Okay, so your player characters are trying to gather information.
Maybe they're detectives on a case, or chthonic investigators looking for clues, maybe they're picaros out rumormongering, buying drinks for the house, trying to loose some rival adventuring party's tongues, or vagabonds accumulating a collection of bardic lore.
What have you. There's information, and they're trying to gather it.
Okay, so you assign a Difficulty Class or a Target Number or whatever, and you ask them to roll the dice, and they roll too low.
What happens next?
Well, you could just decide that they failed to gather any information. Or, you could roll on the Random Misinformation Table, below.
RANDOM MISINFORMATION TABLE
1 Dangerous Rumor - Not just a lie, you learn something like the opposite of the truth. Acting on this rumor will put your life in danger. If you're directed to another site, the place is a deathtrap or ambush.
2 Wild Goose Chase - No information, but you're directed to another site, which will supply more random misinformation.
3 Harmless Rumor - A lie, but incorrect without being dangerous. Acting on this rumor will inconvenience you.
4 Trivia - No information, or at least not what you're looking for. But at least you know that you don't know.
5 Treasure Map - No information, but you're directed to another site, which will supply the information you're looking for.
6 Partial Clue - The truth, or at least part of it. The information might be incomplete or cryptic, but it's correct, and might combine with other clues or partial clues. If you're directed to another site, you'll learn more than you were originally asking for.
You could also assign these results their own DCs or TNs, or you could break them up to create subtables corresponding to different degrees of misinformation.
I would assign results 1-2 to a critical miss, 3-4 to a miss, and 5-6 to a partial hit in a system with three degrees of failure, and assign 1-3 to a miss and 4-6 to a partial hit in a system with two degrees. Considering the alternatives, "no information" is a beneficial outcome.
The results of receiving random misinformation tend to be action-focused, so that even if your players didn't learn what they wanted to know, they probably at least know what they're doing next.
The problem with "no information" as a result is that it can kill any forward momentum. (This could also be a problem with a partial clue.) Reducing the frequency of that outcome should reduce the risk of your players getting stuck. If they do seem stymied, encourage them to think of their other possible leads and follow up on one of those instead.
I generally roll most dice out in the open, but I suspect this will work better if the players don't know in advance what type of misinformation they're receiving.
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Monday, September 9, 2019
Dungeon Alphabet Dozen - H is for HALLWAYS
H is for HALLWAYS
Roll 1d12!
Random Pain-in-the-Ass Hallways of the Underworld
1 Hallway looks twice as long as it really is, walls narrow and ceiling dips to the point where you're squeezing through at the other end. Coming back it looks only half as long as it is. Understanding the geometry doesn't help un-see the unavoidable optical illusion.
2 Hallway looks normal, but is subtly slanted and preternaturally smooth. Roll under Dexterity to avoid falling prone and taking 1d6 damage while sliding down to the lower side. Getting back up to the higher side is going to require a climb walls skill check, or the use of a rope fastened to something at the top.
3 Hallway holds queue of 2d12 human peasants waiting in line. The peasants move through the door at the far end at a rate of one per exploration turn. They'll get angry if the player characters try to cut. If questioned, they're either thrilled with anticipation but assume the characters are in on the excitement, or impatient with no time to talk to someone who doesn't even know what they're doing here. When the player characters finally make it through the door, there'll be no sign of any of the peasants, and no indication of what they were waiting for.
4 Hallway is a stinking open sewer. Effluent runs down a wall near the door from a grate in the ceiling, flows in a wide river of filth to the far end, then disappears down a drain in the floor. Rotting garbage and solid waste line the walls. Anyone who's been recently injured should save vs poison or catch a DISEASE.
5 Hallway acts as a wind tunnel. Characters can only move at a crawl through the fierce gale, light sources are extinguished, missile fire is impossible.
6 Hallway must gently rotate on a central axis (although no one but a gnome could possibly feel it, and who can believe a word they say?) Each time the characters walk down the hall, flip a coin. Heads the door opens to the other side, tails it opens to the room they just came from. Walking back through the door they just came through never works to circumvent this problem though.
7 Hallway is seriously 10x as long as it appears on maps, feels like it takes forever to get to the other side, no one can see either doorway once they're deep enough in to the damn thing. Get ready to burn through torches, waste time dealing with equally perplexed wandering monsters.
8 Hallway is literally a maze of branching tunnels, ramps, dead-ends, and hairpin turns. Enter the hall only where it appears on the map, but exit to a completely random room. Roll under Intelligence to go back the way you came, or under half-Intelligence to return to any previous destination. Once you close the door on the hall though, the ONLY way back to the maze is through the original entrance.
9 Hallway is painted with dozens of arrows pointing back the way the characters came. Signs hang everywhere extolling the virtues of the room the characters just left: "This way to the greatest wonders of the dungeon!", "Suffer no more! Behold the mystical secret door to the fabled land!", "Leave poverty behind! Treasures abound in the region ahead!", "Say goodbye to boredom! Wonders and splendors galore!", "See the sights! Become the envy of your friends!"
10 Both the inward facing doors in the hall are identical pain-in-the-ass DOORWAYS.
11 Less of a hallway and more of a "fall-way," or rather, a pain-in-the-ass PIT. 2-in-6 chance the first character in the marching order just falls right down to the bottom the moment they walk through the door. Continued danger for each additional character until someone manages not to fall in. Exit door is at the bottom.
12 More like a "crawl-way" really, hall is only waist-high. Requires squeezing through on all fours at half normal speed. Any gnomes in the party feel obnoxiously smug about being able to remain upright.
Roll 1d12!
Random Pain-in-the-Ass Hallways of the Underworld
1 Hallway looks twice as long as it really is, walls narrow and ceiling dips to the point where you're squeezing through at the other end. Coming back it looks only half as long as it is. Understanding the geometry doesn't help un-see the unavoidable optical illusion.
2 Hallway looks normal, but is subtly slanted and preternaturally smooth. Roll under Dexterity to avoid falling prone and taking 1d6 damage while sliding down to the lower side. Getting back up to the higher side is going to require a climb walls skill check, or the use of a rope fastened to something at the top.
3 Hallway holds queue of 2d12 human peasants waiting in line. The peasants move through the door at the far end at a rate of one per exploration turn. They'll get angry if the player characters try to cut. If questioned, they're either thrilled with anticipation but assume the characters are in on the excitement, or impatient with no time to talk to someone who doesn't even know what they're doing here. When the player characters finally make it through the door, there'll be no sign of any of the peasants, and no indication of what they were waiting for.
4 Hallway is a stinking open sewer. Effluent runs down a wall near the door from a grate in the ceiling, flows in a wide river of filth to the far end, then disappears down a drain in the floor. Rotting garbage and solid waste line the walls. Anyone who's been recently injured should save vs poison or catch a DISEASE.
5 Hallway acts as a wind tunnel. Characters can only move at a crawl through the fierce gale, light sources are extinguished, missile fire is impossible.
6 Hallway must gently rotate on a central axis (although no one but a gnome could possibly feel it, and who can believe a word they say?) Each time the characters walk down the hall, flip a coin. Heads the door opens to the other side, tails it opens to the room they just came from. Walking back through the door they just came through never works to circumvent this problem though.
7 Hallway is seriously 10x as long as it appears on maps, feels like it takes forever to get to the other side, no one can see either doorway once they're deep enough in to the damn thing. Get ready to burn through torches, waste time dealing with equally perplexed wandering monsters.
8 Hallway is literally a maze of branching tunnels, ramps, dead-ends, and hairpin turns. Enter the hall only where it appears on the map, but exit to a completely random room. Roll under Intelligence to go back the way you came, or under half-Intelligence to return to any previous destination. Once you close the door on the hall though, the ONLY way back to the maze is through the original entrance.
9 Hallway is painted with dozens of arrows pointing back the way the characters came. Signs hang everywhere extolling the virtues of the room the characters just left: "This way to the greatest wonders of the dungeon!", "Suffer no more! Behold the mystical secret door to the fabled land!", "Leave poverty behind! Treasures abound in the region ahead!", "Say goodbye to boredom! Wonders and splendors galore!", "See the sights! Become the envy of your friends!"
