On Necromancy

Necromancy is one of eight schools of magic in D&D. The eight schools, as they are known today, were - as far as I can tell - introduced in AD&D 1e, with each spell's description listing the school to which it belonged. Actual descriptions of the schools of magic and what they represent would have to wait for AD&D 2e, which provides the following language about necromancy:

Necromancy is one of the most restrictive of all spell schools. It deals with dead things or the restoration of life, limbs, or vitality to living creatures. Although a small school, its spells tend to be powerful. Given the risks of the adventuring world, necromantic spells are considered quite useful.

Necromancy's portfolio in 2e is about what one would expect: raising the dead, draining the vitality of others (without killing them necessarily), summoning or controlling the corporeal dead and spirits, and death-dealing magic like death spell and finger of death. A few oddballs exist such as contagion (diseases are a form of life), magic jar (which manipulates the soul, i.e. the spiritual essence of a creature), and clone (which involves the creation of a new life).

Clerics in 2e also have access to the necromantic sphere of influence, which includes many of the same or similar spells, but also a great deal of curative magic: cure blindness and deafness, cure disease, raise dead, regenerate, reincarnate, etc. Another sphere, healing, also contains a number of spells which are in the necromancy school (yes, cleric spells are organized both by school and by sphere, for some reason), including all of the cure wounds spells, slow poison and neutralize poison, and heal.

The next description of necromancy I'll examine is from 5e. It's much the same as the 2e description, with one exception:

Necromancy spells manipulate the energies of life and death. Such spells can grant an extra reserve of life force, drain the life energy from another creature, create the undead, or even bring the dead back to life.

Creating the undead through the use of necromancy spells such as animate dead is not a good act, and only evil casters use such spells frequently.

Here, the creation of undead is explicitly identified as being an evil act. 

Is Necromancy Evil? 

This is a debate that people love to have, and I'm not going to get into the weeds of it, beyond saying that this is entirely an issue of setting. In 2e, creating undead is not Evil because the basic undead - skeletons and zombies - are Neutral in alignment; whether they are "Good" or "Evil" is entirely dependent upon what their creator does with them. 

In 5e, creating undead is Evil because these creatures are suffused with life-hating negative energy. The caster is creating a creature that is Evil - regardless of what the caster intends to do with the undead, they are bringing an Evil creature into the world, which is an Evil thing to do, according to D&D's morality.

That's just baseline, vanilla 5e. The DM can do anything they want with their setting, including making basic undead creatures Neutral by default, thus eliminating the inherent Evilness of creating such creatures. Whether or not society at large frowns upon such acts is again entirely up to the DM. 

It may be accepted that the crown animates the dead to perform menial labor or serve in the military, and this may be viewed as a patriotic service which every citizen (or at least the poor ones) anticipates after death. Simultaneously, it may be frowned upon when independent necromancers break into ancestral tombs and animate the dead without proper authorization. I imagine most common folk don't appreciate the necromancer who comes to the village with a menagerie of rotting corpses in tow, regardless of whether or not the gods care.

Necromancy, Black Magic, and Reversible Spells

Another key difference between AD&D's necromancy and modern D&D's necromancy is in spell classification. In 3e, many healing spells were reclassified from necromancy to conjuration. In 5e, they now fall into the evocation school - cure wounds, healing word, heal, etc. Evocation is the school of magic which channels energy from different planes - in this case, the caster is channeling positive energy from the Positive Energy Plane. Sure.

Necromancy in 5e retains most of the spells which restore the dead to life - revivify, raise dead, and resurrection. Reincarnate has been relocated to transmutation. This doesn't make a lot of sense, since the spell "forms a new adult body for [a dead humanoid creature] and then calls the soul to enter that body." This sounds more like a fusion of conjuration and necromancy - the caster is creating a new body (conjuration) and putting the dead creature's soul into it (necromancy). They're not actually transforming the original body (which would be transmutation). The clone spell (which remains a necromancy spell in 5e) also creates a new body for a creature, so it seems safe to say that reincarnate should still be a necromancy spell.

The big difference is that in 5e, necromancy seems to be associated with "black magic". Despite the description of the school stating only that creating undead is Evil, the actual spells which are in the school instead seem to suggest that the practice of necromancy in most forms is Evil - it is now, to some extent, the magic of causing fear (cause fear - which "awaken[s] the sense of mortality" in a creature in order to elicit magical fear) and cursing (bestow curse, blindness/deafness, and eyebite - for some reason, similar cursing spells like bane and hex are instead in the enchantment school).

I suspect that to some extent, this is because 5e does not have the concept of reversible spells. As far back as OD&D, curses were possible by way of casting a reversed bless spell. Finger of death was a reversed raise dead. In AD&D, cause fear was a reversed remove fear. In these versions of D&D, only Evil clerics use the reversed versions of spells, suggesting that reversed spells were solely in the realm of black magic. With the loss of reversible spells, the Evil magic had to go somewhere, so it was distributed into a couple of odd schools, one of which is necromancy.

