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LFR: AKAN1-1 and CORE1-3

So on weekends (some weekends, anyway) I play 4e Living Forgotten Realms up in Easton, PA, at Cybermedics. This past Saturday I ran two adventures, AKAN1-1 (“the Rotting Ruins of Galain”) and CORE1-3 (“Sense of Wonder”).

“The Rotting Ruins of Galain” was put together very early in the 4e LFR development cycle, and it shows. The designer didn’t appear to have had much to work with, so it’s a simple series of combats. While most RPGA modules have an introductory scene establishing who the PCs are working for, why, how much they’re getting paid, et cetera, “Ruins” starts in medias res: the party has been hired to slaughter goblins on account of goblin raiders are disrupting trade, fade from black with a roll for initiative as the PCs converge on a group of goblins in the act of looting a merchant caravan.

As written, there’s four combats in “Ruins,” as the PCs chase down the goblins to the ruined city they use as a base of operations and fight through the streets of the wrecked city to the chief’s hardpoint at the city center. I cut fight #3 completely out, and split the goblins in it between fight #2 and fight #4, which meant reworking fight #2 somewhat more than fight #4. The revised fights #2 and #4 played very nicely; every PC went down at least once from the hail of goblin javelins in #2, and #4 was tense for a good long while. I applied a modification I’ve been thinking about for a while, and cut every monster’s hit points by 20% while boosting their damage by +2 across the board. This worked very well from my perspective, as it seemed to meet the goal of keeping fights tense and short.

After lunch, I ran “Sense of Wonder” for the same group, plus an additional player. “Wonder” is the antithesis of “Ruins” in terms of combat; the bulk of the module is a series of skill challenges capped by a single long fight. The plot is considerably more interesting than “Ruins,” but in noncombat situations some of the group had trouble keeping focused and all moving in the same direction, which was a little frustrating.

In retrospect I probably should have maintained a round-robin approach, asking each player in turn what they want to do, and imposed more structure, but it’s a risk you run with LFR; groups are not used to one another’s quirks, and this particular group included an eight-year-old who had trouble staying focused (among others).

The final combat in CORE1-3 has the potential, at a glance, to be a long slow slog, and while that would have been interesting under other circumstances, I don’t regret the decision I made to rush all the monsters out past their traps and ambush-spots and turn the fight into a single large melee at the entrance. The -20% hit points, +2 damage system worked well enough here at speeding things along, which was good.

“Wonder” ends with a two-part puzzle, the first part of which bleeds into the combat, and which I skipped entirely. The second part went fairly smoothly, but people started getting up to leave before it was completely done, so I rushed the end. One lesson here is that the combat-heavy RP-light module should probably be played earlier in the day than the puzzle-heavy combat-light module. Still, no complaints — I’ve run worse adventures.

Posted in LFR.

4e Settings 4

Quick note: another thing to bear in mind when constructing a setting by eliminating races and classes is the effect that the restricted options among the one will have among the other. Imagine a corner-case where the allowed races are eladrin (+2 Int, +2 Dex) and minotaurs (+2 Str, +2 Con) and the allowed classes are wizards (Int primary) and rogues (Dex primary). There’s a mechanical disincentive, suddenly, to playing minotaurs. Which may be cool — when we talk about this stuff we’re talking about a piddly +1 or +2 bonus overall; it’s not the overwhelming force it’s sometimes made out to be — but something to be aware of. y’know?

Posted in Gaming Talk, Nonfiction.

More Arkham Horror

So I would not have thought of AH as a good game for kids but what do I know? Clearly less than some kids, which is heartening because we’re all counting on them to save us from pollution.

One thing I like about the game is how, since you’re playing with your friend(s or alone) against the board, there’s no reason not to experiment freely with variants and houserules; no one is going to get the shaft in the way that a 4e game wherein “elves are -15 to everything” is going to shaft people.

Fiance and I are playing a game now (it’s set up on the dining room table and we play a few turns whenever the whim strikes) which is interesting, inasmuch as there are two gates open up in Dunwich and one down in Innsmouth, but only one in Arkham itself. Arkham is monster-free, the terror level is at zero (which is good, as the Old One is Hastur) but the doom track has gotten up to eight, what with one thing and another. Carolyn Fern, Action Psychologist, is hitting Dunwich hard, while poor crazy Old Man Walters has been slumming it in Innsmouth, seeing things he shouldn’t… anyway, we’re using a few variant rules I read about online:

1) Gates are played face-down, and only turned face-up after someone passes through them.
2) You can elect not to pass through a gate — just because there’s a portal in the basement of the Science Building doesn’t mean you can’t visit the chem lab on the third floor.
3) When you close a gate, all monsters in the same location as that gate are returned to the cup.