10 Both the inward facing doors in the hall are identical pain-in-the-ass DOORWAYS.
11 Less of a hallway and more of a "fall-way," or rather, a pain-in-the-ass PIT. 2-in-6 chance the first character in the marching order just falls right down to the bottom the moment they walk through the door. Continued danger for each additional character until someone manages not to fall in. Exit door is at the bottom.
12 More like a "crawl-way" really, hall is only waist-high. Requires squeezing through on all fours at half normal speed. Any gnomes in the party feel obnoxiously smug about being able to remain upright.
Friday, September 6, 2019
Non-Core Underworld & Dungeon Alphabet Dozen
I was going through some old files on my computer recently, when I came across an idea I had before I started blogging, one that I actually continued to write about even after I started my blog, although I never posted it about here before.
The idea was for a "non-core campaign" - a campaign that excludes all core classes, monsters, magic items, and spells. Non-core gaming would use only supplemental materials, only additions and extras, and no core-rules materials at all. (I suppose you could also call this a "peripheral campaign", after the core-periphery binary from geo-politics, but I like sound of "non-core" better, personally.)
There are as many possible non-core campaigns as there are core rulesets and coherent bundles of supplemental material, but in addition to thinking about non-core gaming as a general concept, at the time, I was also thinking about a specific non-core campaign set in the Mythic Underworld, using only the supplemental materials from 1st edition AD&D, as well as the things added new in AD&D, and the things from OD&D and the two Basic editions that weren't included in AD&D.
Although it was something I used to think about, it wasn't originally my idea. I got the idea from seeing a series of posts about gaming using only the classes from the Unearthed Arcana, and only the monsters and gods from the Fiend Folio.
Jeff's Gameblog first proposed the idea of running a game using only materials in the AD&D module S4 The Lost Caverns of Tsojcanth. Then years later, Jeff's Gameblog again suggested running a campaign using only the gods and deities from the Fiend Folio. Around the same time, Vaults of Nagoh created wandering monster tables using only the Fiend Folio, and City of Iron considered what it would look like to only allow spellcasters to use the spells contained in Unearthed Arcana.
So I'm hardly the only one to toy with these ideas, although to-date, as far as I'm aware, all anyone has done is toy with them. At one time, I fancied myself the publisher-to-be of this project, although I've since abandoned that idea. I like to write, and I would like to publish, but I don't want to become a publisher. Also, depending on your perspective, publishing anything for this project is either unnecessary, or inevitable, or something that's already been done.
It's already possible to run this particular non-core campaign using the original supplemental rulebooks, and I have no doubt that as long as Necrotic Gnome continues to exist as a company, they will eventually publish versions of these materials, doubtless in their trademark smartly organized two-page spread format. The logic of the Old-School Essentials project makes this inevitable. (Especially since he already expressed interest in the idea back when he was City of Iron.)
Also, the more I've thought about it, the more I think that Veins of the Earth is essentially a non-core campaign, using the canonical non-core races of the Underdark, but combined with False Machine's own supplemental bestiary, which is mostly better than the admittedly hit-and-miss menagerie inside the Fiend Folio. (Whether he intended it that way, I don't know, but the result is that Veins fills a very similar niche to what I'm talking about.) It's also inevitable that, sooner or later, someone will publish another non-core campaign setting in the vein of Veins of the Earth - it was simply too popular to not inspire both imitation and response.
So this idea actually has been given form - at least a kind of form - already, and it's likely to appear eventually in a form very close to what I originally imagined reading those old blog posts. This is a project that doesn't need me to do anything.
However, what I find most interesting, thinking about the non-core underworld, is trying to imagine its implied setting. Over the years, I know I've seen many people discussing the "implied setting" of OD&D - the kind of world that's implied by the available classes, lists of spells, monsters, maps, and campaign-building advice. Semper Initativus Unum did a particularly through examination. Aside from one post by Swords & Dorkery however, I've never seen anyone ask about the implied setting of the non-core underworld, which is a shame, because it's worth asking about.
I mean, what kind of world has barbarians, cavaliers, paladins, and rangers, but no ordinary fighting-men? What kind of world has assassins, bards, and mountebanks, but no regular thieves? Druids and monks, but no clerics? Illusionists without general magic-users? Half-elves and half-orcs, but no elves and no orcs?
What kind of setting has all the weird latter-edition spells, but none of the originals? All the extra monsters, but none of the basic ones? No familiar magic items, but crazy high-tech gizmos from S3 Expedition to the Barrier Peaks and random artifacts from the Dungeon Master's Guide? A pantheon of "gods" who're all arch-demons and lords of elemental evil?
The non-core underworld is gonzo AF.
By now, most of those additional classes, spells, and monsters have become nearly as canonical as the originals, but there's still something inherently weird about making them stand on their own, without any original material alongside them. There's still something unsettling and uncanny about an Underdark-only campaign, where the most familiar entities are like funhouse parodies of the ones we really know and love.
By this point, I consider most of what I originally wrote for the non-core campaign (back when I still had "when I grow up" dreams of being the next star publisher of the OSR) to be unneeded, or derivative, or both. But there is one bright spot in my old files. For awhile, I worked on my own "dungeon alphabet dozen" - a combination of the Dungeon Alphabet and the Dungeon Dozen as a way to generate gozno content to help fill out the campaign world. After all, if good artists borrow, and great artists steal, then surely the greatest artists of all time are those who do mash-ups, right?
Anyway, back then I actually finished a few of the 12-item lists I started, and wrote a decent amount for a few more. I never put any of them on my blog before, because I was both afraid of success and afraid of failure. I was afraid that if I posted them and people liked them, that I'd attract the wrong kind of attention, and become subject to harassment. I was also afraid that I'd disappoint people. I feel like there's an implicit promise when you start something like this, that you'll post every letter, in order, in a timely manner, and they'll be good. I think maybe I was always more afraid of success than I needed to be. As for failure, let me make you an explicit promise - I probably won't post every letter, and they definitely won't be in order, and it definitely won't be in a timely manner. As for their quality, I'll trust that if I like them, you'll like some of them, though maybe not all.
So for now, until Michael Curtis and Jason Sholtis team up to take me for a long walk off a short lawsuit, viva la non-core underworld!
The idea was for a "non-core campaign" - a campaign that excludes all core classes, monsters, magic items, and spells. Non-core gaming would use only supplemental materials, only additions and extras, and no core-rules materials at all. (I suppose you could also call this a "peripheral campaign", after the core-periphery binary from geo-politics, but I like sound of "non-core" better, personally.)
There are as many possible non-core campaigns as there are core rulesets and coherent bundles of supplemental material, but in addition to thinking about non-core gaming as a general concept, at the time, I was also thinking about a specific non-core campaign set in the Mythic Underworld, using only the supplemental materials from 1st edition AD&D, as well as the things added new in AD&D, and the things from OD&D and the two Basic editions that weren't included in AD&D.
Although it was something I used to think about, it wasn't originally my idea. I got the idea from seeing a series of posts about gaming using only the classes from the Unearthed Arcana, and only the monsters and gods from the Fiend Folio.
Jeff's Gameblog first proposed the idea of running a game using only materials in the AD&D module S4 The Lost Caverns of Tsojcanth. Then years later, Jeff's Gameblog again suggested running a campaign using only the gods and deities from the Fiend Folio. Around the same time, Vaults of Nagoh created wandering monster tables using only the Fiend Folio, and City of Iron considered what it would look like to only allow spellcasters to use the spells contained in Unearthed Arcana.
So I'm hardly the only one to toy with these ideas, although to-date, as far as I'm aware, all anyone has done is toy with them. At one time, I fancied myself the publisher-to-be of this project, although I've since abandoned that idea. I like to write, and I would like to publish, but I don't want to become a publisher. Also, depending on your perspective, publishing anything for this project is either unnecessary, or inevitable, or something that's already been done.
