OED: Falling

There's just one more thing I realized I had to add to the OED, and that's a rule for falling:

Falling: Assess falling damage at 1d6 per 10 feet fallen (linearly). This assumes a fall onto earth or wood; decrease damage for yielding surfaces (water, snow, mud), and increase damage for very hard ones (stone, metal, etc.)

Falling has an extremely weird pedigree in D&D, and I could write at length just on that (in fact, here it comes...). Consider OD&D – Where are the falling rules located? Only in the naval combat section (for being pushed off the deck of a ship; also in passing in Vol. III, p. 5 *). And what is the rule? 1d6 damage per 10' fallen – but with a saving throw, generating only a 1-in-6 chance per 10' of taking any damage at all. For example, a 20' fall has just a 2-in-6 chance to fail the save (4-in-6 success) - and thus, two-thirds of the time, will deliver no damage whatsoever!

The subject of falling is mentioned in AD&D's PHB in only the most cursory fashion: “It is probable that your referee will simply use a hit points damage computation based on 1d6 for each 10' of distance fallen to a maximum of 20d6...” (p. 105) A pair of Dragon magazine articles later assert that this damage should be assessed cumulatively (i.e., 10'=1d6, 20'=3d6, 30'=6d6, etc.) – this being a very short blurb by Gygax in issue #69 (as part of his thief-acrobat presentation, later reprinted in Unearthed Arcana), and then a full-page article by Frank Mentzer in issue #70 (asserting a Gygax claim that the original PHB language was a typographical error; however, this does not agree with other Gygax works such as module G2).

A somewhat later issue of the Dragon (#88) had what I consider to be one of the most inspired and challenging presentations for that era. That issue carried the article “Physics and falling damage” by Arn Ashleigh Parker, wherein a “proper” falling damage system was deduced from rigorous consultation to physics formulas, gravity constants, advanced algebra, wind speed, and reference to texts on skydiving (the result being quasi-similar to the original 1d6/10', with more damage assessed earlier on). And this article came as part of a debate, with reference to its own rebuttal article in the same issue by Steven Winter, “Kinetic energy is the key”, which used other physics concepts to argue precisely for the original linearly-assessed 1d6/10' rule. Imagine that happening in Dragon today!

In some circles, the 1d6-per-10' rule was commonly ridiculed (ignoring the cumulative revision) as permitting high-level fighters to leap off 100' cliffs without much fearing for their lives. There is some reason to this, in that fighter hit dice swelled up to d10, and Constitution bonus up to +4/die, while falling damage remained the same 1d6 per level over time. However, I'm convinced that the reaction to this produced one of the most atrocious disfigurements of the system in 3E: the “Massive Damage” rule, whereby a save-vs-death was called for when any damage amount hit the magic number of 50. Most players are under the impression that this was an optional variant rule, but in 3E, it was not.

For many years I was using Gygax's cumulative system for falling damage, feeling indeed that falls should be more perilous, and I also applied the idea to other environmental factors (such as heat, cold, thirst, and starvation). In general, I felt that if higher-level hit points represented less physical stamina and more “dodging/fortune-type” factors, then they should be devalued in the context of an unavoidable fall. However, two problems with that have occurred to me recently. First, there seems little justification that someone able to dodge a monstrous blow could not also be able to roll/spring/cover their head properly to avoid the worst effects of a great fall (or simply land in a lucky spot). Second, when I looked in the DMG to compute exactly what percentage of hit points were “fortune” at any level, I was dismayed to find (on p. 82) that Gygax had stipulated a system wherein the raw physical hit points grew at precisely a constant rate every level (before abruptly ending at level 7). If this were the case, then even under my former assumption, falling damage should increase only linearly through level 7 (at least).

So now, here I am back today, opting to assess damage at the old standard of 1d6 per 10' fallen. (Perhaps if I were playing 3E I would increase it to a base 1d10 per 10'.) I'm not going to use the save from OD&D because (a) it's simply an unnecessary complication, and (b) it makes too many 20' or 30' falls entirely without injury, which really is silly. It's probably a reasonable amount of damage if most hit dice are still d6 themselves (Fighters d8, maximum Con bonus +2), and surfaces like hard, jagged stone can boost this by +1 or +2 points per die. Other environmental factors will probably also be assessed linearly from now on. We shall see.

