On Weapon Damage

The main complaint about weapons in 5th edition Dungeons & Dragons is their simplicity, the lack of meaningful choice, and the existence of clearly "better" options than others of the same kind. "Where are the maneuvers for each weapon type that I can only do once per short or long rest for some reason?" one might ask, if they're, for example, a Redditor. When I think about the issues I have with weapons in 5e, however, I'm mostly weirdly bothered by the inconsistency of the damage dice.

Take the light hammer, for example. It's a simple melee weapon with the light and thrown properties. It has a range of 20/60 and it does 1d4 bludgeoning damage. Okay! But then there's the handaxe, a simple melee weapon with the light and thrown properties. It has a range of 20/60 and it does...1d6 slashing damage. Why?

Maybe that's just an anomaly. For example, the javelin is a simple melee weapon with the thrown property and it also does 1d6 damage! But it doesn't have the light property. I understand why it doesn't, but then why is the damage die the same? Shouldn't two throwable light melee weapons do the same damage? Shouldn't a non-light weapon do more?

It's not just simple weapons, either. Somewhat famously, the greataxe is a martial melee weapon with the two-handed property, which does 1d12 damage, whereas the greastsword and maul - also martial melee weapons with the two-handed property - do 2d6 damage. This doesn't seem like a problem - the damage range of the greataxe is 1 to 12 with an average of 6.5, whereas the damage range of the greatsword and maul is 2 to 12 with an average of 7 - until a player makes a barbarian and gets their Brutal Critical class feature. 

Brutal Critical allows the player to roll an extra die of damage when they roll a critical hit, which with a greataxe is an additional d12, but with a greatsword or maul, that's only going to be an extra d6. This particular problem is solved simply enough by ruling that Brutal Critical allows the player to reroll all of their weapon damage dice, not just one, but that doesn't cut it for me. I want the consistency.

Why does the rapier get to do 1d8 damage and have the finesse property when the humble war pick is stuck with 1d8 and no additional properties - not even versatility, which its alternatives, the battleaxe, longsword, and warhammer all get? Has any player ever used a war pick?

Using All the Dice

For my 5e games, I use a modified weapons table based on simple guidelines:

• To start, all simple weapons do d6 damage, and martial weapons do d8 damage.
• If the player character uses their Dexterity score to determine the attack roll and damage bonus, the damage die decreases by one (take that Dexterity!). This applies to ranged weapons like bows and slings, and weapons with the finesse property, like darts, daggers, rapiers, shortswords, etc. If the PC wields a finesse weapon but chooses to use their Strength score to calculate attack rolls and damage, the die is unchanged.
• Weapons with the heavy property have their die size increased by one. This applies to melee weapons like the greataxe, greatsword, and maul, but also ranged weapons like the heavy crossbow and the longbow.
• If the PC uses two-weapon fighting, light weapons they wield in either hand have their die size decreased by one (if you are dual wielding a dagger and a handaxe, for example, both weapons do d4 damage, rather than d6). This does not apply to characters with the Dual Wielder feat, who can use two-weapon fighting with weapons which don't have the light property.
• Weapons with the loading property have their die size increased by one. This applies to crossbows (and firearms if the DM allows them).
• Weapons with the reach property have their die size decreased by one. Optionally, the DM can rule that the die size decreases only if the reach property is used, so that if you attack with a glaive from only 5 feet away, the damage die remains unchanged.
• Two-handed weapons have their die size increased by one - this includes versatile weapons which are wielded with two hands, as well as heavy weapons. This means the damage die increases twice for heavy weapons - once for the heavy property, and again because the weapon necessitates being wielded with two hands.
• Die size increases and decreases stack, to a minimum of d4 and a maximum of d12. So a shortsword, which is a martial weapon and therefore starts at d8 damage, becomes a d6 if its finesse or light properties are used, but becomes a d4 if both properties are used simultaneously.
• As always, weapons with the special property (lances, nets, and I include blowguns here as well) are their own category and may have totally different damage die sizes and properties.

The Composite Bow

This system lays the foundation to introduce into 5e a weapon that is sorely missed: the composite bow (a Strength-based longbow or short bow). It's always made more sense to me for bow use in D&D to be tied to Strength, rather than Dexterity. I also love the original Baldur's Gate games, and the plethora of composite bows the player can give to the likes of Minsc, Kivan, and other incredible archer companions.

Using my system, the short bow is a simple weapon, so its die size is d6 to start. It uses Dexterity for its attack and damage rolls, so its die size decreases to d4. Because it's a two-handed weapon, the die size increases again to d6.

The longbow is a martial weapon, so its die size is d8 to start. It uses Dexterity for its attack and damage rolls, so its die size decreases to d6. Because it has both the heavy and two-handed properties, its die size increases by two, from d6 all the way up to d10. This is already more damage than it does in baseline 5e. I think this is a good thing because the longbow is a weapon that, as good as it already is in 5e, it still somehow feels underrated when you consider its historical significance.

The composite bows take this one step further. They're largely the same as the other bows, except they're special ranged weapons which use Strength to calculate their attack and damage rolls and require a Strength score of 13 or more (for a short bow) or 15 or more (for a longbow) to use. Because it uses Strength instead of Dexterity, the composite bow's damage die has one less decrease in size, allowing the composite short bow to deal d8 damage, and allowing the composite longbow to reach the maximum size of d12. 

Those who are concerned with balance might caution against allowing a ranged weapon to do the same damage as a greataxe, but unless those people are getting rid of features which allow spelllcasters to excel at range, like the Spell Sniper feat and the Eldritch Lance Eldritch Invocation, I'm not listening.

The Strength-Based Monk

A knock-on effect of this system is that I felt the need to retool monks slightly. I house rule that beginning at 1st level, monks' unarmed strikes and attacks with monk weapons deal d6 damage. If they choose to use their Dexterity score to calculate the attack and damage roll, the die size decreases to d4. This doesn't change the progression for Dexterity-based monks in 5e, but allows Strength-based monks to eventually reach a d12 martials arts die at 17th level.

Other monk abilities like Deflect Missiles and Unarmored Defense are unaffected - the tradeoff is that the monk player has to choose between doing more damage or being harder to hit.

My updated weapon list for 5e can be found here.

On Social Interaction

I'm not one of those people who thinks Dungeons & Dragons needs a "social combat" system, of all things, I swear. I think social interaction in D&D is, like many aspects of the game, best left as a conversation between the players (via their characters) and the Dungeon Master (via their non-player characters). However, in my experience, the structure (or lack thereof) for social interactions in D&D (and 5th edition in particular) leaves a bit to be desired.

Side Note: In this post, I'll be using the term "NPC" to refer to any creature the PCs might talk to. This could be an ordinary human, demihuman, humanoid, etc., as well as intelligent monsters and mundane beasts which can be talked to using certain abilities and features, such as a speak with animals spell. In 5e, if there's a 6th-level or higher College of Eloquence bard in the party, this could be any creature, due to that subclass's Universal Speech feature.

Reaction Rolls

In old-school gaming, the social interaction structure usually boils down to the use of reaction rolls to determine the NPC's initial disposition. The player characters and the NPCs go back and forth until the DM decides it's appropriate to make another reaction roll. Depending on the edition, this may be modified by the negotiating PC's Charisma score. The reaction roll might improve or worsen the monster's disposition, and the structure repeats itself unless the players decide they've gotten what they wanted or the DM decides the interaction has run its course (for better or worse). The exact method for determining NPC reactions is highly variable depending on the edition being used.

Reaction rolls, as far as I can tell, aren't present at all in 5e until Bigby Presents: Glory of the Giants (published in 2023). The book uses reaction rolls in its random encounter section (referred to as "Initial Attitude", page 44). 

Interestingly, each encounter in this chapter has its own prescribed die roll depending on the monsters or NPCs present (a cloud giant's reaction might be determined by rolling d8, whereas a fire giant's reaction might be determined by rolling d10, for example). This is a neat way of representing the fact that some creatures may be more likely to react one way or another. Unfortunately, as far as I can tell, the book doesn't give the DM guidelines for how to recreate this mechanic themselves (though it's not difficult to extrapolate).

According to the section on Social Interaction in the 5e Dungeon Master Guide (page 244), the DM determines the NPC's initial disposition (no reaction roll - the DM just decides), and that in turn determines a difficulty class that the PCs have to overcome using Charisma checks in order to convince the monster to do something. As before, social interaction is largely an informal conversation, and the DM decides when the players need to roll. 