It's already possible to run this particular non-core campaign using the original supplemental rulebooks, and I have no doubt that as long as Necrotic Gnome continues to exist as a company, they will eventually publish versions of these materials, doubtless in their trademark smartly organized two-page spread format. The logic of the Old-School Essentials project makes this inevitable. (Especially since he already expressed interest in the idea back when he was City of Iron.)
Also, the more I've thought about it, the more I think that Veins of the Earth is essentially a non-core campaign, using the canonical non-core races of the Underdark, but combined with False Machine's own supplemental bestiary, which is mostly better than the admittedly hit-and-miss menagerie inside the Fiend Folio. (Whether he intended it that way, I don't know, but the result is that Veins fills a very similar niche to what I'm talking about.) It's also inevitable that, sooner or later, someone will publish another non-core campaign setting in the vein of Veins of the Earth - it was simply too popular to not inspire both imitation and response.
So this idea actually has been given form - at least a kind of form - already, and it's likely to appear eventually in a form very close to what I originally imagined reading those old blog posts. This is a project that doesn't need me to do anything.
However, what I find most interesting, thinking about the non-core underworld, is trying to imagine its implied setting. Over the years, I know I've seen many people discussing the "implied setting" of OD&D - the kind of world that's implied by the available classes, lists of spells, monsters, maps, and campaign-building advice. Semper Initativus Unum did a particularly through examination. Aside from one post by Swords & Dorkery however, I've never seen anyone ask about the implied setting of the non-core underworld, which is a shame, because it's worth asking about.
I mean, what kind of world has barbarians, cavaliers, paladins, and rangers, but no ordinary fighting-men? What kind of world has assassins, bards, and mountebanks, but no regular thieves? Druids and monks, but no clerics? Illusionists without general magic-users? Half-elves and half-orcs, but no elves and no orcs?
What kind of setting has all the weird latter-edition spells, but none of the originals? All the extra monsters, but none of the basic ones? No familiar magic items, but crazy high-tech gizmos from S3 Expedition to the Barrier Peaks and random artifacts from the Dungeon Master's Guide? A pantheon of "gods" who're all arch-demons and lords of elemental evil?
The non-core underworld is gonzo AF.
By now, most of those additional classes, spells, and monsters have become nearly as canonical as the originals, but there's still something inherently weird about making them stand on their own, without any original material alongside them. There's still something unsettling and uncanny about an Underdark-only campaign, where the most familiar entities are like funhouse parodies of the ones we really know and love.
By this point, I consider most of what I originally wrote for the non-core campaign (back when I still had "when I grow up" dreams of being the next star publisher of the OSR) to be unneeded, or derivative, or both. But there is one bright spot in my old files. For awhile, I worked on my own "dungeon alphabet dozen" - a combination of the Dungeon Alphabet and the Dungeon Dozen as a way to generate gozno content to help fill out the campaign world. After all, if good artists borrow, and great artists steal, then surely the greatest artists of all time are those who do mash-ups, right?
Anyway, back then I actually finished a few of the 12-item lists I started, and wrote a decent amount for a few more. I never put any of them on my blog before, because I was both afraid of success and afraid of failure. I was afraid that if I posted them and people liked them, that I'd attract the wrong kind of attention, and become subject to harassment. I was also afraid that I'd disappoint people. I feel like there's an implicit promise when you start something like this, that you'll post every letter, in order, in a timely manner, and they'll be good. I think maybe I was always more afraid of success than I needed to be. As for failure, let me make you an explicit promise - I probably won't post every letter, and they definitely won't be in order, and it definitely won't be in a timely manner. As for their quality, I'll trust that if I like them, you'll like some of them, though maybe not all.
So for now, until Michael Curtis and Jason Sholtis team up to take me for a long walk off a short lawsuit, viva la non-core underworld!
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
Procedural Generation Demonstration - Box Full of Boxes' Subdimension, Hive, and Bastion
Box Full of Boxes is a relatively new blog on the scene, but they've already written several interesting random generators, including one to create a small extradimensional space to use as an adventuring site, one to create a criminal meeting place, and one to create a law-enforcement organization. Let's make all three, and see if we can determine how they're connected.
Subdimension - The Vault of the Hesperus
Rolls: 4/2, 5/2, 8/2, 6/4
On the Second Day, God made the oceans and the sky; on the Fifth, God made all the great creatures of the sea, and every living thing that teems within the waters. On the Seventh Day, God rested, and took His pleasure yacht out onto the seas, and He saw that they were good.
And then came the War in Heaven, and the pleasure ship was made a ship of war. The angel Ismael captained the ship, christened the Hesperus, and Ishmael sailed the Hesperus across the seas, and there fought the great worm Leviathan. Every angel aboard perished, save for Ismael, who was rescued by the archangel Rachel. Together the two angels locked the Hesperus in a vault, still littered with the unburied dead and the detritus of battle, and they returned to the heavens together to await the outcome of the War.
God opened the vault only once, to instruct Noah on the building of the Ark, and to collect the bodies of the angels to await the eventual resurrection of their bodies, but on that day, God left the door ajar.
Today, it is possible to enter the vault where the Hesperus is kept in drydock. When the eye of a hurricane is centered over the spot where God slew the Leviathan, the same spot where Noah released the dove, a ship within the eye that plots a course toward the Evening Star will sail through the open door and enter the vault of heaven where the Hesperus still waits. It is strewn with the debris of war, but seaworthy, and able to sail across the sky and cross the celestial spheres, to go anywhere its captain wishes to take it.
The tale of the Hesperus is told in Melville's recent novel The Leviathan, in the apocryphal Book of Ismael, in The Collected Expurgated Cantos of Paradise Lost, and in tall tales told during storms at a certain seaside bar.
Hive of Scum & Villainy - The Anchor & Saucers
Rolls: 1, 7, 3, 3
Amidst the overcrowded seaside streets of the Wharf District is a bar marked only by the sign of a fat lizard with a morning-star flail where its tail should be. On rainy days it fills up with shop owners and fishing-ship captains, who gather to trade stock and drink rum served with tea. Although the place is always full of the murmur of conversation, it's impossible to eavesdrop on anyone in there, which makes it ideal for conducting business without fear of the competitors sitting at the next table.
The proprietor, Ismael, looks barely more than a boy, and though battle-scarred, is quite beautiful. The regulars call him "the old man" and "the dinosaur". During particularly harsh storms, he entertains the bar with raucous tales of the hunt for a great whale or sea serpent.
Ismael enforces only two rules that outsiders find strange. First, none of the business conducted may be illegal - indeed, those who try discuss crimes find that not only eavesdroppers, but no one at all can hear them speak. Second, no members of the royal navy are allowed inside.
Bastion of Law & Order - Seventh Fleet of the Royal Navy
Rolls: 5, 1, 4, 6
The largest building in the Wharf District is the urban base for the Royal Navy, home to the infamous Seventh Fleet, led by the notorious Admiral Abrahad and his right-hand man, Fleet Captain Isaiah. The fleet captain is always impeccably dressed and marches preening through the streets several times a day, his uniform made from much finer fabrics than are standard in the navy. Abrahad is withdrawn and rarely seen, except peering through the windows of the Admiralty Building, or standing atop its roof, staring down at the wharf. The sailors of the seventh fleet follow the fleet captain's neat example in their habiliment, but give off the unsavory impression of being a pack of murderous thugs disguised in the Queen's uniforms.
Ostensibly the Seventh Fleet is responsible for enforcing all maritime laws in the Wharf District, but the sailors mostly only ever seem to collect "taxes" from all the local merchants, ship captains, and anyone new passing through the district. Anyone attempting to report a crime or seek compensation from the fleet office is likely to subjected to an interminable stack of forms and "filing fees" in order to make their case, and the outcome is equally likely to be a summary dismissal, a back-alley ambush and beating for the plaintiff, or an over-the-top show of "justice" as the Navy executes the accused and confiscates all their effects.
