One Rando's Thoughts on Using Lycanthropes

Beoric, with whom I have never shared discourse and don't know from Biblical Adam, made a comment I appreciated on one of Bryce Lynch's reviews: 

There are 3 reasons to use a lycanthrope in a module:

(1) they are hidden, and the challenge is to figure out who is a lycanthrope;

(2) the risk of the curse of lycanthropy, which drives play if somebody might have been infected;

(3) you want a regenerating combat opponent and the party is too low level for trolls.

“Wererats in the sewers” defaults to (3), and is overdone and not that interesting to begin with. The curse has been sufficiently nerfed in 5e that it is really not much more than an inconvenience, so (2) is no longer a serious option.

That leaves (1) as the only remaining option that has any potential to be interesting at all. Which clearly should not take place in a sewer, since you need sufficient non-lycanthrope humanoids around for the lycanthropes to blend in. You could have an encounter with wererats in a sewer, disguised as public works workers or some such, but if *everyone* is a wererat in disguise then no wererats are really in disguise.

It will necessarily have a strong social element. The Thing is a better example of this than most werewolf fiction.

The Death of the Old School: Skill Systems

The following is an excerpt from an excellent article, "A Historical Look at the OSR — Part II," written by Keith Hann and published here: http://osrsimulacrum.blogspot.com/2021/02/a-historical-look-at-osr-part-ii.html

The Death of the Old School—Skill Systems

More relevant for our purposes than Unearthed Arcana is the other hardback rules volume of 1985: Oriental Adventures (OA).  Following close on their heels was the 1986 duo of the Dungeoneer’s and Wilderness Survival Guides.  Collectively, the effect of the sudden appearance of these four new rules-laden hardbacks six years after the last official AD&D rules release, plus the clear shift in module design in 1984 and Dragon’s insistence that all material going forward would use the UA rules when relevant,[2] eventually led players to refer to this late period of 1st edition’s life as 1.5 edition (or 1.5e).[3]  A major element of this new quasi-edition was that the three non-UA books all fielded D&D’s first (non-thief) skill system: the non-weapon proficiency (NWP) rules.[4]

System-wide skill systems (as opposed to those associated with a single class, like skills for the thief, which debuted in 1975's Supplement I: Greyhawk) were an early game design innovation.  They first showed up in 1976 in FGU's Bunnies & Burrows game, but are better known to most through their implementation in Chaosium's popular BRP rules system, starting in 1978 with RuneQuest.  Skill systems have some core downsides.  They add more rules to the game, imposing a comprehension tax that makes it take longer to learn (and to leaf through the book during the game when you're in search of a rule).  And, as with any character option added, they make characters take longer to create, as players want to go through everything available and make informed choices.  All the same, there are numerous games that utilize skills well, and if done well they can provide a useful means of differentiating characters and defining their capabilities: this is not an article claiming that there is no role in game design for skill systems.

But to understand why they matter from a specifically old-school perspective, it's important to realize that, when a player wanted to do most anything in the game prior to this point, they usually had to negotiate with the DM for how to do it: was it possible, if so what would it entail, how long would it take (for time was a vital currency in old-school play) and finally, how would it be resolved mechanically (e.g. roll 1D6, 2D6, 1D20; Gygax favoured percentile).  A player would a) in general have to describe what they were doing (even if often this was just a very brief description), and b) tend to leave things that were assumed to be outside their grasp to NPC specialists (“why would I know anything about alchemy?”).  Tasks were arbitrated on the fly by the DM, with those that came up often enough typically given answers that progressed to the status of house rule.  Each group could handle things in their own preferred fashion.  With skill lists, even if optional, players tend to look to these as official implementations and want to use them in that fashion, greatly reducing the scope of rulings.