Does that make necromancy Evil? I don't know. Is summoning a demon Evil? Is scrying on someone during their most intimate moments Evil? Is mind-controlling someone Evil? What about blowing someone up with a fireball, creating an image of their greatest fear and scaring them to death, or "permanently" turning them into a fly? 

Magic in all its forms is terrifying. Even when it's used in the name of "Good", the effects are such that, even in dire circumstances, I doubt that the ends totally justify the means. Players characters are quick to do all these nasty things - and often take great delight in doing so. I don't see much point in hand wringing about necromancy in particular.

The Necromancer

Although schools of magic weren't delineated until AD&D, the term "necromancer" in D&D dates back to 1974 and Book I: Men & Magic, where "Necromancer" is the title bestowed upon 10th-level magic-users (the level immediately preceding becoming a true wizard, suggesting that necromancers are quite powerful in this implied setting).

AD&D 1e had the illusionist class, which is the first inkling of the specialist wizards that were to come in 2e. In 2e, specialists (including necromancers) have an increased chance to learn spells from their chosen school of magic and to create new spells which fall into their school. Their opponents suffer a -1 penalty to saving throws against spells from their chosen school, and the specialist receives a +1 bonus to saving throws against spell from their school. This affects spells like chill touch, spectral hand, and hold undead.

The 2e necromancer cannot cast spells from the enchantment and illusion schools, as they are schools of opposition for necromancers. I've written briefly before about how I think the restrictions imposed by schools of opposition should be interpreted. In this case, why would a wizard who's preoccupied entirely with the dead care to concern themselves with enchantment magic, which typically only influences the living? In 2e, most undead are entirely unaffected by mind-altering magic of any kind, which would also explain why the necromancer doesn't care to study illusions.

In 5e, the necromancer (along with the other specialists) returns as one of the eight subclasses (Arcane Traditions) available to wizards in the PHB. Necromancers regain hit points whenever they kill a creature with magic (earning 50% more hit points when using a necromancy spell to do so), they can create one additional skeleton or zombie when casting animate dead (which they learn for free, albeit a level later than they otherwise would if they were a real necromancer), they gain resistance to necrotic damage and immunity to maximum HP reduction (5e's watered-down version of the undead's infamous level draining powers of yore), and eventually, they can control even the more powerful undead which they cannot create themselves, such as liches, mummy lords, and vampires.

Not too bad, but beyond those first two features, there isn't much incentive to actually use necromancy spells. As I described in my previous post on specialist spellcasters, like most "specialists", the necromancer is likely to pick the few spells that benefit from their handful of features (in this case, any damaging necromancy spells, plus animate dead). Otherwise, their spell selection probably looks like any other wizard's.

Army of Darkness

Can a necromancer in D&D actually command an undead army? Realistically, it is highly campaign-and DM-dependent. Theoretically, according to Reddit's calculations, the answer is yes. But that's Reddit - those people only think/talk/complain about D&D on the internet, but I am grateful to them for doing the arduous theory-crafting while cooler people actually play the game they like with their friends.

If I was going to play a necromancer, I'd pay close attention to undead-maxing, and I'd make sure to take every opportunity to add to my collection. The best way to do this without having to worry about reasserting control over the undead every day is to simply kill every enemy humanoid you encounter with finger of death, which turns said humanoids into zombies permanently under the caster's control.

I'd make sure to secure a headquarters for myself wherever the party's base of operations was, and I'd be pilfering piles of bones and black onyx stones from every dungeon I could find. My downtime and spell slots would be spent raising the dead and learning more powerful spells to do so.

If I was really serious about having an undead army, I'd spend some time tracking down the wand of Orcus, which can summon 500 hit points of skeletons and zombies (unfortunately, they only last until dawn).

Some DMs might be upset if their necromancer player tried to run around with 100+ undead minions, but if I had a player who was willing to do the math, show their work, and put in the in-game time and dedication, I'd be nothing but excited to help them pull it off.

Healing the Wounded, Raising the Dead

I get that wizards aren't supposed to heal people - it's not their role in the game, and niches should be protected so that the classes each retain their archetypal identities. However, I don't think it would be the end of the world if necromancers, at the very least, could heal and raise the dead (i.e., not as an undead creature). That strikes me as the main reason a wizard in a fantasy world would choose to become a necromancer specifically, with all the stigma potentially attached to it - it gets you access to things the other schools don't.

I do think spells which raise the dead kind of suck - read more about how to make it interesting at Prismatic Wasteland, which is what got me thinking about this topic to begin with. However I also kind of like the silly, comic book-y, video game-y triviality with which characters can perish and then return to life. I like that, like worrying about food, water, torches, magic item identification, overland travel, getting lost, and many other low-level concerns, death is simply another setback (albeit an extreme one) which characters can more or less cease to worry about after a certain point in the game. I like a fantasy world where one can go to the local temple and pay a boatload of gold to defy Death and the gods themselves, all for the sake of convenience and getting back to playing the game. However, even this has its limits.