Admiral Abrahad is extremely interested in any information about the interior of the Anchor & Saucer. He might attempt to pressgang newcomers into going inside as his spies, or may send sailors to waylay out-of-towners as they leave the bar. Once Abrahad has heard the final detail he needs (which will sound totally innocuous to the teller), he'll try to recruit any adventurers who are onhand to sail to a particular spot in the ocean, and he'll seem maniacally pleased that there's a hurricane pressing down on his expedition. A group of regulars from the Anchor & Saucer will likely seek recruits and mount a counter-strike to disrupt Abrahad's plans.
All Moby Dick graphics were found at the Book Graphics blog.
![]() |
| Illustration by Rockwell Kent for Moby Dick |
Subdimension - The Vault of the Hesperus
Rolls: 4/2, 5/2, 8/2, 6/4
On the Second Day, God made the oceans and the sky; on the Fifth, God made all the great creatures of the sea, and every living thing that teems within the waters. On the Seventh Day, God rested, and took His pleasure yacht out onto the seas, and He saw that they were good.
And then came the War in Heaven, and the pleasure ship was made a ship of war. The angel Ismael captained the ship, christened the Hesperus, and Ishmael sailed the Hesperus across the seas, and there fought the great worm Leviathan. Every angel aboard perished, save for Ismael, who was rescued by the archangel Rachel. Together the two angels locked the Hesperus in a vault, still littered with the unburied dead and the detritus of battle, and they returned to the heavens together to await the outcome of the War.
God opened the vault only once, to instruct Noah on the building of the Ark, and to collect the bodies of the angels to await the eventual resurrection of their bodies, but on that day, God left the door ajar.
Today, it is possible to enter the vault where the Hesperus is kept in drydock. When the eye of a hurricane is centered over the spot where God slew the Leviathan, the same spot where Noah released the dove, a ship within the eye that plots a course toward the Evening Star will sail through the open door and enter the vault of heaven where the Hesperus still waits. It is strewn with the debris of war, but seaworthy, and able to sail across the sky and cross the celestial spheres, to go anywhere its captain wishes to take it.
The tale of the Hesperus is told in Melville's recent novel The Leviathan, in the apocryphal Book of Ismael, in The Collected Expurgated Cantos of Paradise Lost, and in tall tales told during storms at a certain seaside bar.
![]() |
| Illustration by Rockwell Kent for Moby Dick |
Hive of Scum & Villainy - The Anchor & Saucers
Rolls: 1, 7, 3, 3
Amidst the overcrowded seaside streets of the Wharf District is a bar marked only by the sign of a fat lizard with a morning-star flail where its tail should be. On rainy days it fills up with shop owners and fishing-ship captains, who gather to trade stock and drink rum served with tea. Although the place is always full of the murmur of conversation, it's impossible to eavesdrop on anyone in there, which makes it ideal for conducting business without fear of the competitors sitting at the next table.
The proprietor, Ismael, looks barely more than a boy, and though battle-scarred, is quite beautiful. The regulars call him "the old man" and "the dinosaur". During particularly harsh storms, he entertains the bar with raucous tales of the hunt for a great whale or sea serpent.
Ismael enforces only two rules that outsiders find strange. First, none of the business conducted may be illegal - indeed, those who try discuss crimes find that not only eavesdroppers, but no one at all can hear them speak. Second, no members of the royal navy are allowed inside.
![]() |
| Illustration by Rockwell Kent for Moby Dick |
Bastion of Law & Order - Seventh Fleet of the Royal Navy
Rolls: 5, 1, 4, 6
The largest building in the Wharf District is the urban base for the Royal Navy, home to the infamous Seventh Fleet, led by the notorious Admiral Abrahad and his right-hand man, Fleet Captain Isaiah. The fleet captain is always impeccably dressed and marches preening through the streets several times a day, his uniform made from much finer fabrics than are standard in the navy. Abrahad is withdrawn and rarely seen, except peering through the windows of the Admiralty Building, or standing atop its roof, staring down at the wharf. The sailors of the seventh fleet follow the fleet captain's neat example in their habiliment, but give off the unsavory impression of being a pack of murderous thugs disguised in the Queen's uniforms.
Ostensibly the Seventh Fleet is responsible for enforcing all maritime laws in the Wharf District, but the sailors mostly only ever seem to collect "taxes" from all the local merchants, ship captains, and anyone new passing through the district. Anyone attempting to report a crime or seek compensation from the fleet office is likely to subjected to an interminable stack of forms and "filing fees" in order to make their case, and the outcome is equally likely to be a summary dismissal, a back-alley ambush and beating for the plaintiff, or an over-the-top show of "justice" as the Navy executes the accused and confiscates all their effects.
Admiral Abrahad is extremely interested in any information about the interior of the Anchor & Saucer. He might attempt to pressgang newcomers into going inside as his spies, or may send sailors to waylay out-of-towners as they leave the bar. Once Abrahad has heard the final detail he needs (which will sound totally innocuous to the teller), he'll try to recruit any adventurers who are onhand to sail to a particular spot in the ocean, and he'll seem maniacally pleased that there's a hurricane pressing down on his expedition. A group of regulars from the Anchor & Saucer will likely seek recruits and mount a counter-strike to disrupt Abrahad's plans.
All Moby Dick graphics were found at the Book Graphics blog.
Monday, September 2, 2019
Blogs on Tape 2 - Hallway Boogaloo
After a summer hiatus, Blogs on Tape is back!
And, I'm honored to report that the most recent episode was a reading of one of my blog posts. This is the second time something I've written has made it onto Blogs on Tape, and I couldn't be happier.
You can listen here to Episode 71 - Should We Start Numbering Our Hallway Maps? and read the original post here.
You can also go back and re-listen to Episode 47 - Campaigns I Want to Run: Dungeons & Decorators and re-read that original post here.
Big thanks to Nick LS Whelan for the work he put into these two episodes, and for the whole Blogs on Tape project!
And, I'm honored to report that the most recent episode was a reading of one of my blog posts. This is the second time something I've written has made it onto Blogs on Tape, and I couldn't be happier.
You can listen here to Episode 71 - Should We Start Numbering Our Hallway Maps? and read the original post here.
You can also go back and re-listen to Episode 47 - Campaigns I Want to Run: Dungeons & Decorators and re-read that original post here.
Big thanks to Nick LS Whelan for the work he put into these two episodes, and for the whole Blogs on Tape project!
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Procedural Generation Demonstration - The Manse's Underdark Ocean Island Generator
Cacklecharm from The Manse wrote a series of random tables to generate islands on an Underdark ocean. These tables work together quickly, and I had little trouble assembling the pieces into a narratively coherent whole in a matter of minutes. So instead of my usual two, let's generate three!
1 - Tusk Island
Rolls: 4, 2, 4, 9, 7, 5
Tusk Island rises like a tooth from the sea. The pale stone island is a great stalagmite, pregnant with calcite and riddled with cavities. The water around it glows pink from the luminescent red algae that clings to the island's base, just beneath the waves, feasting on the rich magnesium oxides that burble up from a vent at the island's base.
The Tusk has a large central cave, just off the most obvious landing site. Its floor is flat, carpeted with soft layers of lichen and mushrooms. These grow in ring formations; a few circles are clear, making ideal spots for fire-building; one large ring is especially lush, an inviting place to sleep. Tooth-fairies lurk in the hollows of this cave. They attack sleeping adventurers, stealing teeth from their mouths, clothes, books, and other symbols of civilization.
Most of the other caves on Tusk Island are inhabited by olms, blind, white salamander people. The tooth fairies are slowly domesticating them, filling their mouths with human teeth, supplying them with stolen supplies, and relentlessly tormenting them to enact parodies of human behavior. They will eagerly trade for information about human customs, along with corpses, and literally any possessions the adventurers are willing to barter.
Though most of the olms' belongings are worthless - saturated with seawater and humidity and fluids from the olms' own hygroscopic bodies - they currently own a quiver of magnesium arrows that burn brightly (though without heat) for an hour, from the moment they're exposed to the air, and continue burning even underwater.
The olm are also tormented by "the dragon" a giant of their own species, a mutant olm twice the height of any other, tattooed with arcane sigils, able to breathe fire. It subsists on a diet of olm-flesh and fairies.