* Edit 11/23/11: I just learned of another place in OD&D that I had overlooked: in the Aerial Combat section. "Crash -- for every 1" of height a rider must throw one six-sided die for damage occurring from the crash, i.e. a crash from 12" means twelve dice must be rolled and their total scored as points of damage incurred by the creature's rider." [Vol-3, p. 27] Thanks, Grognardia!

OED: Spell Changes

In addition to the section on PC Generation, the OED v0.4 rules also added a section on Spell Changes, in 3 parts. In particular:

Sleep: Roll 1d6+1 for total hit dice affected (no figure over 3HD). Duration is 12 turns; slapping/shaking awakens 2-in-6 per round.

You'll see a lengthy analysis arriving at this a few posts back. I made the die roll 1d6+1 for elegance sake (it neatly results in exactly 1-3 creatures of 2HD, for example).

Missiles: For missile spells (fireball, lightning bolt), announce a range, and then roll 2d6 over/under for exact location (read lower die, ties indicate on target).

Now we're getting into the material that you might keep unmentioned until a player throws their first fireball and discovers this during play. This is originally an optional rule from Chainmail for catapults/field guns. (The fireball and lightning bolt in those rules, of course, simply reference back to the effect of such catapults/field guns.) Therefore I think it's both legitimate under the original rules, and scratches an itch of mine that the fireball/lightning combo are generally used with suspension-of-disbelief-shattering accuracy.

If there's any question about the rule, it's this: Announce a range to fire the missile-spell (say, 10”). Roll two d6 of different colors (say a red one for “over” distance that comes up 4, and a white one for “under” distance that comes up 2). Apply the result of the lower die (in this example, 2” under the declaration, placing the spell 8” from the caster in the desired direction; if the dice were tied then the shot would be exactly 10” away).

Permanence: Spells under 5th level cannot be permanent. Those without a listed duration fade after d6+6 weeks (such as charms, continual light, etc.)

Another itch of mine being scratched. There's a whole lot of mischief that can be done if you permit low-level spells to be truly, indefinitely, permanent. Charm person allows someone to gain infinite followers over time. Continual light allows those magic-street-lamp cities (yuck). Wizard lock may as well be used by cantankerous wizards on their downtime, locking every door they encounter forever, just to be nasty.

You can also think of this as a generalization of the principle introduced in Supplement I: Greyhawk, where charm spells are given additional saves to break, assessed over some weeks of time. Why not apply the idea equally to other spells where indefinite duration allows silly mischief?

This does, however, still leave the door open to higher-level permanent spells, and we should carefully consider if there are any game-breakers in the bunch. I feel that the 5th-level spells provide in-milieu limitations: wall of stone can be dispelled (so a wizard would prefer to have a real wall constructed) and animate dead has obvious drawbacks (collecting wagonloads of bodies for an undead army invites the wrath of more heroic adventurers). The 6th-level spells need more careful handling: invisible stalkers should get more and more perilous if used in great numbers; geas spells should have some drawbacks or risk if used with abandon (c.f. the works of Vance, for example).

OED: PC Generation

The OED v0.4 rules added a section on PC Generation in 3 parts. The first part says this:

Convention Play: When making a party for a one-off convention-style game, the normal level limits are not good balancing factors. Human characters should be created at +1 level. Wizards are required to have a minimum Intelligence of 10+highest spell level.

I'm thankful that my last convention game threw a high-intensity spotlight on this problem – it was the most troublesome issue I confronted, and I've been grappling with it for weeks, looking for the best solution. (I was working on a 2,000-word essay to explain it, but then I thought better to scrap that.)

Here's the issue: I'm happy to accept the OD&D doctrine that low-level powers can be balanced by high-level limitations, and vice-versa. This system creates “opportunity costs”, where early decisions have continuing repercussions over a lengthy period of time. In 3E, this was thrown out as anathema, and a demand was made that all races/classes be made equal at every possible level.