I use a few rules from AD&D to spice up resurrection in my 5e games: resurrection survival chance and permanent Constitution loss. In AD&D, a character has a percentage chance of being successfully raised from the dead determined by their Constitution score (from 40% with a Constitution of 3 to 100% with a Constitution of 18). A failed roll indicates that the character is dead forever. 

Furthermore, the character's Constitution score is a limit on the number of times they can be raised from the dead - each time they die, their Constitution is reduced by 1, which in turn affects their chance of later being raised from the dead, because the resurrection survival chance is dependent on Constitution. 

Note that this means that technically, a character with Constitution 15 can be raised from the dead 15 times. After the 15th time, their Constitution is now 0 - I have no idea how this is supposed to work, and would rule instead that a dead character is permanently dead if their Constitution score is 1 at the time of death. I imagine that a player would have to be pretty bad (or extremely good, depending on one's goals of play) at D&D to have a character die this many times, so it would probably never come up anyway.

In 5e, I import the Constitution reduction when raised from the dead (I actually make it -2 Constitution each time a character is raised, since death is fairly rare, and this both ensures that the character's ability score modifier is actually affected and reduces the overall number of times that the character can be raised). I also import resurrection survival checks - characters who are raised from the dead must succeed on a DC 10 Constitution saving throw or be permanently dead. The DC increases by 5 each time the character dies. I could make it a Constitution check, if I wanted it to be harder, but the rule is pretty harsh as is, and it being a saving throw makes certain classes (such as barbarians and fighters) easier to raise, which I do like.

Clone Wars

Clone is a nifty spell. From 5e:

This spell grows an inert duplicate of a living, Medium creature as a safeguard against death. This clone forms inside a sealed vessel and grows to full size and maturity after 120 days; you can also choose to have the clone be a younger version of the same creature. It remains inert and endures indefinitely, as long as its vessel remains undisturbed.

At any time after the clone matures, if the original creature dies, its soul transfers to the clone, provided that the soul is free and willing to return. The clone is physically identical to the original and has the same personality, memories, and abilities, but none of the original’s equipment. The original creature’s physical remains, if they still exist, become inert and can’t thereafter be restored to life, since the creature’s soul is elsewhere.

I'm not really sure why it's limited to just medium-sized creatures. The necromancer should be able to clone a dragon, if they can get access to some of its flesh. Why not? Can't make a big enough urn?

The 120-day gestation period and expensive material components do beg the question as to why this is any better than, say, revivify, raise dead, or resurrection. My guess is that it's because all of those spells require an intact body, and clone does not. True resurrection, which also doesn't require a body, is a 9th-level spell, so clone (an 8th-level spell) comes earlier. Plus, it's just cool and weird. Any self-respecting wizard of mine (it's a wizard-only spell, barring bards' Magical Secrets) is going to have one of these bad boys lined up at all times at this point in a campaign.

But wait - as is often the case, the AD&D version of this spell is way cooler. From 2e:

This spell creates a duplicate of a human, demihuman, or humanoid creature. This clone is in most respects the duplicate of the individual, complete to the level of experience, memories, etc. However, the duplicate really is the person, so if the original and a duplicate exist at the same time, each knows of the other's existence; the original person and the clone will each desire to do away with the other, for such an alter-ego is unbearable to both. If one cannot destroy the other, one will go insane and destroy itself (90% likely to be the clone), or possibly both will become mad and destroy themselves (2% chance). These events nearly always occur within one week of the dual existence.

Note that the clone is the person as he existed at the time at which the flesh was taken for the spell component, and all subsequent knowledge, experience, etc., is totally unknown to the clone. The clone is a physical duplicate, and possessions of the original are another matter entirely. A clone takes 2d4 months to grow, and only after that time is dual existence established. Furthermore, the clone has one less Constitution point than the body it was cloned from; the cloning fails if the clone would have a Constitution of 0.

The material component of the spell is a small piece of the flesh from the person to be duplicated.

This is fantastic. AD&D's clone creates an actual clone, rather than an inert backup body. The clone and, to a lesser extent, the magic-user, cannot bear to exist simultaneously. They will destroy each other or go mad and destroy themselves. I have a roster of wizard characters who I play in 5e, who all look alike and hate one another, and their secret is that they're all clones of an AD&D wizard (technically, they would have gone mad and destroyed themselves by now, but eh).

Okay, so the magic-user can make a clone. What's the point if they can't use their clone as a duplicate of themselves, subject to their whims? Why would I want to make something that will try to destroy me or cause me to destroy myself?

First, I see this version of clone as a true last resort - a clone is something a magic-user prepares when they're almost certain that they're marching to their doom. So long as the clone doesn't finish its gestation until after the original wizard is dead, it's fine. Alternatively, clone can still be a backup waiting in the wings, but if the clone has been gestating for about two months and the magic-user is still alive, they should probably destroy the clone and get started on a new one, just to be safe.