Alternatively, a 5e DM can do what most 5e players apparently do and skip all the boring talking - the players just yell at the DM that they roll Persuasion, and if they get higher than a 20 then they automatically succeed at whatever outlandish thing they're trying to get the NPC to do, and if the DM refuses then it's "railroading", or something.

I'm mostly fine with the old-school procedure. It works for the type of game it is, which is much looser, more natural, and less mechanic. My problem with the new-school way of handling this is that it's often trivially easy for specialized PCs to hit the DCs that the DMG offers up, despite the fact that elsewhere in the DMG (page 238), DCs are listed as going much higher than is typical for social interaction. 

A DM could fix this by abandoning the guidelines for Charisma check DCs altogether, and setting the DC for each "ask" the PCs make as being from 5 to 30 based on how difficult the DM thinks it would be to convince the NPC to do something. This works well enough, but I am sympathetic to those DMs who feel that social interaction in a more skills-oriented new-school game should have more structure.

On the NPC

Courtney Campbell of the Hack & Slash blog has a great product on DriveThruRPG called On the Non-player Character. It provides a number of tools and advice to make NPCs come to life, but what I like most of all is its list of actions PCs can take during social interaction. The product is geared towards old-school games, but as 5e is the edition I run most often, I set out to make it applicable to that system.

The product includes a discussion as to whether or not these options should be player-facing, and I err on the side that they should not. One of the trends in new-school play that I find troubling is that players too often look to their character sheet or to the Player's Handbook for a codified list of actions they can take or rolls they can make, rather than imagining their character as existing in the fantasy world and roleplaying them as such. The last thing I want is for players to yell at me that they want to take the Converse action and then start rolling Persuasion checks. 

The rules for social interaction presented in this post are for my use as the DM only, to inform what rolls I call for and how the results influence my roleplaying of the NPCs.

Alignment

Let me preface this by saying that I still use alignment in my games. I know it has fallen out of favor amongst players and DMs of all playstyles, but I still find it to be a helpful shorthand for determining what motivations and actions an NPC is more or less likely to have/take. 

In my games, alignment is mutable among humanoids of all kinds, but is fixed for outsider creatures like celestials and fiends, for whom alignment is a core part of their being. Other creatures that exist in the Material Plane, like dragons and giants, are still a bit fuzzy for me. I've had good chromatic dragons and evil metallic dragons, but this tends to have an unsatisfying dissonance for my players who are more familiar with the assumptions of D&D's typical setting - when I play with them, I tend to stick with the alignments that are typically suggested for these creatures.

That being said, I wanted alignment to have some influence on an NPC's initial disposition. I wanted evil creatures to be more likely to be hostile, and good ones to be more likely to be friendly, but I didn't want to eliminate the possibility that a pit fiend might be unsettlingly amicable, or that a gold dragon might in its righteous wroth assume that the PCs have sinister intentions.

Disposition

All encounters with NPCs begin with a reaction roll, which is 2d6. A result of 6 to 8 is neutral, higher is good, and lower is bad. Specifically, 2 or 3 is hostile (the NPC is likely to attack imminently), 4 or 5 is unfriendly (the NPC doesn't attack, but may make threatening demands of the PCs or otherwise seek to impede or oppose them), 9 or 10 is friendly (the NPC greets the PCs warmly, but isn't unconditionally helpful), and 11 or 12 is helpful (the NPC is sycophantically friendly and eager to aid the PCs).

The 2d6 roll is modified by the NPC's alignment: a chaotic NPC's reaction is modified by -1, an evil NPC's by -2, a good NPC's by +2, and a lawful NPC's by +1. Modifiers are cumulative, meaning a chaotic evil NPC's reaction is modified by -3, whereas a lawful good NPC's is modified by +3 (and so on for all the alignments in between). As a result, a chaotic evil creature is never immediately helpful, but might be friendly (the highest it can roll is a 9), and a lawful good creature is never immediately hostile, but might be unfriendly (the lowest it can roll is a 5).

The disposition of the NPC has riders on subsequent social DCs: an NPC with a neutral disposition has a social DC of 15, and the DC increases or decreases by 5 for each disposition below or above neutral (so a DC of 5 for a helpful NPC, or a DC of 25 for a hostile NPC). Additionally, any subsequent reaction rolls made by the NPC have a bonus or penalty based on their disposition: an NPC with a neutral disposition has no modifier, and the modifier increases or decreases by 2 for each category above or below neutral (-4 for a hostile NPC and +4 for a helpful one).

Lastly, the total of the initial reaction roll, modified by alignment, determines the number of "actions" the PCs can take before the NPC ends the interaction. The DM should be generous as to what constitutes an action - convincing, threatening, deceiving, bargaining, questioning, etc. 

In the case of a hostile NPC, it attacks immediately, unless the player characters attempt to convince it not to, in which case the number of "actions" they can take determines how many chances they have to do so. When they run out of actions, the creature attacks, unless it's been convinced not to. 

For other NPCs, PCs can attempt to extend the encounter, in which case they gain an additional 2d6-4 actions, and the NPC's disposition lowers by one category (in the case of the result being 0 or a negative number, the interaction ends regardless). This represents the NPC's patience being worn thin - an unfriendly NPC might make one final demand of the PCs before attacking, whereas a friendly or helpful NPC might have some other business they are eager to attend to.

The Procedure

Social interaction proceeds the way it should - as a conversation. Whenever the DM thinks that the players are trying to do something and is unsure of the outcome, they can refer to the list of actions and decide which best fits the PCs' approach, and resolve the action as described.

This is probably a good time to share my writeup of these rules. The document covers the reaction roll mechanics I described above, plus actions, some other things I'll get to, and my morale rules, which I may cover more extensively in another post - they're essentially a combination of 5e's barebones optional morale mechanics (DMG, page 273) and 2nd edition Advanced Dungeons and Dragons's more robust rules (2e DMG, page 97). Update: More on morale here.

Some actions require only a reaction roll from the NPC, while others require an ability check from the PCs, which may modify a subsequent reaction roll (the PC may nail a Persuasion check, but if the NPC still has an unfavorable reaction, this represents that the argument, while sound, doesn't appeal to the NPC in some way). Other actions require no rolls as all.

Bonds and Recurring NPCs

Another element of NPC interaction covered by Courtney Campbell is NPC bonds, which come into play when NPCs become recurring characters. The way I run it, reaction rolls are only used to determine initial disposition upon first encountering the NPC. After that, referring to the NPC's bond level with the PCs is more appropriate. Essentially, as the PCs interact with the same NPC multiple times, spend time with them, and help them, they can improve their bond and, in turn, the degree to which the NPC is willing to help them.

This is useful for faction leaders like rulers of kingdoms and guildmasters, as well as service-providing NPCs like clerics and wizards (assuming the PCs won't simply pay them for their services, or the NPC doesn't accept payment for such) - NPCs who the PCs will interact with often, and will often be asking for help from.

PCs can improve their bonds with NPCs simply by having non-violent interactions with them (even initially adversarial NPCs may find themselves becoming amused by or growing to love the ragtag group of murderhobos who talk their way out of drawing weapons whenever they're encountered), or they can take downtime to deliberately make efforts to improve their relationship.

Gifts

I'll admit that I often have trouble determining what amount of gold is appropriate to convince a given NPC to do something. How much gold does a goblin want to look the other way while the PCs sneak past them into the larger camp? How much does a dragon demand in tribute before it agrees not to roast the PCs? How much does a genie expect before it will consider granting the PCs a wish?

The section on Gifts in the above document is my attempt to roughly quantify this. The numbers probably look arbitrary, but I determined them by averaging out the amount of gold found in the treasure hoard of a Challenge Rating X-Y creature and then distributing that amount across each CR within that range...somehow. It was a while ago so I don't remember, and it's probably mathematically flawed in some way. It's not meant to be exact - just an estimation that I can quickly eyeball to see if the goblin is over the moon or if the dragon or genie is insulted. 10 gold sounds like enough to get a goblin to do just about anything, right? Gifts, like many of the rules in the document, are mutable, and constantly being playtested in my games. 

It's all a bit more involved than old-school D&D's reaction rolls and new-school D&D's loose DCs. I don't necessarily think that anything like this should be in the next DMG (and it's probably better for it not to be), nor do I think everyone should use it at their table, but I've found that having this extra bit of structure has helped make this aspect of the game feel more satisfying and "real". I'll give an example.