It’s going pretty okay I think. There’s another pair of ideas I want to try for next time:

1) Shuffle out all the King in Yellow mythos cards and create a separate deck of just them. Treat that deck as the mythos deck until all the KoY cards have been played.
2) Whenever you put a token on the Deep Ones Rising track, also draw a KoY blight card; this is in lieu of using the KoY herald.

The KoY stuff will keep things local to Arkham, and Fiance really dislikes the way the existing mechanic for blight cards punishes you for doing poorly without punishing you for doing well.

Posted in Gaming Talk, Nonfiction.

So Arkham Horror

I got my fiance Arkham Horror for Christmas, and we finally got around to playing it a month or so ago, and then we bought some of the expansions — King in Yellow, Dunwich, and yesterday Innsmouth. As you would conclude, we’ve enjoyed it quite a bit.

I played AH a couple of times in graduate school, with some friends who had a copy, and what I remembered about it was that it’s a cooperative game, rather than a competitive one. The premise is that it’s a sleepy college town in eastern Massachusetts in the 1920s, and then Zuul from Ghostbusters shows up and tries to destroy the world, and the players are running around the map trying to close dimensional portals before Zuul can show up. There’s a lot of different Zuuls (Great Old Ones) to play against, and they all have slightly different rules, and likewise the players each control a different character, who all have slightly different rules. Some are better at magic, some at fighting, et cetera. There are several things that need to be done at once — monsters serving Zuul that need to be killed, clues that need to be collected, and dimensional gates that need to be closed — so teamwork is essential.

Likewise, there’s generally about six different things you could go do on your turn, but four of them are self-evidently bad ideas, and thus choosing between the remaining two (which two being the viable options, of course, changing from turn to turn) to go attempt is where the strategy of the game is. As play goes on, bad things happen, the town begins to shut down, and investigators begin to go mad.

So, yeah, lot of fun. We played one game with the Innsmouthexpansion, and I was a little disappointed in that it didn’t seem to make much difference in play, but that’s going to vary a lot by experience. There are so many cards, and each expansion adds new cards, that you won’t necessarily see all the new ones during each game. My main complaint about AH, in fact, is the sheer number of moving pieces. When it’s just me and Fiance we can hammer through it quickly, but adding a third person to play (as we did last night, when a friend of Fiance’s from high school was in town) slows things down a factor of three.

That, and there’s some unwieldy-big decks to shuffle.

Posted in Gaming Talk, Nonfiction.

4e settings 3

When it comes to justifying your grotesquely large number of 4e options — races, classes, magic items — you can take basically three paths. At least, I can think of three off the top of my head.

1) The world is crazy huge with seventeen continents and eight parallel worlds and forty-odd fallen empires. Pick a race and there’s a spot on the map where they are the dominant culture (nonhumans get one culture each, chances are, because multiple nations of halflings would take up too much geography). This is the approach taken by the Realms, and Eberron — name a 3.5 PC race, there’s a spot on the map of Eberron where those guys live, even yak-folk and dromites.

This has all the usual disadvantages of front-loading.

2) The races and classes the players are interested in happen to be the handful available. PCs are natives of Threshold, in the Grand Duchy, and it turns out Threshold is a mixed community of eladrin, dragonborn, gnomes, and tieflings, with a noted bard college, militia, and cathedral to a god that grants the Skill domain.

This can work out great, but you risk running into trouble if and when PCs die/retire/are replaced. My first 4e campaign that I played in, it had this structure, and I endorse this structure. However it also requires you to know what your players want, and for purposes of our extended worked example (slash me amusing myself and/or burning off a little excess creative energy) that won’t be the case.

3) You can actively restrict some options. Monks are, because people are small-minded, the traditional top of the “banned in my homebrew setting” list. Screw that, though.

So let’s say that you don’t want to create a gigantic Eberron-sized setting, and you want to create a setting with specific races in it, and you don’t want to ban shardmind battleminds or deva assassins. Solution: you do what LOST and Planescape and GURPS Banestorm have known to do for years, and you bring in dimensional rifts.

Handled clumsily, dimensional rifts are lame. We all know this. But there are decent ways to work it, too. The advantage here is that any setting you need to pull a particular concept from can exist for purposes of someone/something from that setting being pulled through a rift. Deva assassin, check, there’s a whole world full of deva assassins, this deva assassin is one among many.

The disadvantage is that it’s easy to make this lame. In the posts that follow, I will attempt to make this not lame.

Posted in Gaming Talk, Nonfiction.