Second, why not use clone to destroy one's enemies? If the magic-user can somehow acquire the flesh of a foe, the resulting clone will be Hell-bent on destroying their alter-ego. If the party's goals align with the clone's (i.e., they too are trying to destroy the alter-ego), the party now has a new ally in the form of their enemy's exact duplicate. They just have to destroy the original before the clone goes mad.

The clone has all of the memories of its original self, however, so once the original is destroyed, the clone might turn out to also not like the party very much, depending on the circumstances. But hey, the party helped the clone out - surely that must be worth something! That's what reaction rolls are for, I suppose.

Finger of Unconsciousness

Finger of death sucks in 5e. I'll explain why.

You send negative energy coursing through a creature that you can see within range, causing it searing pain. The target must make a Constitution saving throw. It takes 7d8 + 30 necrotic damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.

A humanoid killed by this spell rises at the start of your next turn as a zombie that is permanently under your command, following your verbal orders to the best of its ability.

Finger of death doesn't kill characters (except by massive damage). A character reduced to 0 HP by the spell starts making death saving throws. A monster or NPC reduced to 0 HP by the spell (usually) dies outright. This should be worded more like disintegrate:

A creature targeted by this spell must make a Dexterity saving throw. On a failed save, the target takes 10d6 + 40 force damage. The target is disintegrated if this damage leaves it with 0 hit points.

Finger of death should say "The target is dead if this damage leaves it with 0 hit points." And it does just that in my 5e games. More player characters should become zombies under the DM's control.

Furthermore, as with clone, I don't see why this should only zombify humanoid creatures. I want to slay a dragon with this spell and have a zombie dragon under my control.

"I worked hard for this!"

Enlich Yourself

No discussion of necromancy would be complete without touching on lichdom, the ultimate aspiration of evil spellcasters the world over. After all, there's no other way for a creature to live forever, right? 

Uh yeah, well, resurrection magic and clone exist, sure, but resurrection requires that the spellcaster has loyal friends or followers who will raise their evil ass, and clones are susceptible to pesky adventurers breaking into the spellcaster's stronghold and smashing all their clone vats (plus, my 5e house rule about Constitution loss for resurrection applies to clones as well, so that isn't sustainable forever, either).

But finding out where a lich is hiding its phylactery, acquiring it, figuring out how to destroy it, and actually doing it? That's hard. That's why a spellcaster becomes a lich - that, and, like, all the other benefits. Based on the statblock, I'd say that a 5e character who becomes a lich gains the following benefits:

• Natural AC of 14 + Dex
• Constitution saving throw proficiency (assuming the 5e lich's proficiency with Intelligence and Wisdom saving throws is due to being a wizard)
• Resistance to cold, lightning, and necrotic damage
• Immunity to poison and nonmagical weapon attacks
• Immunity to exhaustion and the charmed, frightened, paralyzed, and poisoned conditions
• 120-foot truesight
• Resistance to turn undead
• The Paralyzing Touch attack

Plus, they're undead - no need to eat, sleep, drink, etc. They can go live in space! If they cast gentle repose on themselves regularly, they don't even have to get all grey and old and ugly and nasty. They will, uh, probably go insane, though.

Unfortunately, 5e's designers do not want the player characters to become liches, it seems, which is really unfortunate - just one of those things they don't give the DM rules for because they want people to "have fun" figuring it out on their own, or whatever. Luckily, AD&D is the encyclopedia of D&D! From 2e:

In order to become a lich, the wizard must prepare its phylactery by the use of the enchant an item, magic jar, permanency, and reincarnation spells. The phylactery, which can be almost any manner of object, must be of the finest craftsmanship and materials with a value of not less than 1,500 gold pieces per level of the wizard. Once this object is created, the would-be lich must craft a potion of extreme toxicity, which is then enchanted with the following spells: wraithform, permanency, cone of cold, feign death, and animate dead. When next the moon is full, the potion is imbibed. Rather than death, the potion causes the wizard to undergo a transformation into its new state. A system shock survival throw is required, with failure indicating an error in the creation of the potion which kills the wizard and renders him forever dead.

When one of the players in my 5e game wanted their character to become a lich, I imported these rules almost exactly (changing some of the spells that don't exist in 5e like enchant an item to magic weapon, wraithform to etherealness, and getting rid of permanency - which should exist in 5e, but that's a topic for another time). Since a would-be lich needs to be able to cast 9th-level spells, the phylactery has to be worth at least about 25,000 gold. Since crafting in 5e is done in 50 gold piece increments per week, it takes something like 10 years to create a suitable phylactery. Luckily, multiple people can work on a single item to reduce the time.

The player character went about creating a sycophantic cult and infiltrating the necessary artisan's guild so that they had a roster of fanatically loyal artisans. Other cultists began robbing the homes of the nobility to finance the project, and got into a turf war with a gang of wererats, who were a threat to meddle in the character's machinations. 

Over something like a year and a half of real-world time, the player character gradually sunk money into the phylactery's construction. They also had to build an alchemical laboratory in order to brew the transformation potion, but the cost of this was relatively inconsequential. 