Convincing a Lich to Go Away

My last 5e game - which lasted three years and went from levels 3 to 24 or so using epic boons, ability score improvements up to 30, feats, and multiclassing to advance beyond 20th-level - ended not with an epic battle, but with a conversation. It wasn't the climax of a big story arc - the players had accomplished all that they wanted to in the sprawling sandbox I had set up, were ready to move on to a new game, and this was the last item on their to-do list.

They had been recruited by an allied NPC wizard (one with which they had a strong bond, who they had helped and requested help from a number of times prior to this) to investigate the ruined sprawl outside of the city, where more novice adventurers had accidentally unearthed the ancient lair of a powerful lich and gotten themselves killed. More adventurers were flocking to the site in search of treasure, and the NPC wanted the threat removed (note that the objective was not to kill the lich, though it could have been - the objective was to make it so the lich stopped killing hapless idiots).

So, the party battled their way through twisted Zuggtmoy cultists (the lich and its acolytes worshiped the Demon Lady of Fungus), shambling corpse mounds, and fungoid-shelled beholders, and finally made their way to the lich's inner sanctum. I had rolled that the lich was unfriendly, and decided that it was doped out of its mind on a hallucinogenic mushroom cocktail. I figured it would rasp at them threateningly about how the PCs will never grasp the deeper truths which the Lady of Rot reveals to her faithful, how they're blind to the role they play in Her grand rhizomic scheme, in their fear of death, they fail to understand life, etc. Then, knowing my players (so I thought), they'd fight.

To my surprise, the wizard character starting talking the lich down. The character was a very old time traveler (long story), and beforehand we had agreed that his character probably knew this lich when it was a mortal and an apprentice at the academy. He approached the lich as an old friend, chatted it up, slurped down some potent fungus goo, passed his saving throw to not dissociate completely, joked with the lich, questioned it, and found out what it was doing there and why.

The lich was cultivating and consuming sacrilegious fungi in order to commune with its Demon Lady. It could only do it here, for magical reasons. What if he could do it somewhere else? The wizard suggested an alternative location which he had learned about in his adventures, and convinced the lich that his work could continue there. The lich eventually agreed, and the wizard used wish to send the lich and its lair elsewhere. After having a good long think about how I might pervert the wish to something unintended, I realized I couldn't in any way that felt legitimate, so I ruled that it was a success.

It took a few hours to resolve - about as long as a big dumb fight - and most importantly, it felt earned. There was danger that the lich might attack the PCs, but they just barely talked him down. There was danger that the wizard might dissociate from the hallucinogens, that the lich would deem him unworthy, and the rest of the party would have to fight it minus their wizard. There was danger that the lich would refuse the party's solution. There was danger that the wish might backfire. But everything worked, and it worked because of a combination of player skill, problem solving, and die rolls. It totally caught me off guard, and you'll just have to take my word for it when I say it just worked.

And then, our campaign ended - not with a big dumb fight, but with a conversation. And then, of course, we talked about epilogues. But that's another conversation.

AD&D 2e Play Report: Session 2

Last night, we had the second session of our AD&D 2e campaign. My play report from last week's session is here. 

Recapping

To recap briefly, the party decided to aid the stonemasons guild in checking in on a missing work crew which had been hired and taken upriver to repair an abandoned tower in the mountains, and to acquire delinquent payments from the guild's client. They had a number of random encounters in the wilderness but eventually reached the tower. On the way they learned that the tower was once occupied by a cruel warlord who waged war on the people of the surrounding forest, and that the hateful spirit of the warlord haunts the mountains to this day. The party met some of the forest people, who were unfriendly, but managed to avoid a fight.

A popular recapping technique is to ask one of the players to give a summary of the previous session. This not only engages the players by allowing them to participate in the recap, but also allows the DM to get a sense of what the players remember and what struck them as important at the time.

I like this technique on paper, but I find it takes considerable game time for my players to recall events. There is often a lot of back and forth between players, as different players recall different things, and between the players and myself, as they ask clarifying questions to ensure they're recalling events as they occurred and in the correct order. 

We've tried it a few times, but I find it easier and faster to give the recaps myself. A benefit of the DM giving the recap is that the DM can emphasize any important information that the players learned in the prior session, reinforcing those revelations and making them top-of-mind for the players in the session in which they're about to participate.

For example, in my recap I emphasized the information that the party had obtained from the master stonemason (reminding them what their quest goals were), as well as the information about the former lord of the tower, and the encounter with the forest people (who will come back later). I mostly glazed over the other less eventful or relevant encounters.

Aggressive Negotiation

For the tower map, I used Dyson Logos's Archon's Tower and the dungeons below. I sometimes make my own maps, but Dyson makes great maps that are usually quick and easy to key and stock with monsters, traps, treasure, and the like, so most of the time I prefer to just find something of Dyson's that suits my purposes.

The party approached the tower and were met by a mercenary who spoke to them through a window from the opposite side of the entryway door (the party noted the murder hole above the door). 

When preparing this encounter, I rolled an initial disposition of 5 (unfriendly) for the mercenaries (I talk about how I determine initial dispositions in the previous play report). I decided that the mercenaries would try to shake the party off and get them to leave. Because the roll was 5, the party would have five attempts to negotiate before the mercenaries ended the encounter. Because the mercenaries were unfriendly, any subsequent reaction rolls would be made at -2. I describe my methods for adjudicating social interactions, including the number of social "actions" the PCs can attempt in an encounter and modifiers to reaction rolls based on initial disposition, here.

The mercenaries told the party that the stonemasons were fine, that they were refinishing the tower's basement before working on the exterior and were not to be disturbed, that they had sent a messenger with a letter from the masons and payment to the guild a few days ago, and that the tower was private property and the party should leave.

The player of Rozidien Stoneskull, the paladin, asked how they might roll an Insight check in 2e. My snarky answer was that we don't do that in AD&D, but I allowed a Wisdom check anyway. The paladin succeeded and concluded that the mercenary was being shady.

With negotiations going nowhere, Karven Stone, the thief, snuck around the tower's perimeter to find alternative means of entering.

Based on the profile view of the tower, I concluded that it would be just a ten-foot climb to reach one of the lower windows, since the tower is built into a slope. Karven easily climbed this and secured a piton and rope to allow Bernhardt Dalton, the cleric, to climb up behind him (the base climbing rate for a non-thief without any climbing proficiency is 40%, plus 55% for having the use of a rope and wall, so Bernhardt did this easily - climbing success rates and modifiers are listed on Tables 65 and 66 of the 2e PHB, page 161).

Climbing in through the window put Bernhardt and Karven inside the tower on the second floor (at the top of the murder hole). There was a single mercenary stationed there, who was craning his neck to keep an eye on the party below, and didn't notice them come in. Karven moved silently across the room and attempted a backstab, but missed. The guard hollered, and we rolled initiative.

Initiative in AD&D

Initially, I didn't want to use 2e's optional individual initiative modifiers (2e PHB, page 125) in this campaign. 2e uses a simple side-based initiative system by default, but I've always preferred individual initiative because it keeps the action varied between PCs and monsters throughout the round.

The way individual initiative works in 2e is everyone declares their actions at the start of the round, then rolls initiative, and the initiative score is modified by the action the combatant is taking (the weapon speed factor if an attack is being made, casting time if a spell is being cast, and myriad other modifiers which cover a variety of other combat actions), plus other situational modifiers (whether the creature is hasted, slowed, on higher ground, etc.). This is redone every round. It's tedious, but my players wanted to try it.

What I'm hoping to get out of 2e is (among other things) a faster combat system than 5e. This initiative system, paired with the high whiff factor at low levels in AD&D, is not giving me the results I want. I'm hoping this improves at higher levels, when hit probability is better, considering 2e doesn't have as much hit point bloat as 5e.

I've recently read Old School Essentials and am tempted to lift the Tom Moldvay Basic rules for initiative (declare actions > side-based initiative > morale > movement > missile attacks > spell casting > melee attacks), but for now I'm sticking with trying to do it the 2e way until I'm certain that the system doesn't work for me. After all, I'm running 2e because I want to see how the system runs - I don't want to start changing things after two sessions.