Skills also almost inevitably shift the playstyle to what one might call button-based gameplay.  Players no longer feel the need to describe what they’re doing, because the relevant skill check (or its kissing cousin, the attribute check) allows a shortcut.  To pick one example, every old-school ruleset back to OD&D had a basic X-in-1D6 roll search method for secret doors, but this existed side by side with a narrative approach to actually finding the door that could entirely obviate the need for a roll; see p. 13 of The Underworld & Wilderness Adventures and pp. 97 and 99 of the 1st edition DMG for a good example.  As time went on, the roll aspect came further to the fore, while the narrative angle retreated to the background.  B/X was happy to run with a declaration of intent followed by a roll (p. B21 and B60), as was Mentzer, largely ignoring the narrative element.  Eventually we wound up with a universal application of “I make a Search check”, with the narrative element abandoned entirely.[5]  This broad tendency is so powerful that even with there being a caveat right in the rules of “X roll shouldn’t take the place of roleplaying or logic”, you still have people just shortcutting to rolls, because people are naturally lazy.[6]  To return to the question I opened with, "what sort of gameplay does this rule create?"  Here we see a mechanic slowly but surely changing the face of play.

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[2] “The Transition Starts Now,” Dragon #99 (July 1985). 

[3] The first reference to 1.5e I can find is from 1995, in the rec.games.frp.dnd usenet group. 

[4] I'm not including the 1st edition DMG's Secondary Skill system here.  This system, which gave a character a pre-adventuring career (e.g. farming, sailor, teamster, hunter, trapper), and a broad knowledge base derived from this, featured no rolls or special abilities.  It was "up to the DM to create and/or adjudicate situations in which these skills are used or useful to the player character."  This system would be featured as an option in 2nd edition as well, alongside the NWP system. 

[5] The common OSR approach to secret doors, as epitomized in Matt Finch's influential A Quick Primer, largely follows the AD&D and earlier approach, but as we have seen, it was not the only method used in old-school play and there has been some pushback against Finch's depiction as overly reductive or even anachronistic.  See this Alexandrian article for a 2009 example of such. 

[6] Another good example of such includes the D&D/AD&D thief, whose skill-based set of abilities lent itself well to button-based gameplay ("I search for traps"—*rolls*).  See also this article on "hidden skills" in B/X, and Grognardia's overview of the thief's role in D&D.  At the same time, for those who find the traditional OSR interrogative approach to be an exercise in pixelbitching, cutting to the chase with a simple mechanical solution can be very freeing.  Similarly, placing the burden of estimating risk vs reward and the mechanical execution thereof on DMs relied on the DM being good at doing that on the fly, and many were not, easily leading to frustrated players and relief at having something codified by professionals (though one look at the procedures in the Survival Guides made it clear that professionals did not always get it right).  Again, we’re largely speaking of how approaches can differ and change, rather than always contrasting right vs. wrong.

Solo B/X Game

If you know me from the OSR Pick-Up Games Discord channel, you know I've been talking about doing a play-by-post hex crawl for a long time. This is it! 

It integrates the full version of Wyvern's Roost (not released) which includes surrounding lair dungeons/caves.

Very early stages. No title yet!

The form/layout is inspired by Grave of the Green Flame. 

However, I've spent my whole life playing game books (like Lone Wolf) and Choose Your Own Adventures, not to mention my first D&D (BECMI/Black Box) included a solo adventure as well. It's how I learned to play D&D as a child!

Heck, it's also how I learned Pathfinder/D20!

Growing up and throughout my adulthood, I have always loved all the different styles of solo games, and there were a lot of them. 

I hope to make one that's really fun, really simple, and really interesting to play, not just once, but repeatedly!

The Eight Mantras of OSR Gaming

Considering several sources and my own experience running and playing games on the OSR Pick-Up Games Discord server for the last two years, I have created a list of the (currently) eight mantras of OSR-style gaming I most frequently hear and repeat:

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1. Imagine the Hell out of it.

2. The OSR is rulings not rules.

3. Play worlds not rules. 

4. The OSR is a mindset, not a rules set.

5. The OSR is problems without prescribed solutions.

6. The answer isn't on the character sheet. 

7. Combat is a fail state. (I dislike this one. It's become dogma.)

8. The OSR is the players' story, not the game master's.

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Here's to another year of OSR gaming! 

— Stripe

Raven Familiar

Black, glossy feathers. A cunning stare. A raven. It knows its master's name and its master's name for it. If commanded, it will fly to his home, wherever it understands that to be. It flies without stopping 50 miles in an hour.