Finally, when the phylactery and potion were ready and the moon was full, they drank the potion in the secret vaults beneath the cult's hideout. They needed to pass a DC 30 Constitution saving throw to survive. Anticipating this, they had recruited a number of NPC spellcasters and other allies to give them as good a chance as possible. One of the most tense moments of the three-year campaign came when the player rolled the die...

They succeeded! Their character was now a lich, and they had worked for it and earned it in the fiction. It's one of my favorite moments as a DM.

Then, the player asked how they might go about acquiring the legendary, soul-eating sword, Blackrazor, and how they might create a new spell, like magic jar or soul cage, which could trap the soul of a creature slain by Blackrazor inside of an enchanted gem affixed to the sword, which would then send the soul directly to their phylactery for feeding. So, I got to figuring out how that might work, and how the player could make it a reality.

Gotta love necromancers!

AD&D 2e Play Report: Session 16

We played the 16th session of our AD&D 2e campaign last night. The play report for our last session is here.

To recap briefly, the party reunited with the invisible forest creature, Magicheart, who revealed herself to be a pseudodragon. She agreed to join the party, and became Bernhardt Dalton's companion. The party rested in the shadow of Magicheart's great tree, and were attacked while camping by a hill giant. The party defeated the giant handily, with Karven Stone scaling and then leaping from a tree to deliver a backstab to it.

The party returned to Grimerun, then headed towards Grasshold to investigate rumors of an ogre den nearby. They met with Lady Rosemunde Chauntea, the town's religious leader, and learned that the ogres had moved in recently and had been kidnapping farmers and other townsfolk. Haymond Baler convinced Lady Chauntea to provide them with some healing potions to aid them in getting rid of the ogres. The party set out for the den and arrived without incident.

Karven snuck inside the cave and found a lone female ogre with her back turned, fiddling with something at an altar. In an adjoining cavern, four more ogres lounged about, joking and arguing. Karven beckoned the rest of the party inside, then attempted to backstab the lone ogre with a poisoned dagger. A giant weasel, which she wore around her neck like a shawl, reared up and snarled at Karven, and he missed his attack. The ogre sounded the alarm, and we got ready to roll initiative.

Party Roster

It occurred to me that I should give a summary of who's in the party at the start of each of these posts. I can easily keep track of who's who, but I know that when I read someone else's play report, I often get confused, and need to refer back to a roster of sorts to figure it out. Henchman are listed under the player character whom they follow. The party consists of:

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

The generic map I used for the ogre den

The Dreadful Fight

We began the session by rolling initiative. Karven continued trying to stab the female ogre with his poisoned dagger. Bernhardt cast aid on Yinvalur. Corym and Haymond readied themselves with their backs to the cave entrance, deciding to hold their ground there. Derrell cast entangle to block off one of the tunnels which connected to the larger cavern where most of the ogres were. Yuliana cast bless. Sheyla and Yinvalur got ready to fire with their bows. The ogres moved in to attack, but they had to go the long way around to avoid Derrell's entangle spell.

Thing started off poorly. The first ogre to engage with the party hurled a javelin at Corym and scored a critical hit for 12 damage, which removed Corym's armor spell and bloodied him (he has 17 max hit points).

In 2e, armor grants the caster an AC of 6, and the armor has hit points equaling 8 + 1 per caster level. Each time the caster is hit, they lose hit points as normal, but the armor also loses hit points. Once the hit points fall to 0, the spell wears off. Corym has been walking around with the protection of this magical armor for maybe a week at this point.

Yinvalur scored two hits, including a critical hit of his own, with his bow, which was enough to bloody the first ogre.

The female ogre hit Karven for 10 damage, which was nearly half of his hit points (24 max). Karven scored a hit with his poisoned dagger in turn, but ogre passed her save against the Type F poison, which would have killed her instantly. Instead, she took no damage.

"Ogre Shaman" by Sepiawolf on DeviantArt. The ogre's boss was supposed to be a shaman, but for some reason I gave her a bunch of useless spells, so it didn't matter at all.

I decided to start checking morale at the top of each round, rather than on each creature's turn, because that's how it's done in B/X. 2e doesn't actually tell the DM when specifically to check morale in combat, which is weird. Since everyone is supposed to decide what they're doing at the top of the round anyway, rolling morale at that stage made more sense to me. I checked morale for the bloodied ogre, and it failed its check, meaning it would retreat that round. 

While one ogre retreated, two more emerged to fight the bulk of the party. A second ogre joined the female ogre fighting Karven. Karven started tumbling to and fro to avoid being smashed (as a dwarf, ogres suffer a -4 penalty to hit him, and tumbling increases that penalty to -8). Corym readied to drink a healing potion. Derrell began casting shillelagh so that he could join the melee next round. Everyone else drew their melee weapons and moved to engage.

What ensued was a brutal slog of a melee. I won't write out the whole play-by-play, but it was very dicey. Karven managed to avoid being smashed, but every other player was bloodied at some point during the fight, and had to alternate between making attacks and falling back to drink healing potions or receive healing from Bernhardt. 