Kicking in the Door

While Bernhardt and Karven dealt with the guard upstairs, Rozidien, Haymond Baler (the fighter), and their hirelings rushed the door, smashing it open (an open doors check, with a -2 penalty because the strong wooden door was wedged shut from the other side, and a +3 bonus for the extra bodies contributing to the effort). On the other side, the party was met with eight additional mercenaries.

A fight ensued. Bernhardt used his mancatcher to snare the guard upstairs and pull him so that he fell into the murder hole and plummeted 20 feet to his death. Karven and Haymond each took a spear wound for maximum (6) damage.

Mercenary Morale

Using 2e's morale rules, I started checking the mercenaries' morale after the first casualty. The penalties are pretty severe (2e DMG, page 98) and can snowball quickly, so the mercenaries failed their morale checks pretty consistently and began retreating deeper into the tower. 2e doesn't limit attacks of opportunity when combatants flee, so the PCs were allowed free attacks against every mercenary which fled. All told, four mercenaries were killed, two were subdued, and three fled. The fight felt deadly and ended fairly quickly after the first casualty, which I liked a lot. 

Bernhardt used two spell slots to heal Haymond and Karven. With a Wisdom of 16, Bernhardt gets two extra 1st-level spells slots (and, at 3rd-level, two extra 2nd-level spell slots), a luxury which isn't afforded to wizards, but makes clerics' spellcasting capabilities a bit more robust at low levels.

The party looted the bodies - they have a cart, which I failed to point out they could not bring into the mountains with them (because there are no roads or trails leading to the tower) and they are insistent on selling every piece of chain mail and every shield and spear, which, fine, whatever. 

They then took some time to explore the tower before pursuing the mercenaries. 

Exploring the Tower

Bernhardt and Karven climbed a very tall ladder and found a locked chest, which contained the mercenaries' payment, as well as a contract between their leader, Oskar, and someone else named Gwenda. Karven bribed Bernhardt into letting him keep the bulk of the platinum they found and keep it secret from the rest of the party.

Next, Karven snuck up to the top of the tower and found a harpy and some giant ravens nesting in a heap of branches, bones, viscera, and treasure. The party discussed this and decided to pursue the mercenaries and locate the stonemasons before dealing with the harpy.

Random Encounters

All of the aforementioned activity (negotiations, fighting, and exploring) took time, which I tracked in roughly ten-minute turns. All told, the party had spent about an hour in the tower. I rolled six encounter checks, and ended up with one random encounter. 

After stocking a dungeon, I create a d100 table which lists all of the creatures in the dungeon and their relative frequency. In this case, I rolled cultists, who are hiding in the dungeons under the the tower. I decided that the fleeing mercenaries had alerted them, and a few of them had come up to dissuade the party from their current course of action.

The cultists were waiting for the party when they opened the next door. They told the party that they had no quarrel with them, that they paid the guild for the price of the masons' lives and that they were not permitted to leave until they had completed the ominous "great work". The cultists serve someone called "the Bone Lord".

The party got the jump on the cultists and struck first. One cultist fled and was killed, and the other promptly surrendered. The party questioned the surviving cultist and learned that the masons were being held in a dungeon three floors below, but that some of them were already dead. They knocked the remaining cultist unconscious and continued down below.

Delving Deeper

There they found a throne room lined with black banners depicting a white skull on a triangle trimmed in silver, tomb niches piled high with bones and skulls, an imposing throne, and a tunnel carved into the back of one of the niches.

The Bone Lord is Myrkul, the evil Forgotten Realms deity of death. I've toyed around with making my own pantheons in the past, but I like a version of D&D that is a weird mélange of Forgotten Realms and Greyhawk gods, factions, and the like. It just doesn't feel like D&D to me without Red Wizards, the Zhents, Iuz, Vecna, and the like.

The party proceeded through the tunnel (the throne was magical, but they didn't investigate it enough to figure that out - perhaps I should have telegraphed it somehow), past another locked door, and found themselves in a long pillared hall. Another group of cultists was here on watch, and turned to menacingly face down the intruders.

And that's where we wrapped. We played for about two-and-a-half hours and got in some social interaction, combat, and exploration. As usual, the combat took the longest and felt like the biggest drag on the game. I'll be keeping an eye on that and looking for ways to make it run smoother in the future, with the initiative problem as my foremost concern.

Will the party figure out what nefarious plots are underway at the tower? Will they save the remaining masons? What's the deal with that harpy? Tune in next time to find out!

On Shapechanging

If one goes looking for what are commonly considered to be the "problem" spells in 5th edition Dungeons & Dragons, there are some usual suspects which always come up - guidance, find familiar (and summoning in general), healing word, augury (and other divinations), healing spirit, counterspell, tiny hut, simulacrum (and all illusions), wish, and so, so many more. Hyper-online D&D players love to complain about magic in D&D.

I see problems with these spells and others, and have had my share of trouble with magic in D&D, but none of them has ever bothered me quite so much as polymorph, its related spells, and shapechanging magic in general, like the druid's Wild Shape ability.

On Challenge Rating

Polymorph (Player's Handbook, page 266) allows the caster to transform a creature for up to an hour into any beast whose challenge rating is equal to or less than the target. This changes the target's game statistics (including mental ability scores, but not alignment and personality) to that of the beast. 

True polymorph (page 283) uses the same CR = level approach as polymorph, but the new creature doesn't need to be a beast, and the change lasts until dispelled if the caster concentrates on the spell for the full hour. 

Shapechange (page 274) again uses the CR = level approach, but it only affects the caster, the new form needn't be a beast, the caster retains their mental ability scores and skill and saving throw proficiencies, and for the duration the caster can use an action to change shape again.

My problem with this is that the Monster Manual states "An appropriately equipped and well-rested party of four adventurers should be able to defeat a monster that has a challenge rating equal to its level without suffering any deaths" (page 9). In other words, a CR 7 creature is meant to be a challenge for a party of four appropriately equipped and well-rested 7th-level characters.

So...if a CR 7 creature is roughly equivalent to four 7th-level characters, why can a 7th-level character transform into a CR 7 creature, which in and of itself should be a fitting challenge for the entire party? Why does the Monster Manual tell the DM, when building encounters, to equate a CR 7 creature to an entire 7th-level party, but for the sake of this spell and those like it, equate a CR 7 creature with a single 7th-level character?

Mass polymorph (Xanathar's Guide to Everything, page 160) is a bit different - it affects up to 10 creatures, and just like polymorph, the new forms can be beasts only. However, the new form's CR must be equal to or less than half the target's level. I imagine that this caveat is there because it affects more than one creature, but I'm going to interpret it as recognition that an Xth-level character is not equivalent to a CR X monster.

Wild Shape (PHB, page 64) recognizes this too. A 2nd- or 3rd-level druid can Wild Shape into a CR 1/4 beast (i.e., not a CR 2 or 3 beast). A 4th-, 5th-, 6th-, or 7th-level druid can Wild Shape into a CR 1/2 beast. At 8th-level and beyond, they can Wild Shape into a CR 1 beast. The Circle of the Moon druid (page 69) can do a bit better, but even at the height of their powers, they can Wild Shape into a CR 6 beast (at 18th-level) or a CR 10 elemental (at 10th-level, expending two uses of Wild Shape in doing so).

Why is it that a 7th-level bard, sorcerer, or wizard gets access to a spell which immediately allows them to change into a more powerful creature than is allowed by the shapechanging class ability of the shapechangey-est subclass of the game's shapechanging class? (Yes, druids do get access to polymorph too, but that's not the point I'm making.)

Similar to how mass polymorph affects multiple creatures, one could argue that the limitation on Wild Shape is there because the druid can use that ability relatively often (twice per short rest), whereas another spellcaster's spell slots (used to cast polymorph) only return on a long rest. Yet, considering a spellcaster can get up to three 4th-level spell slots per day with which to polymorph - plus more, if they choose to use higher-level slots to do so - this doesn't seem right either.

As an aside, this makes me wish that the Monster Manual or Dungeon Master's Guide included a table which roughly matched characters of a given level to monsters of a given CR, i.e., a CR 1 monster is roughly equivalent to a 3rd-level character - something like that. It would make so many things easier - not just this specific issue, but also encounter balancing (when I feel the need to do that), and designing player characters as monsters and vice versa. 

Want to stat up a 20th-level cleric as a PC and convert them to a monster/nonplayer character? Here's what CR they should be. Want to give a red dragon wyrmling sorcerer levels? Well, a CR 4 creature is roughly equivalent to a 6th-level character, so they can have 6 levels of sorcerer (granted, this would effectively change the CR, but let's be honest - those monsters need some beefing up).