For a master who shows plenty of appreciation in the form of treats and baubles, it will also fetch small objects no heavier or bulkier than a silver teaspoon. It will sometimes steal shiny trinkets and secret them in places only it can find. Of course, anything it steals, it justifiably owns. It takes payments and trades, but never gives.

Like all ravens, it keeps watch for danger. It can take high perch and caw, wretchedly, upon the approach of anything a natural raven would find worthy of scorn, like huntsmen, lumberjacks, and riders. It also caws at restless spirits to tell them to return to the realm of dead.

It detests Mother Nature, her children, and her worshipers. It greatly prefers the roofs and steeples of the city. It eats whatever it wants and is not afraid to make itself an uninvited guest. It never defiles its own nest or makes a mess when perched on its master's shoulder or forearm, but it enjoys targeting those who annoy it.

It will defend its master with beak and talon inflicting 1-3 points of damage. A flying raven gains a bonus of + 2 on its first "to hit" roll against any one opponent due to its speed. It has three hit points, but those come at the expense of its master's maximum. If its master dies, so does it.

Presto's Hat of Conjuration

Usable once per day, any non-living object the conjurer can imagine may be pulled from this hat so long as he can recite a magical poem describing what's desired. It takes one round to recite the poem while waving one's hand in a circular motion around the up-turned hat. The inside of the hat will begin to glow with mystical energy. 

The poem must be spoken aloud in a firm voice. It must consist of at least two verses that rhyme. The use of nonsense words such as "abracadabra" will increase the likelihood of backfire or failure. The conjurer may only use a specific poem once in his lifetime. It must come from his or her own inner creativity; repeating a poem heard or read elsewhere will automatically fail to produce any effect.

On the next round, the conjurer reaches inside and pulls out whatever the hat delivers.

Whatever is pulled from the hat vanishes into thin air 2d12 hours later.

Durance Vile of the Storm Giantess Or: Not a Review of G2—Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl

Tonight, I read G2—Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl by Gary Gygax and I have some time to reflect on it after eating homemade tacos for supper. 

They were great.

I'm writing an ice cave dungeon. For my sake, my players' sakes, and for the betterment of the dungeon, I think it's important to familiarize myself with the archetypes of the genre.

G2 was published in 1978 and is what I personally consider the ice cave dungeon archetype. I've never ran nor played it, but I've read it thoroughly and I'm very glad I did. It was a quick, easy read. Took no effort. Would recommend. 

This post is not a review of G2. I'm just deconstructing Gygax's design choices to compare and contrast what I have planned for my dungeon. I want take inspiration from his genius while examining his choices from a modern Old School Revival perspective.

G2 is a two-level frost-themed cave dungeon designed for nine, ninth level AD&D characters. It can stand alone, but it's a direct sequel to G1—Steading of the Hill Giant Chief. 

Forces of the frost giant jarl are attacking human lands and the players are tasked with killing him. Gathering information is a stated objective, but it's largely window dressing. The reward is looted treasure, none of which is very extraordinary.

For an entrance, the dungeon features several obvious cave mouths in the sides of a canyon, much like B2—The Keep on the Borderlands' Caves of Chaos. The ravine's floor is hostile territory. In the caves, there's a whole lot of frost giants and some monsters they keep as pets, such as a mated pair of white dragons. Other encounters include giant humanoids attending the jarl's court.

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"As frost giants have been amongst those who have been in the reaving bands, the party is to deal with them as the hill giants have been dealt with. Death and destruction are to be meted out to the frost giants in the same measure they gave to the peoples below.

Any treasure taken is to be kept by the party; this is their reward for the perils they must face.

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Rocked back in my chair listening to music, I enjoyed reading the module in all its Gygaxian glory. 

Of course, I would hate running G2 out of the book at the table without notes, but that's true with every classic I've perused. Currently, I'm running T1—The Village of Hommlet on the OSR Pick-Up Games server. Information I need to find quickly is utterly buried in tangled paragraphs of convoluted sentence structures.

Reading Gygaxian at my leisure is a groovy trip, but I'd like to strangle him when using his work as reference tool at the table. 