They had mostly bad luck, missing tons of attack rolls while getting hit plenty. Almost everyone had a +1 to hit from either bless or aid, and they were able to run circles around the ogres in order to get an additional +2 from rear attacks. The way facing and rear attacks work in 2e strikes me as somewhat silly, but I guess one of the benefits of being a large party against a smaller one is being able to surround the enemy this way. There's some annoyance to keeping track of which direction someone is facing, but it's ultimately not too difficult.

At one point, Derrell got behind an ogre and smashed it with his shillelagh. The ogre promptly pivoted and turned Derrell into a smear of druid paste on the floor. With just 8 hit points, minimum damage from the ogre (2d4+6) would have killed him. Derrell was no more. The remaining henchmen had to test morale. Their morale score is 12 by default, with +1 from either aid or bless, and an additional +1 for those of Lawful alignment (Sheyla only). Sheyla failed her morale check and fled screaming from the cavern.

One of the two ogres fighting the bulk of the party was bloodied at this point, so it too made a morale check and failed. It withdrew into the rear of the cavern with the other ogre which had fled. This eventually triggered morale checks for the rest of the ogres, who had lost 25% of their party. They all passed, and continued to fight.

The second ogre fighting the bulk of the party was slain, allowing the party to reinforce Karven against the remaining two ogres. Eventually, these two ogres' morale failed as well, and they began fleeing. The party killed them on the run. Lastly, the party regrouped and plunged deeper into the cave to track down the remaining two ogres. The ogres might have tried to parley, but unfortunately, the party couldn't understand them, and at this point, it seemed easier to finish the job by killing the ogres, rather than convincing them to leave the town alone. The fight wrapped up shortly after.

Overall, a henchman died, another fled, and everyone in the party was bloodied, except Karven (who came close) and Yuliana (who was uninjured, but would have been killed in one hit). This was definitely the most dangerous encounter yet. It took almost the entire two-and-a-half-hour session, which felt right, given the stakes, though I didn't expect it to take so long. I chalk up the large amount of time spent to the ogres' high hit points (4d8+1, so an average of 19) and the high whiff factor for much of the fight.

It's All Ogre Now

The party searched the cave for surviving townspeople, but none were to be found - just bones littering the floor and filling a cauldron over the central fire pit. The party found a chunk of gold coins and a sealed scroll case marked with arcane sigils - the item that the female ogre had been puzzling over. Hilariously, they also found 37,000 copper. 

I'm not sure how exactly I ended up with so much copper in this treasure hoard, but I did. The players spent what was left of the session figuring out how to carry it all. They determined that between the two mules and the wagon, they could just barely make it work, but they'd be traveling back to town at one-third their normal speed, meaning that the half-day journey back would instead take a day and a half. We'll figure that out next time.

The party earned a huge chunk of experience points - one for the fight itself and another for completing the quest. Corym earned a level in mage, which gives him half of a d4 hit die, a 2nd-level spell slot, and a nonweapon proficiency. Karven reached 5th-level, which gives him a d6 hit die, a THAC0 improvement of 1, improved saving throws, more thieving skill points, and a backstab multiplier of x3.

All of the surviving henchmen leveled up as well. Shelya is now 3rd-level, which earns her a d6 hit die, a THAC0 improvement of 1, and thieving skill points. Yinvalur is 3rd-level as well, which earns him a d10 hit die, a THAC0 improvement of 1, a saving throw improvement, and a weapon and nonweapon proficiency. Yuliana is 2nd-level, which earns her a d8 hit die and a 1st-level spell slot.

Next time, I anticipate that the party will return to Grasshold, then continue their journey south, to Mythshire, and maybe then onto Southreach.

AD&D 2e Play Report: Session 15

We played the 15th session of our AD&D 2e campaign last night. The play report for Session 14 is here.

To recap briefly, the party had just sanctified and looted the shrine dedicated to the evil god of lies. Returning to the surface, they encountered Magicheart, an invisible forest entity which had been monitoring their activities. Magicheart had discerned that the party was (mostly) good, and beseeched them to travel to an ancient elf burial ground to rid it of some ghouls which had moved in.

The party returned to Grimerun first to restock. On the way, they encounter the First River Children, a band of tribesmen who were on the lookout for treasure-seekers who might plunder the forest's riches. The party managed to convince them that they hadn't taken anything of value. The following night, the party was attacked by giant spiders, managing to kill one and chase the others off. They harvested the dead spider's remains, hoping to get some deadly venom out of it.

In Grimerun, the party resupplied, and Karven Stone paid an alchemist to provide him with a dose of Type F poison from the spider they killed. They set out again for the elf burial ground. After two days of travel, they arrived without incident.

The party found the ghouls resting in a large mausoleum, and launched their attack. Corym Vadercast entered into melee with the strongest of the ghouls and was paralyzed by its claws. Before the rest of the ghouls could descend on him and devour his flesh, Bernhardt Dalton managed to use his divine powers to turn them. The ghouls fled in terror from Bernhardt as the rest of the party pursued them and eventually slayed them.