2 - Cackle-harm's Glacier
Rolls: 3, 6, 5, 2, 2, 2
It would be easy to run aground against the black glacier. The island is made of black ice, almost invisible against the background. The waters around it are filled with carnivorous black seaweed that grasps at the hulls of ships, and pulls anyone who falls overboard deep below to drown them. Chill winds blow down off the glacier at unpredictable times, always preceded by the sound of laughter, dealing 1d6 frost damage to anyone unprotected by shelter.
A wrecked dwarven ship is tangled in the weeds just off the coast of the glacier. Seven dwarven prospectors have a makeshift camp. Their mining company will pay handsomely for them to be returned to dwarven civilization. These seven are the survivors of a much larger expedition, but their numbers have been much reduced by the wreck, the seaweed, the cold, and the depredations of an invisible menace.
The dread goblin Cackle-harm lives on the glacier, his hideous laughter echoes across the whole island just before the chill wind blows. A marauder and brigand, Cackle-harm and his pirates robbed elven merchants for years before they caught him, and tried to execute him - but the magic in the elf-rope noose they hanged him with malfunctioned, making him invisible and invulnerable. He'll be happy to tell you his story ... right before he kills you. The only way to kill him is to remove the rope. The unbreakable elf-rope is Cackle-harm's only treasure - everything else he steals he throws in the sea, unreachable beneath the black seaweed garden.
3 - The Sleeping Giant
Rolls: 6, 5, 2, 4, 4, 7*
(Note: The Manse recommends rolling d6 to determine inhabitants, but also suggests the island might be uninhabited, so I rolled a d10, and I'm interpreting results 7-10 as uninhabited.)
It's impossible to miss the Sleeping Giant. It's a giant olm, an albino salamander the size of a mountain, trapped in magical slumber.
The waters surrounding the island are filled with flags and warning buoys written in dozens of languages. Shipcatching nets are set out to prevent any vessel larger than a lifeboat from approaching the island directly. A lighthouse sits atop an promontory stone, positioned so shadows prevent its light from hitting the slumbering giant's sleeping eyes. The everburning flame of the lighthouse is a trapped fire elemental, magically bound to the tower.
Hidden in the crevices and folds of the giant's skin are dozens of pest-traps. By now, about half have been triggered and hold the skeletons of various underworld vermin. The rest remain a hazard to adventures. Each deals 1d4 damage and requires an exploration turn for two people to remove.
The only treasure on the island is a spellbook, Ø ōōōō ō Øōōō ØØØ ØØØ ØōØ ØØØ ōōØō Øōōō ōō Øō Øōō ōō Øō ØØō, the Book of Binding, which is locked to a chain, the chain wrapped around the giant olm's neck like a collar. The book is written in a kind of braille, legible to the sightless hands of the original spellcasters. The book contains only two spells - one to put the olm back to sleep if it begins to wake, another to bind the elemental to its lighthouse prison. Any spellcaster intelligent enough to translate the spells from their time-forgotten original language is also skilled enough to reverse them to awaken the giant or free the fire.
(Also note: I just used Morse Code to write the book title. If you decide to use this island, consider making a "book" out of three notecards folded in half. Use a hole-puncher for the dashses and poke a smaller hole with a pen-tip for the dots. The spells can just be called "sleep" and "bind" for simplicity's sake.)
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| Underdark Ocean Island Generator by Cacklecharm |
1 - Tusk Island
Rolls: 4, 2, 4, 9, 7, 5
Tusk Island rises like a tooth from the sea. The pale stone island is a great stalagmite, pregnant with calcite and riddled with cavities. The water around it glows pink from the luminescent red algae that clings to the island's base, just beneath the waves, feasting on the rich magnesium oxides that burble up from a vent at the island's base.
The Tusk has a large central cave, just off the most obvious landing site. Its floor is flat, carpeted with soft layers of lichen and mushrooms. These grow in ring formations; a few circles are clear, making ideal spots for fire-building; one large ring is especially lush, an inviting place to sleep. Tooth-fairies lurk in the hollows of this cave. They attack sleeping adventurers, stealing teeth from their mouths, clothes, books, and other symbols of civilization.
Most of the other caves on Tusk Island are inhabited by olms, blind, white salamander people. The tooth fairies are slowly domesticating them, filling their mouths with human teeth, supplying them with stolen supplies, and relentlessly tormenting them to enact parodies of human behavior. They will eagerly trade for information about human customs, along with corpses, and literally any possessions the adventurers are willing to barter.
Though most of the olms' belongings are worthless - saturated with seawater and humidity and fluids from the olms' own hygroscopic bodies - they currently own a quiver of magnesium arrows that burn brightly (though without heat) for an hour, from the moment they're exposed to the air, and continue burning even underwater.
The olm are also tormented by "the dragon" a giant of their own species, a mutant olm twice the height of any other, tattooed with arcane sigils, able to breathe fire. It subsists on a diet of olm-flesh and fairies.
2 - Cackle-harm's Glacier
Rolls: 3, 6, 5, 2, 2, 2
It would be easy to run aground against the black glacier. The island is made of black ice, almost invisible against the background. The waters around it are filled with carnivorous black seaweed that grasps at the hulls of ships, and pulls anyone who falls overboard deep below to drown them. Chill winds blow down off the glacier at unpredictable times, always preceded by the sound of laughter, dealing 1d6 frost damage to anyone unprotected by shelter.
A wrecked dwarven ship is tangled in the weeds just off the coast of the glacier. Seven dwarven prospectors have a makeshift camp. Their mining company will pay handsomely for them to be returned to dwarven civilization. These seven are the survivors of a much larger expedition, but their numbers have been much reduced by the wreck, the seaweed, the cold, and the depredations of an invisible menace.
The dread goblin Cackle-harm lives on the glacier, his hideous laughter echoes across the whole island just before the chill wind blows. A marauder and brigand, Cackle-harm and his pirates robbed elven merchants for years before they caught him, and tried to execute him - but the magic in the elf-rope noose they hanged him with malfunctioned, making him invisible and invulnerable. He'll be happy to tell you his story ... right before he kills you. The only way to kill him is to remove the rope. The unbreakable elf-rope is Cackle-harm's only treasure - everything else he steals he throws in the sea, unreachable beneath the black seaweed garden.
3 - The Sleeping Giant
Rolls: 6, 5, 2, 4, 4, 7*
(Note: The Manse recommends rolling d6 to determine inhabitants, but also suggests the island might be uninhabited, so I rolled a d10, and I'm interpreting results 7-10 as uninhabited.)
It's impossible to miss the Sleeping Giant. It's a giant olm, an albino salamander the size of a mountain, trapped in magical slumber.
The waters surrounding the island are filled with flags and warning buoys written in dozens of languages. Shipcatching nets are set out to prevent any vessel larger than a lifeboat from approaching the island directly. A lighthouse sits atop an promontory stone, positioned so shadows prevent its light from hitting the slumbering giant's sleeping eyes. The everburning flame of the lighthouse is a trapped fire elemental, magically bound to the tower.
Hidden in the crevices and folds of the giant's skin are dozens of pest-traps. By now, about half have been triggered and hold the skeletons of various underworld vermin. The rest remain a hazard to adventures. Each deals 1d4 damage and requires an exploration turn for two people to remove.
The only treasure on the island is a spellbook, Ø ōōōō ō Øōōō ØØØ ØØØ ØōØ ØØØ ōōØō Øōōō ōō Øō Øōō ōō Øō ØØō, the Book of Binding, which is locked to a chain, the chain wrapped around the giant olm's neck like a collar. The book is written in a kind of braille, legible to the sightless hands of the original spellcasters. The book contains only two spells - one to put the olm back to sleep if it begins to wake, another to bind the elemental to its lighthouse prison. Any spellcaster intelligent enough to translate the spells from their time-forgotten original language is also skilled enough to reverse them to awaken the giant or free the fire.
(Also note: I just used Morse Code to write the book title. If you decide to use this island, consider making a "book" out of three notecards folded in half. Use a hole-puncher for the dashses and poke a smaller hole with a pen-tip for the dots. The spells can just be called "sleep" and "bind" for simplicity's sake.)