Xanathar's Guide to Everything has something similar in Chapter 2: Dungeon Master's Tools, under Encounter Building (page 88), which gives guidelines for how many creatures of a given CR to use in an encounter against a number of characters of a given level, but these tables also make the laughable claim that a 20th-level character is roughly equivalent to a CR 7, 8, 9, or 10 monster, so I don't really trust that math.

On Hit Points

Perhaps the more problematic element of polymorph is this: "The target assumes the hit points of its new form. When it reverts to its normal form, the creature returns to the number of hit points it had before it transformed." All of the aforementioned shapechanging spells work this way, save for mass polymorph, which does the same thing but with temporary hit points for whatever reason (precluding the affected creatures from benefiting from additional sources of temp HP or from healing), and shapechange, which specifies that when the target changes their form additional times, they don't assume the hit points of their new form if it has more hit points than their last form.

So the sorcerer twins a polymorph spell to target the 8th-level barbarian and fighter, turning them both into tyrannosaurus rexes (D&D is a silly game, which is a good thing). They stomp into combat against the dragon, take 136 points of damage each, then revert to their humanoid forms and...still have their full 100 hit points or whatever from before they were changed.

I thought this was shapechanging magic - I didn't realize the spell encases the target in a t-rex-shaped shell which wards them against harm until the enemy does enough damage to break them out of it. The way I understand it, the target's body is transformed - the t-rex form is still their body. It's body takes damage, the target's body takes damage.

"Well, the target's armor class is usually worse when they transform into a beast, so if they're easier to hit and still take damage as normal then the spell just sucks!" one might say, to which I would say, "No it doesn't!"

The benefit of polymorph and its ilk is that the target can assume myriad forms to suit any situation. With the use of one spell or class feature the affected creature can climb, burrow, fly, swim, become faster, stronger, better able to concentrate on spells, gain new proficiencies, heightened senses, and - with more powerful magic like shapechange, true polymorph, and Elemental Wild Shape - squeeze through cracks as narrow as an inch wide, gain immunities and resistances, cast spells, unlock a new suite of supernatural actions, speak new languages, wield a flame whip and lightning sword (assuming your new form gets the typical equipment included in its statblock, which - don't get me started), and even with all that, they retain their alignment and personality.

So yeah, the tradeoff should be that the target's body is their body and their hit points are their hit points.

Changing Shapechanging

I like that in D&D a creature can change into a dragon or a beholder or a giant or whatever. I really do. It's an awesome ability, but, I also get tired of the t-rex polymorph meta. Shapechanging magic is immensely powerful without having game-changing combat utility. In my most recent 5e game, the warlock spent levels 17 to 18 as a death knight and level 19 as a balor. 

It was really cool when they first did it, but for three whole levels in the last tier of the game, they weren't even playing a warlock anymore, because it was just so much better to transform into an "equivalent" monster. If they really wanted to, they could have permanently transformed the whole party into balors (again, pretty cool, but it feels wrong somehow - they also would have stomped every encounter for the rest of the campaign, easily).

So, I'm done with polymorph as written. My house rule for shapechanging mechanics is presented below:

When a creature changes shape (such as with the polymorph spell), a player character can change shape into a creature whose CR equals (at most) half the character’s level (rounded down), unless the feature specifies that the character can only change shape into a creature with a lower CR (i.e. the Wild Shape class feature). When a creature’s new form is reduced to 0 hit points, it reverts to its normal form. Any hit points lost during the transformation are subtracted from the character’s current hit points.

For example, a 20th level wizard with 142 hit points uses polymorph to transform into a CR 8 tyrannosaurus rex with 136 hit points. The wizard’s tyrannosaurus rex form is reduced to 0 hit points, and the wizard resumes their normal form. The wizard now has 6 hit points (142 - 136 = 6).

Shapechanging abilities grant you only the physical traits of the new form. You always retain your Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma scores when you change shape, along with any saving throw or skill proficiencies associated with those scores. You do not gain access to any abilities, actions, proficiencies, or spells which the new form has if those features use Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma.

Side Note: I have a second house rule for Circle of the Moon druids which grants them 4 temporary hit points per druid level when they Wild Shape (based on the Circle of Spores's Symbiotic Entity feature - Tasha's Cauldron of Everything, page 36), so that Wild Shape maintains some combat utility for them in light of this change. I would also rule that the limitation on CR doesn't affect Elemental Wild Shape, since that feature specifies that you can transform into a more powerful creature than would otherwise be allowed, and specific rules trump general rules in 5e.

System Shock

When I first decided to change shapechanging in my games, I first looked back at Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd edition, it being my "older edition" reference point. It was definitely still a mess back then, including a complicated and poorly laid out system for polymorphing creatures and objects, for which the duration changes depending on the difference between the kingdom, class, "relationship", size, shape, and intelligence of the creature or object and what it is being turned into (2e PHB, page 242). For example a lion can be polymorphed into a sphinx permanently - because a sphinx is like a lion - but a turnip can only be polymorphed into a purple worm for a few hours - because a turnip is not at all like a purple worm. That is the extent of the guidance given.

2e also has cool ideas like polymorphing a creature into a rock and grinding the rock into dust to kill them, but if one polymorphed the creature directly into dust they'd have to "scatter the dust far and wide" in order to effectively kill the creature. I have no idea how I would apply this to 5e, but it is inspiring.

2e also includes system shock (2e PHB, page 21), which is a percentage chance - based on a character's Constitution - to survive body-altering effects like polymorph, petrification, and magical aging. On a failed system shock roll, the change is so devastating to the creature that it dies instantly. The check is made when the creature changes shape and when it reverts to it original form (page 205). Notably, it doesn't apply to the polymorph self spell, so I think the check is only required if the change is done to an unwilling creature.

If I were to introduce system shock to 5e, I'd probably do it as such:

Whenever a creature is unwillingly subjected to a magical effect which reshapes or ages its body (petrification and reversing petrification, shapechanging, magical aging, etc.), that creature may be instantly killed by the shock to its body and mind. The creature must make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw or instantly die.

I wouldn't necessarily encourage this, as it only enhances polymorph's ability to be a pseudo-death spell, which it already is in 5e, if Rules-As-Written white room theory-crafters are to be given credence. Basically, the caster transforms the enemy into a vulnerable creature like a sheep and then surrounds the target with their allies, readying to attack all at once so that the entire party's focused damage is applied simultaneously, before the creature reverts to its original form. 

This is incredibly cheesy and I would never allow it (the first hit to drop the target to 0 hit points would cause it to revert to its original form, in my opinion - roll initiative to see who strikes first), but I thought I should address it in case Redditors decide to nickel and dime me on this point.

Interestingly, polymorph self in 2nd edition (PHB, page 206) only allows the affected creature to benefit from the new form's movement and breathing abilities. However, they can change shape as often as they please while the spell lasts, similar to 5e's shapechange. This was my inspiration for making it so that shapechanging in 5e only grants you the creature's physical capabilities, not mental ones.

Retaining Personality

I always love to make it a point whenever polymorph comes up in my 5e games that the affected creature retains its alignment and personality. "Don't worry, friends - you can tell that the tyrannosaurus rex is me, your loyal ally, because it has my personality and mannerisms."

Don't worry, this is actually the party's barbarian!

2e has another interesting mechanic by which a polymorphed creature might assume the personality of (and believe itself to truly be) the creature it's polymorphed into (PHB, page 205). A percentage chance is calculated based on the difference in Intelligence and hit dice between forms. The polymorphed creature must roll against this percentage each day it's polymorphed, and on a failure, it effectively becomes the new creature and comes under the control of the DM until recovered by a wish spell or similar magic. This total transformation includes the acquisition of all the new creature's magical and special abilities (like a dragon's innate spellcasting and breath weapon). Furthermore, those who are reverted to their original form after this transformation has occurred maintain the belief that they are actually the polymorphed creature and attempt to return to that form.

Again, this doesn't apply to the polymorph self spell, so it might apply to unwilling creatures only. However, polymorph any object (2e's version of true polymorph - PHB, page 242) does state "The system shock roll must be applied to living creatures, as must the restrictions noted regarding the polymorph other and stone to flesh spells." Which restrictions are we referring to?