While not explained in the 3E texts, I now understand why this was done. While the level-limitations (and exponential wizards) are reasonable in a long-running home game, they are useless in a one-off convention game. For example: In my last low-level OD&D convention game, I think all of the wizards chose to be elves (gaining armor & weapon usage at no cost). Meanwhile, in my last high-level AD&D convention game, all of the characters chose to be humans, except for one dwarven thief (thereby sidestepping all level limits).

So now the dilemma is this: Do we re-write the race/class balancing mechanics so they work for any convention game, at any level? (This being the choice made in 3E; fulfilling, perhaps, a failed goal of AD&D). Or do we reserve the extra balancing rules to an appendix, for the special case of convention gaming? Obviously, after much soul-searching, I chose the latter.

Generation Order: Players should take a PC card and fill in the abilities, race, class, alignment, and money/ equipment. Then, the DM takes the card and calculates modifiers, move, AC, attacks, specials, and directs the roll for hit points. Finally, add the character to the DM's summary roster.

This here is just an observation of the most efficient way to administer the from-scratch character creation process. I'm using my pre-printed index cards for PC records. I let the DM do all the secondary calculations, both so that (a) no new player is required to know the number-crunching rules prior to play, and (b) we accomplish a character audit at the same time. Hit points require the Constitution modifier before rolling. I also keep a summary roster with: Player Name, Character Name, Race/Class, Move, AC, and Hit Points (the most important aspect being the reminder to address each player by their character name).

Magic Items: Characters should be checked for magic items at 10% per level. Checks are made by class: Fighters (2 weapons, armor, shield, potion); thieves (2 weapons, armor, ring, potion), or wizards (2 potions, dagger, scroll, ring). Items are +1 or a basic type, chosen by player; for a +2 item, roll again at 1%/level (+10%/level over 10th); for a +3 item roll yet again at 1%/level (no further bonus).

Up until recently, I was using the AD&D DMG Appendix P for higher-level party generation, in particular the assessment for magic items. Unfortunately, I found it very burdensome to mentally track all the different choices and percentages-per-level involved. Instead I thought it would easier to just batch everything up to a straight 10%/level for everything, in a few broad categories (much like the MM tables for “Men”; for NPCs, I would likewise roll at 5%/level). Once again, no table lookups required; we should be able to do this entirely from rote memory.

OED Update (v0.4)

I've updated the Original Edition Delta house-rules to version 0.4, after incorporating some changes after the last convention game. In particular, I added a “DM's Section” at the end with a few alterations that don't affect the core system. This brings the page count up from 4 to 5; I'm likely to continue printing a 4-panel brochure to give to my players. I'll also post comments from each new section in forthcoming blog entries. (Don't forget that the Open Office ODT file has additional sidebar notes to the main document.)

http://www.superdan.net/oed/

It's Not Just About "Fun"

Let's say I'm talking to some coworker or new acquaintance about one of my many different endeavors (possibly medieval wargaming, or music, or even mathematics). Maybe we're not quite making a connection about why it's important to me. How can I make them understand why I spend time on these projects? As I struggle for a conclusion, I might say something like, “So yeah, we're having fun”. And the other person will then say, “Oh, all right then”. Apparently, they'll achieve closure from that, and walk away untroubled.

And you know what? I'm trying really hard to stop doing that, because for the most part it's just total bullshit.

I know a lot of us have the same problem. Our art and our gaming are important to us. We feel it in our gut. But when it comes time to explain it, we routinely say “It's just fun”, or “As long as we have fun,” or “The only important thing is having fun”. We wave the word “fun” at the problem of explaining ourselves and assume that it suffices.

But I hereby choose to resist that temptation. Our gaming and our art are so much more important and multifaceted than that! The “fun” explanation is really just a convenient cop-out. It leaves mute the vast majority of our experiences in any of these deeply-felt projects. Like the best literature (or theater or movies or TV), they may be: sad, scary, inspiring, informative, arousing, inflammatory, tragic, dramatic, elegiac... without necessarily being "fun".