Missing Sessions

Our last session was two weeks ago. We normally play every week, and had every intention of playing last week. One of the players let me know shortly before game time that they weren't feeling well. I typically will still run the session if a majority of the players are able to play (three out of four, in this case), but when I proposed that, a second player suggested we take the week off. I was a bit behind in prep anyway, and wasn't feeling super enthusiastic about running the game that night, so I agreed, and we cancelled the session.

I took the week off to review the quests I had already prepared and refine them a bit, and figure out the next round of quest hooks now that the party is mostly 4th-level.

Returning to Magicheart

The session began immediately after the party's fight with the ghouls. There was a sizeable chunk of silver and some platinum in the main sarcophagus in the mausoleum. The majority of the party was hesitant to steal grave goods, but Karven was intent on getting some of the loot. The rest of the players attempted to convince Karven's player not to take anything, but Karven's player wouldn't budge. 

I let the discussion eat up some time, but stepped in when it seemed like the issue wouldn't be resolved. I asked "Is this something you all are willing to resort to physically fighting each other over?" They concluded that it was not. The rest of the party denounced Karven's actions, but agreed to look the other way. In the end, Karven took just a handful of silver.

It was the end of the day by the time the party had reached the burial ground, so they decided to take the opportunity to rest there, taking advantage of the shelter provided by the mausoleum. Corym heard some wolves howling in the distance that night, but the night otherwise passed without incident.

The following day, the party traveled back through the forest to meet Magicheart at her tree. Magicheart revealed herself to be a pseudodragon, and offered to join the party. Bernhardt flattered her with some obsequious words, and she flew over and perched herself on his shoulders (I had already decided that Bernhardt's sanctification of the evil altar a couple sessions ago had made him Magicheart's preferred companion, so his words of flattery sealed the deal - she had chosen him as a her companion).

Magicheart coughed up a pile of small rodent bones and valuable gemstones as further reward for the party's efforts. I let the players know what Magicheart's abilities were: She can become 80% invisible in forest settings, has 60 feet of infravision, can see invisible creatures and objects, has a poisonous stinger which can make enemies comatose or outright kill them, and she grants 35% magic resistance to whomever she's in physical contact with. The players recognized her value for what it is and were excited to have such a useful companion.

Karven the Giant-Killer

It had taken another day to return to Magicheart's tree, so the party made camp there for the night. As they were setting up camp, they heard something very large plodding through the forest, about 90 feet away. They scattered around the area, doing their best to hide. I rolled a d100 and got 54, so I decided that they would have a 50% chance of being undetected - Karven and his thief henchwoman, Sheyla, would have a better chance due to their class skills.

A moment later, about 60 feet away, a 16-foot-tall hill giant came crashing into their camp. 

I rolled a modified reaction roll of 1, indicating that the giant was hostile. The party had encountered a hill giant once before, in our very first session, but the giant had been indifferent to them, and very far away. This one was in striking distance, and looking for a fight. I described the giant as ornery, ripping up trees as if it expected people to scurry out from underneath of them like bugs.

I had the non-thieves in the party roll d100 to see if they could remain hidden from the giant (again, with a 50% chance of success). No one succeeded. The giant, towering 16 feet above them, could easily see them in their hiding spots. We rolled initiative.

Derrell, the party's druid henchman, cast entangle, creating a 40-foot square of magical overgrowth directly in front of the giant. Bernhardt cast obscurement, creating a 40-foot square of magical fog centered on himself, limiting visibility to six feet, meaning the giant could no longer see them. The giant charged through the overgrowth, succeeding on its saving throw versus the entangle spell. 

The entangle spell stipulates that a creature passing its saving throw can move through the affected area at a rate of ten feet per round, but mentions that sufficiently large creatures may be less affected or unaffected. I ruled that the overgrowth would force the giant to move at half speed. Under normal conditions, the giant could easily cover the 60 feet between it and the party and attack, but with 40 feet of overgrowth, it would need to spend its full turn moving into melee. It did so, closing in to melee with Derrell.

Karven and Sheyla, who were hidden, began climbing the surrounding trees so that they could get high enough in the air to stab the giant in its back. Since they are both thieves, they can climb at a rate equal to their regular movement rate, but because they were attempting to move silently, they could only move at one-third their usual rate. Karven climbed 20 feet up a tree. Sheyla climbed 40 feet. Karven managed to do so while remaining hidden - Sheyla was spotted. 

Yinvalur, the elf henchman, managed to hit the giant with a couple of arrows. Haymond rushed in and stabbed the giant in the foot with his trident. The remaining attacks from Corym and the other henchmen missed. 

The following round, before the giant could act, Karven launched his attack. Leaping from above the giant, Karven successfully stabbed it in the back with his longsword, then scored a critical hit with the dagger in his offhand. He fell to the forest floor, but because of his tumbling proficiency, took only half damage (on 2d6, I rolled 3, so he took just 1 damage!). 