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
Reverse Engineering Random Tables - Campaign Events & Minor Magical Items
Two of my favorite random tables are Dreams in the Lich House's Campaign Events for the Black City and Dungeon of Signs' Starting Minor Magical Items for Darkly Haunted Noble Characters.
I like them so much, in fact, that I want to learn how to write my own tables like them. And the way to do that, I think, is to take them apart and see how they work. Having done that, I should be able to put my own lists together in the same way to achieve a similar effect.
Let's start with the campaign events. I've found that having something happen "in town" during the player characters' downtime expands the scope of the game a little bit and makes the campaign world feel "alive" - and by extension, when I've run ongoing campaigns without events, it can start to feel a bit too much like the characters are the only people in the world. (I mean, they sort of ARE, but you don't necessarily want it to FEEL like that. Suffocating claustrophobia is fine INSIDE the dungeon, but you want the outside world to feel more open.)
Lately I've come to appreciate that running a sandbox game requires giving players a surfeit of choice. If you want your players to choose their own goals and objectives, then you have to offer them a longer list of ideas to narrow down from. You need a map that shows them places they could go, you need a basic concept (at least!) of what each of those places is like, and you need to populate your world not just with monsters, but with people, with factions and NPCs who have names and personalities and agendas of their own.
And random events help with all that, because they mimic the unpredictability of a world where things happen because other people make them happen. I've used the Dreams in the Lich House random event list before, and liked it, so let's see what John Arendt is doing with this list:
1-2 Astral Conjunction
3-4 Bad Weather
5-6 Beached Whale
7-8 Bear Attack
9-11 Blood Feud *
12-14 Bragging Rights *
15-16 Dire Omens
17-18 Disappearance
19-20 Favor of the Gods
21-23 False Identity *
24-26 Fire *
27-28 Food Shortage
29-30 Foreigners!
31-32 Gold Rush
33-34 Great Weather
35-36 Herd of Caribou
37-39 Inflation *
40-41 It Came from the Ice
42-43 Long Live the King
44-46 Marvel Team-Up *
47-48 Massacre
49-50 Meteor
51-52 Missionary
53-54 New Sub Level
55-56 New Trade Route
57-58 New Trade Town
59-60 Pod of Whales
61-62 Population Change
63-64 Prize Fishing
65-66 Rampaging Monster Back Home
67-69 Rescue Mission *
70-71 Rival Wizard
72-74 Robbery *
75-76 Ship Lost at Sea
77-78 Sickness
79-80 Skilled Laborer
81-82 Stolen Map
83-84 Stormy Seas
85-86 Supply Problems
87-88 The Enemy Among Us
89-90 Vermin
91-92 Visiting Ship
93-94 Wandering Monster
95-96 Wars and Rumors of Wars
97-98 Where's the Wizard
99-100 Whirlpool
There are 46 events on there, most with a 2% chance of showing up, a couple with a 3% chance. I've marked the more-common events with stars. Reading through each entry, I tried to group them in a way that I think makes sense of what each event is doing for the game. With a very small amount of rounding, we get this:
10% - positive event
10% - rival NPC interactions
20% - faction event
30% - sidequest opportunity
30% - negative event
The specific events that make up those categories go a long way toward defining the environment. If you wanted to set your campaign somewhere that wasn't a Viking outpost beside an alien city, then you'd want to alter or reskin the individual entries. But the overall proportions are what interests me here.
About 10% of the time there's an event with a positive impact. Most of these are for one session only, a couple are ongoing. Notably a couple of these look like NPC events, but the effect is primarily an improvement of conditions, like when a skilled laborer opens a new shop in town, or when a new trade route adds a whole menu of foreign luxuries to the shopping list.
About 10% of the time, the player characters are forced into an interaction with some rival NPCs. These interactions can pose an immediate problem (like when the NPCs accuse the player characters of a crime and demand redress) or they can provide an opportunity for exploration (like when the NPCs offer to join the PCs on a joint mission, providing the personnel to do something more dangerous than usual) or they can just be a goad to spur the players to action (like when the NPCs are bragging about their own exploits). Regardless, this sets up a session where the players can do a bit more roleplaying. It also requires you to invent, or have on hand, some NPCs capable of serving as rival adventurers.
Roughly 20% of the time, there's a faction-level event happening. Unlike their rival NPCs, the player characters aren't necessarily forced into getting involved in whatever's happening - but it will change the social environment of the town going forward. Maybe one faction leaves town, maybe a new faction arrives (or a whole second town springs up!), or maybe there's conflict between two or more of the existing factions. The players could try to ignore that, offer to mediate it, or join one side against the other. For this to work, each faction needs a somewhat distinctive identity, and probably a couple representative NPC members. Because none of these events involve the player characters directly, they get more freedom to decide how to interact with what's going on. As Necropraxis suggests, let the players decide who their enemies are.
Roughly 30% of the random events are opportunities to go on a sidequest. (The default main quest being looting the megadungeon ruins of the alien city.) Most of these involve the temporary appearance of a new adventuring site or a new quest activity - check out that meteor crater! or catch that whale! Some of these seem like negative events, but the effect of them turns out to be a chance at redress, rather than a reduction in the living standard. You might try to investigate what happened to someone who's lost (and rescue them, if possible) or make a plan to kill a monster who's built a nearby lair. What defines these events is the opportunity to go on a mission that varies your routine, whereas the negative events generally don't open up new venues for play.
The final 30% of events impose some kind of negative impact. Again, most of these are single-session events, but a few present an ongoing problem that doesn't necessarily have a solution. Some of the negative events target the player characters directly (like if their campsite is robbed or catches fire), while others are of a more general nature. The key here is variety. I love that good weather provides the opportunity to narratively describe the setting a little differently - and makes travel and digging harder because of the mud. Some problems, like pests or disease, help contribute to the hardscrabble feeling of the environment. Others - like price increases, goods shortages, or offshore weather that makes leaving the island impossible - emphasize the isolation from society. A couple problems are magical, but most of them are mundane, quotidian. They're the kind of problems that remind the players why their characters took up the adventuring lifestyle in the first place - to get away from the poverty and filth of a mundane world that dirty and broken.
I don't know if I ever would have hit on this 10-10-20-30-30 distribution of events if I were making my own list, (I'm certain that I WOULDN'T have attempted a 3-to-1 ratio of negative events to positive, left to my own devices), but I've used this one, and it seems to work well in practice. It requires pretty minimal bookkeeping to run, and still allows the players to impact the game world, by deciding how their characters will react to events not of their own making. More complicated, and deserving of a post of its own sometime, would be the task having dynamic lists so that the frequency and severity of negative events responds to character actions. But as I said, that's for another time, so for now let's turn our sights to something else, instead.
Specifically, let's refocus our attention on the enjoyable task of handing out treasure to the player characters. What Gus L has written is a table of treasures. He intends to give them to starting characters from aristocratic families, to give those characters a sense of inheriting heirlooms from their noble house. I really like this idea, and it certainly fits with Metal Earth's advice to make starting characters special right out the gate. You could also use a table like this to award treasure during play.
There are a couple reasons to use treasure tables instead of inventing what kind of treasure is found on the spot. The first to maintain a sense of fairness and to avoid the appearance of favoritism when handing out treasure. You, the referee, aren't letting your personal feelings about the players determine what treasure they get, you're letting the dice decide, and your campaign is better for it. The second reason, though, is that it can be difficult to imagine treasures, especially new magic items, right there on the spot. A key reason to plan anything in advance is to end up with something better than you'd get from inventing it in the moment at the table.