You can see one iteration of this in the “AngryMath Manifesto”, on my math blog (over here). Most mathematicians tend to describe their work as “a play of patterns... a wonderful beauty... a crystalline serenity”. But that's not an accurate representation of our actual work in math – it's trouble, it's a problem to be solved, it's a barrier seeking destruction, and it's the jolt of relief and excitement when the light-bulb clicks on.

Consider the experience when I'm playing drums with my garage-punk band Victor Bravo (blog over here). If I'm weak-minded, I might describe the experience as “fun”, but that's not really truthful. It's hard work, and it's pre-show-anxiety, and it's also the overcoming of all that in myself. It's fast and hard-hitting, it's incredibly precise, and yet it's totally chaotic at the same time, too. We're singing songs about people's failings and disgust and destruction – and the heartfelt desire for things to be better. I'm trying to hit, I'm trying to listen, I'm trying to move my wrists and fingers properly, I'm trying to track what instruments are being damaged, and I'm trying to simply breathe properly. People are jumping and dancing and shoving each other in our mosh pit. Sometimes I'm trying to dodge stuff being thrown at us, and occasionally I'm trying to track how badly I'm being damaged (for example). That's many things, but “fun” is probably the weakest, faintest of all approximations of the experience.

Now let's come back to our gaming hobby, which is all of these things all at once. Whether players or DM, when we're at the table, we're trying to: Solve problems, support our teammates emotionally, improvisationally act out our character personalities, remember rules, crunch probabilities in our heads, decide whether to use our resources now or later, gauge risk-versus-reward, and consider a simulation of near-medieval life and technology. We're trying to manage our own emotions and come back from a bad beat or a difficult situation, and find some way to fight on (!) to victory. We're listening and parsing language and narrative descriptions for meaning. It's a puzzle and math and theater and history and a sporting event all at once. I've seen players go directly from sputtering anger to cheering joy at the roll of a single die or the discovery of a puzzle's solution (and vice-versa).

Is all of that “fun”? No, I don't think so. Much of it is heartache and uncertainty and struggle against overwhelming odds while the game is in progress. And that emotional, intellectual test is so very much more than just “fun”.

So, if “fun” is so miserably incomplete, what would a fuller explanation look like? Obviously, I can't pretend to think that I have a complete answer. But let's say, just for a moment, that we consider Aristotle's famed analysis of “Tragic Poetry” (and if he's not completely right, we can at least take this as a carefully-considered initial hypothesis). He specifies six components: (1) Plot, (2) Character, (3) Thought, (4) Diction, (5) Melody, and (6) Spectacle. Now, isn't that an almost eerily prescient description of our fantasy role-playing games? (And possibly even moreso, good rock'n'roll?) The Plot is meant to contain “reversals, recognition, and suffering... arousing horror, fear, and pity”, and meant to effect catharsis of same; the Characters are expected to “change from happiness to misery because of some tragic mistake” (see here). Is that not a fair description of our games that have no “win” condition for our avatar-selves, but only, ultimately, ways to lose?

(Now, obviously, there's another volume of Aristotle's analysis lost to us over time; but I think it's rather obvious that our RPGs are more like “Drama” than they are “Comedy”.)

Now think: Where is “fun” in this analysis? Has it been overlooked? Is it fundamentally unnecessary? Is it implied by the last and least-important item of “Spectacle”? And are the other rewards from our dramas, from our own Tragic Poetry, not immensely deeper than just “fun”? Let us be courageous and assert all of these deeper aspects, together, and not be satisfied with talking about the merely consolatory notion, which is to say, “fun”.


Edit: James Raggi of Lamentations of the Flame Princess helpfully points out in the comments that he'd written on related subjects at around the same time I wrote this. See the original I Hate Fun (6/12/2008), and his follow-up I Hate Fun - One Year Later (5/12/2009), posted one week before my article here.

