we had a few casualties.