Anyway, as with Dreams in the Lich House's random events, my sense is that Dungeon of Signs's starting treasures offer a nice mix in a good balance, and that I could learn something by looking closer at it. So let's do that:
1 Jewel Moth Robe
2 Distilled Chanteuse
3 Dueling Cane
4 Butler's Fork
5 House Sword
6 Healthful Wand
7 Fanged Idol
8 Masquerade Helmet
9 Simian Automaton
10 Vestarch's Crest
11 Remonstrator
12 Ring of Hate
13 True Liturgy
14 Uhlan's Armor
15 Sack of Coinage
16 Seraphim's Pinion
17 Revivifying Tipple
18 Parfume d'Maudlum
19 Porcelain Steed
20 Magister's Snuff Box
Again, it's worth noting that the treasure table, like the random event table, is a good place to do some worldbuilding for your campaign. The names, the style of language, the imagery all help to establish what sort of place these treasures come from, and I think just looking at both lists, you can see how different the two campaigns are from one another. The baroque, decadent flavor is obvious from the names alone. As before, I'd like to try putting these into categories:
20% weapon
15% combat trick
25% armor
25% tool
10% retainer
5% cash
4-in-20 of the treasures here are weapons. We get a good variety - a sword, a club, a wand, and a point for a spear.
Another 3-in-20 are combat tricks that provide some kind of advantage. Again, we get a good variety - one facilitates escape, one temporarily incapacitates your enemies, one reduces their initiative and gives a penalty to their attacks.
5-in-20 of the treasures are armors or protective items. We get a robe, a ring, a helmet, a suit of plate armor, and a talisman. Some improve AC, one improves saving throws, a couple offer protection against specific types of damage. One of the items also grants an additional benefit besides protection, and another imposes a penalty.
5-in-20 treasures are what I'm calling "tools" - they're all items that mimic the effect of a specific spell and provide a utilitarian benefit. We get a lockpick, a divination device, a healing potion, a scroll to turn undead, and a blood-drinking idol that lets you re-cast an already-used-up spell. Like the combat tricks, the healing potion has a limited number of uses; the scroll, I think, can only be used once; and the lockpick, like one of the weapons, has a chance to become useless until next session. The idol can be used freely, but imposes a price in hit-points for each use. A variety of restrictions, alongside a variety of functions, makes each item feel distinct from the others.
2-in-10 of the items are retainers. One is a monkey butler that can't be used for combat, the other is a magical horse (also blood drinking, a repetition that contributes to a sense that these items come from similar sources).
And finally 1-in-20 treasures are just cash money. The amount is enough to buy a magic item if a market were available, so presumably you could substitute another "magic currency", like Eberron's dragonshard crystals or Black Powder Black Magic's demon ore, to achieve a similar effect.
With both the lists here, the point is not necessarily to become beholden to someone else's design decisions, but rather to better understand what those design decisions actually were so that you can make better-informed decisions of your own. As I said, it wouldn't have occurred to me to make so many campaign events negative, but looking at the list, I can see the logic. I also don't know if I'd have thought to make so many tools, and I know I wouldn't have thought about combat tricks, if I hadn't been looking at this treasure table.
A huge percentage of the events on Dreams in the Lich House's list are goads to spur the players to leave town and go explore, whether it's something negative that pushes them out or something positive that pulls them. These aren't just random events with no impact on play, they're events that make one session feel different from the rest, and continuously open up new possibilities for adventure. Even if you don't want the "dung ages" feel of rats and pestilence in your setting, it's good to think of ways to remind your players that their characters aren't homebodies, they're meant to get out there and do things.
Another sizable portion of the events entangle the player characters in the affairs of NPCs. Populating your game world with other people and giving your players reasons to interact with them prevents their dungeoneering from feeling like a totally solipsistic activity.
The entries on Dungeon of Signs's treasure list are all quite different from each other. There's no "ho hum, just another magic sword" or "great, another unidentified mystery potion" here.
They're also all items that are meant to be used during play. There's no incentive to hoard these items, you'll want to use them, even if it means using them up. Half the items have some impact on combat, where you'll be willing to use them just to stay alive. Most of the others have an obvious use in a common situation where using the item prevents hitting a frustrating dead-end. Others are "always on" or have more open-ended applications.
The fact that many of the items do have limitations also helps prevent a handful of early treasures from totally dominating the rest of the campaign. You're not going to stop adventuring because you've already found as much as you could ever carry, and you're not going to turn up your nose at later treasures because they're inferior to what you already own. If you really like an item, even finding another that has the same effect with a different restriction would be a boon. At the same time, only one item is a "one and done" so you do get some sense that your character is defined by the things they've found so far, just not to the extent that you are only defined by what you've already found.
I like them so much, in fact, that I want to learn how to write my own tables like them. And the way to do that, I think, is to take them apart and see how they work. Having done that, I should be able to put my own lists together in the same way to achieve a similar effect.
Let's start with the campaign events. I've found that having something happen "in town" during the player characters' downtime expands the scope of the game a little bit and makes the campaign world feel "alive" - and by extension, when I've run ongoing campaigns without events, it can start to feel a bit too much like the characters are the only people in the world. (I mean, they sort of ARE, but you don't necessarily want it to FEEL like that. Suffocating claustrophobia is fine INSIDE the dungeon, but you want the outside world to feel more open.)
Lately I've come to appreciate that running a sandbox game requires giving players a surfeit of choice. If you want your players to choose their own goals and objectives, then you have to offer them a longer list of ideas to narrow down from. You need a map that shows them places they could go, you need a basic concept (at least!) of what each of those places is like, and you need to populate your world not just with monsters, but with people, with factions and NPCs who have names and personalities and agendas of their own.
And random events help with all that, because they mimic the unpredictability of a world where things happen because other people make them happen. I've used the Dreams in the Lich House random event list before, and liked it, so let's see what John Arendt is doing with this list:
1-2 Astral Conjunction
3-4 Bad Weather
5-6 Beached Whale
7-8 Bear Attack
9-11 Blood Feud *
12-14 Bragging Rights *
15-16 Dire Omens
17-18 Disappearance
19-20 Favor of the Gods
21-23 False Identity *
24-26 Fire *
27-28 Food Shortage
29-30 Foreigners!
31-32 Gold Rush
33-34 Great Weather
35-36 Herd of Caribou
37-39 Inflation *
40-41 It Came from the Ice
42-43 Long Live the King
44-46 Marvel Team-Up *
47-48 Massacre
49-50 Meteor
51-52 Missionary
53-54 New Sub Level
55-56 New Trade Route
57-58 New Trade Town
59-60 Pod of Whales
61-62 Population Change
63-64 Prize Fishing
65-66 Rampaging Monster Back Home
67-69 Rescue Mission *
70-71 Rival Wizard
72-74 Robbery *
75-76 Ship Lost at Sea
77-78 Sickness
79-80 Skilled Laborer
81-82 Stolen Map
83-84 Stormy Seas
85-86 Supply Problems
87-88 The Enemy Among Us
89-90 Vermin
91-92 Visiting Ship
93-94 Wandering Monster
95-96 Wars and Rumors of Wars
97-98 Where's the Wizard
99-100 Whirlpool
There are 46 events on there, most with a 2% chance of showing up, a couple with a 3% chance. I've marked the more-common events with stars. Reading through each entry, I tried to group them in a way that I think makes sense of what each event is doing for the game. With a very small amount of rounding, we get this:
10% - positive event
10% - rival NPC interactions
20% - faction event
30% - sidequest opportunity
30% - negative event
The specific events that make up those categories go a long way toward defining the environment. If you wanted to set your campaign somewhere that wasn't a Viking outpost beside an alien city, then you'd want to alter or reskin the individual entries. But the overall proportions are what interests me here.
About 10% of the time there's an event with a positive impact. Most of these are for one session only, a couple are ongoing. Notably a couple of these look like NPC events, but the effect is primarily an improvement of conditions, like when a skilled laborer opens a new shop in town, or when a new trade route adds a whole menu of foreign luxuries to the shopping list.
About 10% of the time, the player characters are forced into an interaction with some rival NPCs. These interactions can pose an immediate problem (like when the NPCs accuse the player characters of a crime and demand redress) or they can provide an opportunity for exploration (like when the NPCs offer to join the PCs on a joint mission, providing the personnel to do something more dangerous than usual) or they can just be a goad to spur the players to action (like when the NPCs are bragging about their own exploits). Regardless, this sets up a session where the players can do a bit more roleplaying. It also requires you to invent, or have on hand, some NPCs capable of serving as rival adventurers.