Stone to flesh (2e PHB, page 230) has some language about the cubic volume of flesh and stone that can be converted (with a delightful mental image of a wizard creating a tunnel of flesh through a solid stone wall), as well as some language about broken or weathered petrified individuals retaining their damage and deformities when unpetrified, so either or both of these might be the aforementioned "restrictions".

The "restrictions noted regarding the polymorph other...spell" might then be the note about retaining personality when polymorphed. This is how I choose to read it, as although the target of the polymorph any object spell could be willing or unwilling (and previous examples suggest that only unwilling targets are at risk of losing their personality), it makes perfect sense that a creature which spends days, months, or years polymorphed into a demon might be at risk of believing themselves to actually be a demon.

A scientist (AKA modern day wizard) who turns themselves into a fly may be at risk of believing themselves to truly be the Brundlefly.

This becomes a potential solution to the true polymorph problem, wherein a 17th-level character expends one 9th-level spell slot one time and proceeds to spend the rest of their adventuring days in the form of a death knight or balor with no risk of consequence. If I were to use such a mechanic in 5e, I'd do it like so: 

Whenever a creature is subjected to a magical effect which reshapes its body into that of another creature, there is a chance that the creature assumes the alignment, personality, and mental ability scores of its new form. 

At dawn each day after the creature is first transformed, the creature must make a Charisma saving throw. The DC equals 10 plus the difference in Charisma between forms (if the new form's Charisma score is higher) or minus the difference in Charisma between forms (if the new form's Charisma score is lower), plus the difference in levels or CR (if the new form's level or CR is higher) or minus the difference in levels or CR (if the new form's level or CR is lower). 

On a failed saving throw, the creature assumes the alignment, personality, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma scores of the new form, gains all associated abilities and proficiencies, and comes under the control of the DM. The transformation can be reverted as normal, but changes to alignment, personality, mental ability scores, associated abilities and proficiencies, and control of the creature by the DM can be reverted only by way of a greater restoration or wish spell, or similar magic. Until that time, the creature believes itself to be its new true form and attempts to return to that form.

I'm using Charisma instead of Intelligence here, because Charisma in 5e is a creature's "force of personality" (PHB, page 173), and this is a contest of personality/sense of self. I'm tempted to leave it as Intelligence, because Intelligence needs all the help it can get in 5e, but Charisma feels like the "right" ability score to use. 

I'm using CR instead of hit dice because CR is the measure of a monster's power in 5e, whereas the same can be said of hit dice in 2e.

Again, I like that shapechanging magic can accomplish such goofy and cool effects. PCs should be able to transform into powerful monsters at a certain point in the game, but the conversion rates are whacky, transforming into a t-rex every combat is boring after the first time, and one shouldn't be able to live out their days as a dragon without risk of consequence. 

Shapechanging magic is extremely versatile without being the dominant meta-strategy in combat during the later tiers of gameplay. I like its combat potential reined in, its mechanics more sensible, and its drawbacks more nuanced - or rather, in 5e, I'd like it to have any drawbacks at all!

Play Report: AD&D 2e, Session 1

I ran the first session of my new Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, 2nd edition game last night. How did it go? What did we learn? Did the party of 1st-level characters in the deadly system TPK? Let's find out!

Against Starting in a Tavern

In my previous D&D 5th edition game, we started in a tavern. The first hour was an agonizing experience - I had seeded the tavern with non-player characters who could deliver rumors about the adventures the player characters could pursue. Each player had a few rumors (some had different rumors than others, and a few had the same rumors), and everyone had their own idea about what they wanted to do. The hard part, for whatever reason, was getting the PCs to interact with each other.

I had tried to stress to them that they were adventurers, who wanted to go on an adventure, and that they had come to the tavern to find adventurers to adventure with - standard D&D stuff. After having several NPCs say to each of them something along the lines of "Oh, you're and adventurer? Well, you should adventure with that other guy who said he wants to adventure!", they started to get the message and gathered themselves together. Still, there was one player who, every time I asked what their character was doing, they would say "I'm just existing." Sigh.

Eventually, I had a surly brigand come into the tavern and take umbrage with the PC in question: "Hey, I don't like the way you're just existing! I'm going to come back with my buddies and we're going to rough you up. There's a bunch of us so you should probably find some adventurers to adventure with!" The Dungeon Master does what they have to do to get the ball rolling.

This most likely isn't a problem with most groups. I imagine that most players are excited to interact with one another's characters, form connections, and get to the exciting stuff. But because I'm running this game for the same group, I established the following for this campaign:

• Every PC is an adventurer interested in adventuring. The player is responsible for deciding why. The paladin wants to destroy evil. The cleric wants to spread their god's teachings. The thief wants to steal stuff. The farmer-fighter came to town to sell his crop and discovered they could make 300 gold just by killing a ghost. That sort of thing.
• All the PCs have already met and agreed to adventure together. The good-aligned fighter, paladin, and cleric have somehow - at least temporarily - made common cause with the evil thief.
• Once the players decide which quest they want to pursue, the campaign starts in the town nearest to the chosen adventure site, where they can gather information, provisions, and hirelings, then head out.

This worked pretty well to speed things up. 

Agency in the Sandbox

I had five quest locations prepared (a good number for a sandbox, in my experience, though just three or even two would do), so I had each player roll a d6 to determine which quest hook they got, with a 6 being a reroll for two hooks instead of one. They learned about a wizard who wanted to recover pegasus eggs and hatchlings from nearby nest, a cleric who wanted to put an angry spirit haunting a tomb to rest, and the head of a stonemasons guild who wanted to check on a work crew who had been sent to refurbish a ruined tower and had gone silent.

The pegasus quest was the highest-paying, but the good-aligned characters deduced that this would probably entail killing some pegasi, which they weren't interested in doing. Of the two remaining quests, they chose to check in on the stonemasons, which they figured was the more time-sensitive of the two. The drawback was that this quest was three and a half days' travel into the forest and up into the mountains, whereas the other quest was a day-and-a-half jaunt down the road and across some scrubland.

The Warlord's Tower is only one hex further than the Whispering Tomb, but because of more difficult terrain, traveling to the former takes much longer than the latter (using Table 74 of the 2nd edition Dungeon Master's Guide for terrain modifiers to movement rate, page 168).

I reminded the players that this was AD&D, and that the wilderness was extremely dangerous - the more time they spent traversing it, the more likely they were to run into something beyond their abilities. Despite that, they decided to continue pursuing the quest with the longer overland journey.

Getting Help

I let my players know during session 0 that I was designing adventures with a party of six to ten people in mind. Although I only have four players, I decided to do it this way because, as far as I could tell, six to ten is the most common party size recommended by "classic" AD&D adventures, and I wanted to design my own adventures in that vein, rather than tailoring everything to the actual party size (or throwing out balance entirely, which I find dissatisfying despite it being the OSR approach). Similarly, when I design adventures for 5e, I do so with four to six players in mind.

I suggested that each player could make two characters to bring the party size up to eight, but they declined. I then recommended then that they hire two to six hirelings to join them and round out the party.

For simplicity, I prefer 5e's approach to hirelings (5e Player's Handbook, page 159), which is that an unskilled hireling (a porter, a torchbearer, or someone to watch the mule, for example) costs two silver per day, whereas a skilled hireling (someone with proficiency of any kind, including the use of weapons and armor, i.e. someone who will fight alongside the party) costs two gold per day. Since the journey would be three and a half days there and back (seven days total), an unskilled hireling would cost 14 silver, and a skilled hireling would cost 14 gold.

Hirelings don't earn a share of treasure or experience. Henchmen, which I've decided the PCs can acquire at 3rd-level, get a half-share of treasure and XP. If these hirelings are still with the party when they get to 3rd-level, they can graduate to being full henchmen.

They opted to hire two mercenaries (the fighter had a lot of leftover gold after buying equipment), which I generated on the spot. In the future, I'd probably stock each settlement with two to six hirelings so I have them ready to go. I randomly determined the hirelings' race, alignment, and personality traits, and ended up with the following:

• Terris, a Lawful Evil human. He is suspicious, ponderous, and cynical.
• Yinvalur Sparkguard, a Neutral Good elf. He is generous, depressing, and nervous.

The party kind of hit the jackpot in getting an elf (albeit a depressed, anxious elf). They have better hit points, THAC0, morale, a bonus to hit with bows and swords, near-immunity to sleep and charm effects, and a better chance to detect secret doors (and they can do so without even looking for one).