The giant was bloodied already. I made a morale check, which was heavily penalized because the giant was badly wounded (-4), outnumbered (-4), fighting magic-using enemies (-2), and hadn't slain any of its opponents (-2). Since it had a -12 penalty, a morale score of 14, and because morale checks are made on 2d10, the giant would need to roll a 2 to succeed (a 1% chance). It failed.

The giant turned and fled, granting opportunity attacks to the many opponents in melee with it. Karven, fittingly, dealt the final blow, slicing the giant's heel so that it collapsed, allowing the rest of the party to swarm its fallen body and slay it.

The party looted the giant's sack of rocks and junk. Hill giants have a Strength of 19, so I ruled that the party needed a combined Strength of 19 to move the heavy rocks, which was easily attainable, given their numbers. Among the junk they found 3,000 gold coins, but nothing else of value. I think this is the biggest payoff they've had yet, and it just wandered into their laps.

Again, this has me reflecting on the party's luck to this point. This was another encounter that really could have gone sideways for them, but spells, numbers, and luck with initiative, attack and damage rolls, and morale allowed them to walk away unscathed and richer. Good for them.

Next Item of Business

The party returned to Grimerun over the next two days without further incident. There, they debated where to head next. They knew of a few quests. The closest was the City of Oni, where hobgoblin raiders had emerged to carry villagers off for some unknown purpose. The party wasn't sure how many hobgoblins to expect, so they turned their gaze towards Grasshold, where a band of ogres had been snatching farmers.

The party wants to travel back to Southreach, the city, where they hope to find an armorer who can turn their ankheg shells into ankheg plate armor. Along the way, they want to stop in Mythshire, where their fallen companion, Ash, was from, to notify any family he might have had about his demise. Before that, they resolved to stop in Grasshold, at least to find out more about the ogre job.

The Church of Light and Life

The party spent a few days traveling to Grasshold, stopping in towns along the way. Once there, they asked around and were told to seek out Lady Rosamunde Chauntea, the town's mayor. Lady Chauntea is a devotee of the dominant local religion, which at this point I decided to finally describe to the players.

When I first created this sandbox, I didn't give much specificity to the region's culture. It was only once the party first traveled to the city, and I had nothing really of interest to share about it, that I started to seriously consider the need to flesh out the details. After that session, I used Worlds Without Number, and my own imagination, to come up with some more concrete information.

I decided that the people in this region were very religious. Specifically, they had a myth that long ago, the city had been threatened by some great evil. A phoenix had showed up (presumably, it had been summoned by a devout priest - now a saint of sorts) to do battle with the evil. In the ensuing fight, the phoenix and the evil were both slain. The phoenix erupted in a great conflagration which burned the city to the ground, but the people were free. They rebuilt the city on the old one's ashes (symbolic!).

Now, the city holds a great temple dedicated to the phoenix, and the region is more or less ruled by the religious leaders of the Church of Light and Life. The church is mainly concerned with healing, rejuvenation, and reincarnation, symbolized by fire. The people believe that the city's grand temple protects a young phoenix, which must be nurtured by the priesthood so that it may one day defend the city again. 

There's an order of paladins who defend the church and its clergy, druids who worship primordial fire, wizards who specialize in evocation and fire magic, and thieves who want to plunder the temple's riches for themselves. Hopefully, this will someday result in some intrigue and faction play, but that will be for another time.

All this is to say that the ruler of Grasshold is a devotee of this religion. I did a little info dump for the players' benefit, and hopefully this makes the setting feel more real to them.

The party spoke to Lady Chauntea, but didn't get much more information. A band of ogres had come down from the mountains, taken up residence in a nearby cave, and were snatching people. Haymond Baler managed to convince her to give the party some healing potions to help them in their quest, which she did.

Giant-Killer No More

The ogre den was just a half-day's journey from Grasshold, so the party set out the next day. The party stayed back at the entrance to the cave while Karven snuck inside. At the back of the cave, he saw an ogre with its back turned, fiddling with something in front of a crude stone altar. In the adjoining cavern, four more ogres lounged about - one tending a large fire, another resting on a bed of grass and plants, a third cleaning up a pile of bones, and a fourth sitting by an underground stream, fishing. They seemed to be joking and arguing in ogrish.

Karven beckoned the rest of the party closer, then sneakily made his way towards the lone ogre with its back turned. The ogre has what appeared to be a deal animal's pelt draped across its shoulders. As Karven approached, the "pelt" moved and turned. It was actually a live giant weasel, and it turned its head to snarl at Karven now. He missed his backstab. The ogre - a female clutching a scrollcase, cried out in ogrish, alerting the others to the presence of intruders. 

We were about to roll initiative when I realized we were approaching the end of the session. We called it there. The party earned some experience for the fight with the giant, but no one leveled up.

Next time, I imagine a chunk of the session will be spent on the fight with the ogres. Then, if the party survives, they will return to Grasshold and continue their journey south.