Coddling Players

The recent issue of Game Developer magazine has an article called “Our Cheatin' Hearts” by Soren Johnson (May 2009, p. 46). It starts by observing that the game Puzzle Quest (a player-vs-AI version of Bejeweled) suffers from the fact that sometimes a lucky drop may occur for either player. When it happens for the AI, the players routinely accuse the game of cheating against them. At the end of the article, the author comes to this conclusion:

Returning to our original example, the developers of Puzzle Quest actually should have considered cheating – but in favor of the player. The game code could ensure that fortunate drops only happen for the human and never for the AI. The ultimate balance of the game could still be maintained by tweaking the power of the AI's equipment and spells, changes that appear fair because they are explained explicitly to the player. The overall experience would thus be improved by the removal of these negative outliers that only serve to stir up suspicion.

When the question is one of fairness, the player is always right.

I say: Bullshit.

A few comments: (1) I consider this to be utterly antithetical to the old-school D&D sensibility. We say: Here are some simple, equitable rules for both sides; the DM will adjudicate them neutrally; it is up to you to figure out a way to survive/succeed, based on your playing skills. You may either win or lose. (2) Is this not similar to the requirement that all big-budget Hollywood movies have a happy (and predictable) ending? Perhaps the actual claim is that for maximal sales, play-act as though the player is always right. And perhaps as hobbyists (instead of a corporatist stance), we are more free from this restriction. (3) As I say to my colleagues and math students: “Random numbers will mess with your head”. I encourage developers of games to confront this head-on; use the game as a learning tool for dealing with randomness, and unexpected setbacks, and our built-in intuition leading us astray. Do not surrender to just feeding back to players their own advance expectations all over again. We must use games as training for the real world, not for life in the Matrix.

Halfway through the GD article, another example is brought up favorably: the technique of “rubber-banding” cars in racing games (that is, giving whoever is behind an automatic speed-boost). This strikes a resounding chord in me, because my first game-industry job out of school was as a programmer for Papyrus Racing Games in Boston (a branch of Sierra/Vivendi at the time), where we made racing sims like Nascar Racing, IndyCar Racing, and Grand Prix Legends.

The emphasis at Papyrus was on racing simulations, and I loved working there in its heyday. Many of us went to racing school for practical experience. Indeed, we routinely received complaints from players, publishers, and reviewers in the vein: “The game is too hard. The cars are too difficult to control. It's hard work to keep from spinning. If you have one collision you cannot win the race.” And we as a company would say: "Tough." That's exactly what real racing is like; the cars are powerful, easy to spin, and there is no comeback from an engine-shattering wreck. There is no save game. Sometimes the greatest challenge in racing is the concentration and endurance necessary to withstand a 2-hour race without damaging your vehicle in heavy traffic. If you want to truly learn racing, this is your game. If you want a cartoon that strokes your ego, it is not. Would we have ever implemented “rubber-banding” in a Papyrus racing sim? Hell, no.

And let me say this: In all the games that I've played heavily (D&D, Nascar Racing, Starcraft, Poker, etc.) the most interesting part – practically the only part I find of interest any more – is this: What does a player do under an enormous, unfair setback? Do they crumble and give up? Do they yell and complain after a bad beat (as in poker)? Or do they have the fortitude to gather themselves up, get creative under adversity, and fight back? Can we learn to be cool under pressure?

If we make our games coddle players – if we start cheating in favor of the players, so that they never have unfair setbacks – what we will actually cheat them of is this critical opportunity to grow and learn about ourselves through gameplay.

Sleep Analysis

Let's consider the OD&D sleep spell for a moment (you can see me grappling with the spell in my last game, below). First, imagine that the game originates with just some 4th-level Hero fighters and a few Magic-Users. Assume we're playing in a game where the Heroes get 4 attacks per round (for example, they likely fell 4 normal men each round). Consider designing a reasonable offensive spell for the accompanying Magic-User; since his spells are limited, they should have a more potent effect. Say, perhaps, that the spell is equivalent to 2 rounds worth of the Hero's attacks -- so, the spell should drop about 8 or so 1st-level creatures on average.