Getting There is Half the Fun

We assume that the party leaves town under ideal weather conditions, and each day thereafter I roll 2d6 to determine how the weather changes, using this weather hex map, which I got from Goblin's Henchman (I decided to start the campaign during the Spring).

Because the party would be following a river, they would have no chance of getting lost, which was good for them.

Wilderness turns are four hours each. The party can usually travel overland for eight hours (or two turns), set up camp for eight hours (or two turns), and rest for eight hours (or two turns). Table 56 in the 2e Dungeon Master's Guide (page 138) tells the DM when to check for encounters based on the terrain type the party is in. If an encounter check is called for, I roll d10 to determine if one occurs (again, the chance of an encounter is determined by terrain according to Table 56).

Getting from town to the tower took the whole session (about two and a half hours). The party had seven random encounters.

Making Random Encounters Interesting

I decided to use the random encounter tables in the AD&D 1st edition DMG (Temperate and Sub-Tropical Conditions, Uninhabited/Wilderness Areas, page 184) because I prefer them to those in any 2e book.

To spruce up these encounters on the fly, I use Table 58 in the 2e DMG (page 139) to determine encounter distance, and a modified reaction roll table which I find works best for my games:

2d6        Reaction

2-3         Hostile (usually attacks, but might be negotiated with briefly)

4-5         Unfriendly (usually threatens or impedes the party in some way, but can be negotiated with)

6-8         Indifferent (usually ignores the party, but is open to negotiation)

9-10       Friendly (approaches the party, usually looking for something from them)

11-12     Helpful (sycophantically friendly, may even enthusiastically join the party)

The reaction roll is modified by alignment, such that Lawful creatures receive a +1, Chaotic creatures a -1, Good creatures +2, and Evil creatures -2. The modifiers are cumulative, so a Lawful Good creature would receive +3 and a Chaotic Evil one would receive -3. A LG creature is never outright hostile (the lowest they can roll is a 5) and a CE creature is never outright helpful (the highest they can roll is a 9).

After that, any further reaction rolls (for negotiations, for example) are modified by the creature's current disposition:

Disposition    Modifier

Hostile            -4

Unfriendly      -2

Indifferent        0

Friendly          +2

Helpful           +4

With these tools, I can usually create something varied and interesting on the fly.

The Periled Paths of the Warlord's Wood

The party wasn't even a day out from town when they encountered their first test - a five-foot-long toad, sitting in the river, looking at them.

Rozidien Stoneskull, the paladin, recalled that giant toads in settled areas mostly feed on livestock such as chickens, goats, and sheep, but that they eat the occasional dwarf, gnome, or halfling as well (I called for an Intelligence check here). The party concluded that this toad was eyeing their dwarf as a potential meal, and steered clear of it. Unfortunately, the toad climbed out of the river and started following them.

Haymond Baler, the farmer-fighter, bet he could put out the toad's eye with a sling (making a called shot at -4 to hit) and missed. The toad, which had no intention of attacking them, turned and fled. Wanting to ensure it stayed away, the party hurled sling bullets and daggers at it as it fled (all missing, hilariously). Rozidien chased it down and got a solid hit in for 10 damage before the party gave up on trying to kill it (the toad had 13 hit points). This all took three rounds and only one hit was scored.

I had actually rolled a friendly reaction for the toad. What does that mean? Probably that it wanted food. Had the party been able to cast speak with animals or some similar spell, who knows what ancient knowledge the toad would impart upon them? We'll probably never know.

While the party was camping on the first night, they heard the howls of a pack of wild dogs nearby in the forest. There was some concern they might be attacked by wolves, but the dogs were indifferent, so the encounter passed without incident.

When the party set up camp the next day, a mother grizzly bear and her four cubs wandered into camp. Most of my players have played Baldur's Gate, so they knew not to trifle with a bear at 1st-level in AD&D. Bernhardt Dalton, the cleric, opened his barrel of salted herring and left it for the bears to eat while the rest of the party backed away. 

I had determined that the bear was friendly, so it was happy to eat the party's food and rummage around their camp before wandering off. Some ranger is going to have to put that bear down sooner or later now that it knows to associate humans with food, sadly.

The following day, again while setting camp, a group of about a half dozen foresters wandered into their camp and asked to join them (they were friendly). The party shared their quest with the foresters, who confirmed that they had seen a caravan of workers traveling up to the old tower about a week prior. The foresters mentioned that they hadn't seen any work being done on the tower exterior, but admitted that they mostly shunned the place for its nefarious reputation as the former seat of a bloodthirsty warlord.

These foresters were in fact wereboars, which I hinted at by having them behave somewhat crassly and by peppering the information they gave with bits about how they smelled the party from downriver or about how the old tower smelled foul. The players didn't pick up on it. Luckily, wereboars are neutral, or this encounter could have been much nastier (the encounter roll was "Lycanthrope", and I rolled "Wereboar" on the lycanthrope subtable - wererats or werewolves would have been another story entirely).

That night, Karven Stone, the thief, who had stayed awake and hidden in the bushes to keep an eye on the foresters, noticed a strange light in the forest. He sneaked off to investigate, but stepped on a twig, and the light suddenly went out. It reappeared shortly after, softer, and seeming to beckon to him, but he decided not to follow it. With an Intelligence check, he recalled that ghostly lights sometimes appear in wild, forsaken places and seek to lead hapless travelers to their deaths.

This was a will-o'-wisp, and its reaction was hostile. It absolutely could have flown straight into the party's camp and roasted all of them easily (it's worth 3,000 XP, so a level 7 monster by AD&D standards), but I decided not to start my campaign that way. I decided that the will-o'-wisp would only attack if someone wandered sufficiently far from camp, which Karven nearly did.

The ghostly light spooked the wereboars, though, who decided not to continue hanging out with the party that had attracted the attention of something like that. They backtracked down the trail again and camped elsewhere.

Later that same night, a group of forest-dwelling tribesmen approached from the darkness. They were unfriendly, suspecting that the party were mercenaries hired by the new lord of the tower. The former lord, I decided, had long ago waged war against the tribe, so they were suspicious of any armed individuals in the area. Haymond, with 17 Charisma and a +6 reaction adjustment, managed to convince them that the party meant no harm.

The tribesmen relaxed and agreed to exchange information with the party, albeit briefly. They claimed to have seen armed guards and shadowy figures around the tower, but no workers. When the party described the light, the tribesmen postulated that it was the hateful spirit of the old lord of the tower, and something to be avoided.

I had determined that the tribesmen were actually Neutral Evil. I wasn't sure what this meant at the time, but am thinking now that they're another faction in the forest vying for control of the tower. I'm thinking that they may show up again after the party clears out the tower, to take it for themselves. Whether that means killing the party or simply threatening them to never return is something I'll have to figure out between sessions.

The next day, the party spotted a hill giant wandering the forest. The hill giant is worth 3,000 XP, so just as deadly as the will-o'-wisp. Luckily, it was indifferent to them, so they chose to avoid it and did so easily. After that, they reached the tower without incident.

All in all, I had a great time improvising these random encounters, and it made for a satisfying session of wilderness exploration and social interaction with minimal combat. I think it firmly established for the players that the world is a dangerous place for them right now.

Next session, they'll have their first dungeon crawl. Then, it's back down the mountain. In the meantime, I've made note of where all the random encounters occurred and will update my map with approximate locations for each monster's lair, in case the players decide to go looking for them.

Will the party survive the tower? What happened to the masons? Will they have seven more encounters on the way back to town? Will the giant, tribesmen, evil spirit, wereboars, mama bear, or giant toad show up again? Will they make it back alive? Tune in next time to find out!

On Specialists

I love wizards. It used to be that when I made a character for a Dungeons & Dragons game, I waited to see what everyone else was playing first, and picked a class which met some unfulfilled role in the party. Because, until recently, there was only one Intelligence-based class in 5th edition, this usually meant I'd be playing a wizard.

One thing I've never liked about 5e wizards (and a lot of 5e's spellcasters in general) is how same-y they all feel. Gone are the days when the Dungeon Master picked which spells the wizard had in their spellbook. Players now have total freedom over their spell selection. The scope of the game has narrowed at many tables to be primarily about combat - some might argue it's always been that way, but early dungeon-centric campaigns like Castle Greyhawk seem to have been at least equally about exploration. There is a proliferation of content on YouTube which concerns itself primarily with ranking the "best" spells, which means experienced players who want to optimize their characters tend to pick the same "must-have" spells every time - mage armor, magic missile, shield, misty step, counterspell, fireball, etc. 