Roughly 20% of the time, there's a faction-level event happening. Unlike their rival NPCs, the player characters aren't necessarily forced into getting involved in whatever's happening - but it will change the social environment of the town going forward. Maybe one faction leaves town, maybe a new faction arrives (or a whole second town springs up!), or maybe there's conflict between two or more of the existing factions. The players could try to ignore that, offer to mediate it, or join one side against the other. For this to work, each faction needs a somewhat distinctive identity, and probably a couple representative NPC members. Because none of these events involve the player characters directly, they get more freedom to decide how to interact with what's going on. As Necropraxis suggests, let the players decide who their enemies are.
Roughly 30% of the random events are opportunities to go on a sidequest. (The default main quest being looting the megadungeon ruins of the alien city.) Most of these involve the temporary appearance of a new adventuring site or a new quest activity - check out that meteor crater! or catch that whale! Some of these seem like negative events, but the effect of them turns out to be a chance at redress, rather than a reduction in the living standard. You might try to investigate what happened to someone who's lost (and rescue them, if possible) or make a plan to kill a monster who's built a nearby lair. What defines these events is the opportunity to go on a mission that varies your routine, whereas the negative events generally don't open up new venues for play.
The final 30% of events impose some kind of negative impact. Again, most of these are single-session events, but a few present an ongoing problem that doesn't necessarily have a solution. Some of the negative events target the player characters directly (like if their campsite is robbed or catches fire), while others are of a more general nature. The key here is variety. I love that good weather provides the opportunity to narratively describe the setting a little differently - and makes travel and digging harder because of the mud. Some problems, like pests or disease, help contribute to the hardscrabble feeling of the environment. Others - like price increases, goods shortages, or offshore weather that makes leaving the island impossible - emphasize the isolation from society. A couple problems are magical, but most of them are mundane, quotidian. They're the kind of problems that remind the players why their characters took up the adventuring lifestyle in the first place - to get away from the poverty and filth of a mundane world that dirty and broken.
I don't know if I ever would have hit on this 10-10-20-30-30 distribution of events if I were making my own list, (I'm certain that I WOULDN'T have attempted a 3-to-1 ratio of negative events to positive, left to my own devices), but I've used this one, and it seems to work well in practice. It requires pretty minimal bookkeeping to run, and still allows the players to impact the game world, by deciding how their characters will react to events not of their own making. More complicated, and deserving of a post of its own sometime, would be the task having dynamic lists so that the frequency and severity of negative events responds to character actions. But as I said, that's for another time, so for now let's turn our sights to something else, instead.
Specifically, let's refocus our attention on the enjoyable task of handing out treasure to the player characters. What Gus L has written is a table of treasures. He intends to give them to starting characters from aristocratic families, to give those characters a sense of inheriting heirlooms from their noble house. I really like this idea, and it certainly fits with Metal Earth's advice to make starting characters special right out the gate. You could also use a table like this to award treasure during play.
There are a couple reasons to use treasure tables instead of inventing what kind of treasure is found on the spot. The first to maintain a sense of fairness and to avoid the appearance of favoritism when handing out treasure. You, the referee, aren't letting your personal feelings about the players determine what treasure they get, you're letting the dice decide, and your campaign is better for it. The second reason, though, is that it can be difficult to imagine treasures, especially new magic items, right there on the spot. A key reason to plan anything in advance is to end up with something better than you'd get from inventing it in the moment at the table.
Anyway, as with Dreams in the Lich House's random events, my sense is that Dungeon of Signs's starting treasures offer a nice mix in a good balance, and that I could learn something by looking closer at it. So let's do that:
1 Jewel Moth Robe
2 Distilled Chanteuse
3 Dueling Cane
4 Butler's Fork
5 House Sword
6 Healthful Wand
7 Fanged Idol
8 Masquerade Helmet
9 Simian Automaton
10 Vestarch's Crest
11 Remonstrator
12 Ring of Hate
13 True Liturgy
14 Uhlan's Armor
15 Sack of Coinage
16 Seraphim's Pinion
17 Revivifying Tipple
18 Parfume d'Maudlum
19 Porcelain Steed
20 Magister's Snuff Box
Again, it's worth noting that the treasure table, like the random event table, is a good place to do some worldbuilding for your campaign. The names, the style of language, the imagery all help to establish what sort of place these treasures come from, and I think just looking at both lists, you can see how different the two campaigns are from one another. The baroque, decadent flavor is obvious from the names alone. As before, I'd like to try putting these into categories:
20% weapon
15% combat trick
25% armor
25% tool
10% retainer
5% cash
4-in-20 of the treasures here are weapons. We get a good variety - a sword, a club, a wand, and a point for a spear.
Another 3-in-20 are combat tricks that provide some kind of advantage. Again, we get a good variety - one facilitates escape, one temporarily incapacitates your enemies, one reduces their initiative and gives a penalty to their attacks.
5-in-20 of the treasures are armors or protective items. We get a robe, a ring, a helmet, a suit of plate armor, and a talisman. Some improve AC, one improves saving throws, a couple offer protection against specific types of damage. One of the items also grants an additional benefit besides protection, and another imposes a penalty.
5-in-20 treasures are what I'm calling "tools" - they're all items that mimic the effect of a specific spell and provide a utilitarian benefit. We get a lockpick, a divination device, a healing potion, a scroll to turn undead, and a blood-drinking idol that lets you re-cast an already-used-up spell. Like the combat tricks, the healing potion has a limited number of uses; the scroll, I think, can only be used once; and the lockpick, like one of the weapons, has a chance to become useless until next session. The idol can be used freely, but imposes a price in hit-points for each use. A variety of restrictions, alongside a variety of functions, makes each item feel distinct from the others.
2-in-10 of the items are retainers. One is a monkey butler that can't be used for combat, the other is a magical horse (also blood drinking, a repetition that contributes to a sense that these items come from similar sources).
And finally 1-in-20 treasures are just cash money. The amount is enough to buy a magic item if a market were available, so presumably you could substitute another "magic currency", like Eberron's dragonshard crystals or Black Powder Black Magic's demon ore, to achieve a similar effect.
With both the lists here, the point is not necessarily to become beholden to someone else's design decisions, but rather to better understand what those design decisions actually were so that you can make better-informed decisions of your own. As I said, it wouldn't have occurred to me to make so many campaign events negative, but looking at the list, I can see the logic. I also don't know if I'd have thought to make so many tools, and I know I wouldn't have thought about combat tricks, if I hadn't been looking at this treasure table.
A huge percentage of the events on Dreams in the Lich House's list are goads to spur the players to leave town and go explore, whether it's something negative that pushes them out or something positive that pulls them. These aren't just random events with no impact on play, they're events that make one session feel different from the rest, and continuously open up new possibilities for adventure. Even if you don't want the "dung ages" feel of rats and pestilence in your setting, it's good to think of ways to remind your players that their characters aren't homebodies, they're meant to get out there and do things.
Another sizable portion of the events entangle the player characters in the affairs of NPCs. Populating your game world with other people and giving your players reasons to interact with them prevents their dungeoneering from feeling like a totally solipsistic activity.
The entries on Dungeon of Signs's treasure list are all quite different from each other. There's no "ho hum, just another magic sword" or "great, another unidentified mystery potion" here.
They're also all items that are meant to be used during play. There's no incentive to hoard these items, you'll want to use them, even if it means using them up. Half the items have some impact on combat, where you'll be willing to use them just to stay alive. Most of the others have an obvious use in a common situation where using the item prevents hitting a frustrating dead-end. Others are "always on" or have more open-ended applications.
The fact that many of the items do have limitations also helps prevent a handful of early treasures from totally dominating the rest of the campaign. You're not going to stop adventuring because you've already found as much as you could ever carry, and you're not going to turn up your nose at later treasures because they're inferior to what you already own. If you really like an item, even finding another that has the same effect with a different restriction would be a boon. At the same time, only one item is a "one and done" so you do get some sense that your character is defined by the things they've found so far, just not to the extent that you are only defined by what you've already found.
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