Now, to my understanding, the first part of this is exactly how the original fantasy RPG began play under Dave Arneson -- players took the parts of Heroes (worth 4 figures) from Chainmail, and advanced them to Superheroes (worth 8 figures) through play. In those rules, your basic Hero did in fact make 4 attacks for each normal man figure.

Sometimes we lose sight of that fact, since it's unstated in the OD&D books, which presume we're referring back to the Chainmail man-to-man combat system. But the point was reinforced in the article "Questions Most Frequently Asked About Dungeons & Dragons Rules", from The Strategic Review #2, p. 3 (Summer 1975, Editor: E. Gary Gygax):

Combat Example: 10 ORCS surprise a lone Hero wandering lost in the dungeons... Note that he is allowed one attack for each of his combat levels as the ratio of one Orc vs. the Hero is 1:4, so this is treated as normal (non-fantastic) melee, as is any combat where the score of one side is a base 1 hit die or less. Hero: 19; 01; 16; 09. Two out of four blows struck...

Now, it's made clear in this passage -- and again elsewhere -- that the multiple-attack rule is here being limited to opponents who have 1 hit die or less (and that's why you see the rule appearing in AD&D the same way). Nevertheless, it's clear that the game assumes that the PCs are facing down very large numbers of normal opponents, and hewing through them quite rapidly (even in a 1:10 ratio, as seen here). Consider also Arneson's "Temple of the Frog" in the Blackmoor supplement, where the first level of the dungeon contains barracks housing 50, 100, 250 men each, etc.

The point is, the original play of the OD&D game assumed that your Fighters were cleaving through enormous numbers of non-fantastic enemies, and obviously the Wizard-types had to have something to keep up with them. The sleep spell as we see it in OD&D exactly matches this situation -- 2-16 normal men affected (9 on average), a bit more than the number of attacks that a Hero would dish out in 2 rounds. (And you can also see why Greyhawk stipulated the first no-save rule for sleep; the number of saves you'd have to roll would otherwise be enormous.)

So if we switch to a system where Fighters are not getting these Chainmail-esque machine-gun attacks, then this wouldn't make sense anymore. Certainly, I play with everyone just getting one attack all the time. If I were to read the OD&D books by themselves, that's certainly how I would interpret the combat system. And after playing 3E for a number of years, I'm solidly in the camp that the multiple-iterative-attacks mechanic there was really a huge mistake. Let's proceed with the more elegant rule of one basic attack resolution for all PC-types.

If our OD&D Heroes only get one attack against normal foes (1:4 original), then our sleep spell must also be reduced in the same ratio to remain balanced with it. Say, take the basic effect (2-16, average 9), divide it by 4 (9/4 = 2.25), and find a reasonable die for that range (d4, perhaps d6 if we prefer the shape?). And do the same thing for the other hit die categories (2HD: average 7/4 = 1.75, say 1/2 d6; 3HD: average 3.5/4 = 0.88, say just 1 creature; 4HD: average 1/4 = 0.25, say no creatures affected). We do this while acknowledging that the D&D Fighter, under the TSR #2 rule, doesn't get multiple attacks against higher-level foes (it would be very odd to give sleep a greater number of upper-HD affected).

So that's what I think I'll do for my game's sleep spell. We'll have sleep affect 1d6 1HD, 1/2 d6 2HD, or 1 3HD figures (and none of higher level). That's in harmony with the reduced number of Fighter attacks and presumed number of enemies, as compared to Chainmail. It seems about fair to me, and in the same spirit as the original environment for the spell.

Finally, here's some other comments. There's no need to impose Greyhawk's no-save rule here, so I'll continue to afford saves to the targets of the spell. Flavor-wise, I feel that sleep-enchantments should be generally more difficult to break out of than normal sleep. Therefore, I see no reason for more than a 2-in-6 chance to wake up a victim by way of shaking/slapping, etc. It should also last a fairly long period of time (duration is unstated in OD&D), perhaps a full sleep cycle -- I'll say 12 turns (a common duration in Vol. I), although if you said 12 hours I'd be quick to agree with that, as well.