(As an aside, this is why I like playing with new players, and try not to steer them towards the "good" spells unless they ask for my advice - they haven't yet closed themselves off to the possibilities of less "optimal" spells, and it's often a delight to watch them find ways to use those spells.)

Certain subclass abilities incentivize picking spells from an Arcane Tradition's school (Arcane Ward is recharged by casting abjurations, diviners can regain spell slots from casting certain divinations, Sculpt Spells only works with evocations, etc.), but even the Savant feature that each specialist gets only incentivizes learning spells from one's specialized school of magic outside of the leveling system (the feature reduces the gold cost of scribing spells, so a specialist wizard is better off learning other spells on level up and then getting the ones they want from their specialized school by other means).

All wizards tend to have the same spells, aside from those oddballs picked up from spell scrolls in treasure hoards and from enemy wizards' spellbooks. An abjurer's Arcane Ward might make them play slightly differently than a diviner with their Portent or an evoker with Sculpt Spells, but by and large, they're all probably going to have very similar repertoires.

Specializing Specialists

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd edition did specialist wizards differently. Specialists gained additional spells per level from their chosen school, received a bonus to saving throws against spells of their own school, imposed a saving throw penalty on their enemies when they cast spells of that school, had an improved chance to learn spells of their school, and could more easily create new spells within their school. The trade-off was that each school had a school of opposition, from which the specialist was forbidden to learn spells.

Later editions did away with this aspect of specialists along with most other restrictions on player character choice, and wizards became meta-chasing casters like everyone else, casting whatever spells D&D YouTubers told them were most optimal, albeit with a few bells and whistles of varying usefulness.

In my 5e games, I offer a house rule for wizards who choose the abjuration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, or transmutation Arcane Traditions:

Starting at 2nd level, whenever you gain a wizard level, you can add one wizard spell to your spellbook, in addition to the two you already learn (as described in Spellcasting). This additional spell must be of the school associated with your Arcane Tradition. Additionally, when you make a saving throw against a spell of the school associated with your Arcane Tradition, you have proficiency on that saving throw attempt, even if you normally lack proficiency. When you cast a spell of the school associated with your Arcane Tradition which forces a saving throw to resist its effects, you can give one target of the spell disadvantage on its first saving throw made against the spell.

Additionally, you have advantage on Intelligence (Arcana) checks to learn spells from your Arcane Tradition’s school from spell scrolls.

It's a small bonus, but I think that it, along with the subclass features already included in each Arcane Tradition, gently nudges wizard players towards leaning into their specialization, if they have one.

Side Note: I also imported a spell research downtime activity based on 2e's system, which benefits specialists who choose to create new spells within their school of magic, but that is probably beyond the scope of this post.

Schools of Opposition

Another way to..."encourage" a player to lean into their wizard archetype is to reintroduce schools of opposition - that is, schools of magic from which a specialist cannot learn any spells. This is not something that fits nicely with new school playstyles, and more experienced players who are familiar with "must-pick" spells and the "meta" of wizards may chafe at the restriction. It may be worthwhile to offer the aforementioned house rule as an optional bonus if the player opts-in to locking themselves out of opposition schools. If that isn't to their liking, the DM can just leave specialist wizards as they are.

The schools of opposition are as follows:

• Abjuration: Illusion and Transmutation
• Conjuration: Divination and Evocation
• Divination: Conjuration
• Enchantment: Evocation and Necromancy
• Evocation: Conjuration and Enchantment
• Illusion: Abjuration, Evocation, and Necromancy
• Necromancy: Enchantment and Illusion
• Transmutation: Abjuration and Necromancy

I'll admit there's not much rhyme or reason to this aside from being how it was done in 2e, but one can derive some meaning from it: Wizards schooled in the more subtle arts of enchantment and illusion don't have the skill or inclination to invest time and gold into learning crude battle magic like abjuration and evocation, or the dark arts of necromancy - why reanimate a corpse when you can trick the living into doing what you want? Inversely, necromancers are much too isolated in their gross crypt laboratories to learn magic that relies on understanding people - and why would a wizard preoccupied with the undead choose to learn spells which largely don't affect them? Summoned creatures get in the way of evoker's blasting magic, and they'd rather blow someone up than charm them. Diviners know too much about the nature of the multiverse to start conjuring creatures from who-knows-where. Conjurers use refined, artisanal magic to create more sophisticated effects than the instantaneous blasts of evocation, and they have no need for divination, as they can simply acquire information from the extraplanar creatures they summon, or traverse the planes and find knowledge for themselves.

When one looks at the schools of magic and which spells belong to which school, it becomes apparent how blurry the lines are - why is necromancy, the magic of life and death, not responsible for curative magic? Why is fear, a spell which triggers an emotional state in its targets, an illusion and not an enchantment? 

I think of this as a feature of D&D's magic system, not a bug. The schools are not indicative of what kind of magic is possible within each school, but rather the approach used to achieve the magic's effects. Necromancy is not responsible for healing magic because it primarily deals in "dark" magic. Fear is an illusion because it works like that scene in Fellowship of the Ring where Gandalf makes himself appear very big in order to scare Bilbo back to his senses ("I am not trying to rob you! I'm trying to help you.").

When one thinks of magic this way, its various schools become almost like monastic traditions - wizards are disciplined in a certain approach to magic, and stand in opposition to incompatible disciplines. An illusionist might see a necromancer as an affront to magic itself. The two might engage in battle whenever they meet, and their approaches would look very different - the illusionist may use their magic to confuse and misdirect the necromancer's simple-minded minions, then shatter the rival wizard's mind with powerful fear effects, or the necromancer might come prepared with undead specifically created to see through such magic, forcing the illusionist to resort to trickery and obfuscation to escape the enemy's minions. They're not both going to stand 120 feet apart slinging fire bolt and blocking with shield.

I don't care much for D&D YouTube - content there is often preoccupied with player character builds, ranking character options into tier lists based on their "power" in a featureless white room combat, or trying to be "funny" ("This is what it would be like if Skyrim players played D&D!"). One of the only channels I really enjoy is WebDM, and they have a great series on the schools of magic in D&D, which is a good place to start thinking about these things.

Other Specialists

It isn't just wizards who need to work within the confines of their discipline in 2e. Priests' spells were broken into spheres, with each deity granting and barring access to specific spheres, while druids were simply priests of natural spirits and old gods, with access to spheres that suited their style of worship.

There's a world in which every Divine Domain, Druid Circle, Sorcerous Origin, Otherworldly Patron, and maybe even Sacred Oath and Ranger Conclave has its own, totally unique spell list. I like Domain, Circle, and Oath spells because they offer a happy middle ground, wherein spellcasters automatically have convenient access to the spells that fit their theme, but can still prepare the "optimal" spells they might prefer (although this usually means that the subclass-specific spells don't see much use unless they're particularly "good").

Even then, this method isn't applied consistently. Otherworldly Patron spells are added to the warlock spell list, but the warlock still has to choose them as known spells (foregoing potentially "better" vanilla warlock spells), and some rangers and sorcerers get bonus spells, but not all.

One solution to this is to give all Ranger Conclaves and Sorcerous Origins bonus spell lists (which I've done in my games). An option for warlocks would be to give them their Otherworldly Patron spells for free (which I've done as well). But how do you encourage players to actually use these spells over the "optimal" ones?

Like with wizards, some subclasses have moved towards solving this problem by granting certain benefits when casting subclass-specific spells (and others that fit with the theme) - Life domain clerics heal better, Circle of the Shepherd druids have more durable summons, Storm sorcerers can cause damage to enemies near them whenever they cast a lightning or thunder spell, etc.

I encourage players to lean in to the theme of their subclass's specialization. When I play an Aberrant Mind sorcerer, I'm only taking spells which can pass for psionic effects. When I play a Divine Soul sorcerer, I'm only taking cleric spells. When I play a Draconic sorcerer, I'm playing an elementalist. My Shadow sorcerers are necromancers. My Storm sorcerers only use weather magic, etc.

I find that the world feels much more rich when spellcasters of a given type use different approaches to magic and a different selection of spells. Each wizard, cleric, druid, or the like feels more unique and memorable. Ultimately, this is something players most likely have to decide they want for themselves. The DM can't force this kind of playstyle, but they can offer incentives for players who embrace it.