I mean no disrespect to those who wrote the words upon which the foundation of my hobby rests, but we've come a really long way in the layout and "usability at the table" aspects of adventure design. 

G2 is a bloody hack-and-slash dungeon crawl, no big surprise since it's labeled a "tournament module." That's as dire a warning as a rattlesnake's tail to the OSR. "Combat is a failure state" has become dogma, but we can all agree we're not at the table primarily to roll a 20-sided dice back and forth. Excessive combat can become a tedious grind.

Kill monsters, take their stuff

Having no personal experience with what challenges an AD&D party of nine, ninth-level characters are capable of facing, I'm guessing the players are meant to battle their way through this chamber-by-chamber. Most rooms are basically, "Here's some monsters standing around looking at the walls. Some of them have treasure. This is how they'll fight the besieging players."

"The OSR is problems without prescribed solutions," so goes the mantra, but puzzles are traditional and I take them as an exception to the precept. It should be optional, but I like at least one puzzle in a dungeon. It doesn't have to be suitable for a five year old to solve, but I also like my puzzles fairly simple.

In the puzzle category, I suppose we could count a treasure chest with a combination lock, but if so, that's the lowest bar. Don't move the wrong disk or a needle shoots out. Meh. 

Role-playing opportunities would be far more rife if players were given the necessary tools for political intrigue. For example, there's a fire giant with no prescribed motivation other than "kill the invading players." He'll parley, but this is basically just "surrender or die." If the players had a peace treaty from the king if he betrayed the jarl or something, it might have been a fun encounter that didn't just lead to more slaughter.

Every dungeon needs treasure. This is especially true in the OSR where the mechanics of character advancement are usually measured by troves of looted treasure found while exploring (e.g., GP=XP) as opposed to killing or combat. In a B/X dungeon, I'd expect less than 10% of XP to come from combat.

We don't need a lot of explanation as to why the treasure is there, but we need something. That something is often what hooks OSR players to enter the dungeon in the first place. 

"They will fight only if attacked . . ."

The treasure's theme is mainly "what the visitors brought to the jarl as fealty." Visiting giants and ogres and trolls and other "big humanoids" are seeking the jarl's aid and protection from the human kingdom.

This is genius. It's so simple, but it checks all the boxes. 

"Funhouse dungeons" are monster menageries with little to no logic for their location of appearance. They can be fun, but not every dungeon is a funhouse. The presence and combination of some monsters need a little bit of explanation. 

We need it for player agency. Players need to know whether to expect the absurd, or if reasonable assumptions can be made. 

"Why is a Fire Giant in an ice cave?" That question, for example, deserves an answer. Gary gives us a great one that can be used several times throughout the dungeon. It pulls double duty for also being a good explanation for lots of treasure other than GP=XP. 

A good word for the ineffable, sublime quality of game play that's not combat, not role playing, not a puzzle, and not exploration escapes me, but it's of vital importance to the OSR. This je ne sais quoi can include those aspects of play, but they're not what's essential. "The whole is greater than the sum of its parts." 

The Storm Giantess' Prison

In that vein, there's a storm giantess "damsel in distress" whom the wicked, mustache-twisting frost giant jarl is wooing by force. 

I love it. I would would run this "durance vile" as the centerpiece of the adventure. The whole thing would revolve around her. I'd call it "Durance Vile of the Storm Giantess." 

Imagine a Valkyrie, proud and noble—but she's 20 feet tall. A storm giant woman who towers over her lowly captor not just in physical stature, but in every other category of might and status as well. The players let her out and she is going to absolutely curb stomp him. What a great ally. 

So much potential for interesting role playing and fun.

OSR is a mindset. It's a style of play. An OSR dungeon crawl is not simply a series of pitched battles. In fact, that might be the antithesis of an OSR dungeon crawl.

G2 was not at all designed for OSR play. With a little help—perhaps reimagined as a stealthy political intrigue and rescue mission—it could easily make a make for a great time in OSR fashion.

However, I didn't read G2 to offer a critique. I read it for inspiration. For that, it delivered in spades. 

I'm looking forward to using all the inspiration I gained from reading this classic masterpiece. 

Maybe someday I'll get to run it! 

Thanks for reading!

—Stripe