4e Settings 2

So here’s the thing about 4e, the “harder than it sounds” bit, is that right now there are thirty-five races and twenty-four classes spread among six power sources. Making a new setting you’re required to address this in some way, but really, the plethora of races and classes is just one aspect of a whole set of unwritten (or mostly unwritten; the authors of the DMG and the preview articles and such aren’t motivated to withhold this stuff from us) rules about the world described by 4e, which rules I am interested in laying down for you right now. These are things you all know if you are my tiny hypothetical audience, but it’s a review.

1) There’s 35 races. A few of the races — goblins and bugbears, elves and eladrin, for instance — come in closely related sets, but the bulk of them could have evolved in a vacuum, and for any given conceptual niche, there’s probably two or more races that could fit into it.
2) There are 24 classes spread out among the six power sources. There’s also a lot of redundancy, such that a culture which has access to only one or two can nevertheless field a solid mix of classes suitable for an adventuring party.
3) There’s a frightening plethora of magical items possible, and it’s not hard to get ahold of them by default.

Slightly less obvious things:
4) Teleportation circles imply a lot about how a world works.
5) There’s a planar economy, with astral diamonds having a set gold piece value. For that matter, the fact of the gold-piece-based economy is huge!
6) A pantheon of powerful gods/demons/primordials
7) Underdark
8) Far Realm
9) Ritual magic granting resurrection which varies by tier; other ritual magic things besides teleportation and magic items is its own thing too.
10) No gunpowder but crossbows, yes, and vast amounts of technological mix-and-matching
11) Tiers exist; paragon paths imply that a certain population hits paragon tier
12) Noncombatants exist
13) Martial is a kind of magic; the six power sources each imply different things about the world in fact
14) Dungeons/adventuring sites exist. Ruined keeps and bandit camps and such are not uncommon

Now I plan to look at all these items in turn, but before that, I want to point out that there’s a classic and familiar way of dealing with the bewildering variety of options available: you can restrict. Dark Sun is a classic example; I doubt that there will be 35 races in Dark Sun, and I know that there won’t be divine classes at all. Restricting options, obviously, can provide a lot of thematic impact quickly and easily; you can make a game feel less familiar D&D by restricting PCs to a particular race and power source. All humans, all martial will feel different from all eladrin, all arcane, for example.

In my eventual running example, though, I intend to keep options open. All 35 races and 24 classes will be available, with room for the new races and classes I know are coming down the pipe, muls and thri-kreen and runepriests.

NEXT: Some kind of justification for 35 races, 24 classes, and a plethora of magical items!

Posted in Gaming Talk, Nonfiction.

4e Settings

If I was going to run a game, it’d probably be a D&D 4e game. Now, I’m not about to start running a game. I moved to Wilmington about half a year ago, and it took me a while to get situated, and then my fiance and I tried playing LFR, and met some groups that we didn’t hit it off with, and one that we more or less did but which is about an hour and a half away, which makes making it out there tricky. My current plan is to finish buying a house and moving into it, then set up a one-off some weeknight, see who I can get to attend, and then repeat the process a few times until I have a shortlist of players.

When that’s done — if all goes well, by the end of May — then I’ll probably start running a 4e game. This leads to obvious questions about the game I’d like to be running, about the setting of the game and its themes and topics and bad guy and so on. Which, in turn, leads me to think about 4e settings in general.

You can make a case that Greyhawk is the definitive original D&D setting, that Dragonlance is the setting informed by 1e AD&D rules, that the Forgotten Realms are informed by the 2e AD&D rules, and of course Eberron was designed to work with D&D 3.5. Probably there is someone out there who will argue vehemently with those assertions, except maybe the last one, but certainly there have been a lot of D&D settings over the years, and many of those product lines have been long and storied, with boxed set upon hardcover guide upon adventure and adventure. 4e seems crazy-sparse by comparison — Eberron, for instance, has two books and an adventure and out. The Realms are two books and a huge pile of LFR adventures and some DDI articles and out, and you might think that the Realms are better-served thereby but you’d forget how terribly organized the 4e Forgotten Realms Campaign Guide is. Certainly it’s nothing like, say, Planescape got fifteen years ago, with its series of monster books, its series of adventures, its series of geographical guides, its series of boxed sets…

The best-described 4e setting is the “implied” default setting with the ruins of Arkhosia and Nerath, where the Underdark is Torog’s prison and tieflings are all descended from Wilbur Whateley: it’s written up in Manual of the Planes, and Underdark, and Planes Below, and the background/setting/flavor sections of all the X Power books and such.

So, if I was going to run a 4e game, would I be best-served using this setting? It’s the setting of my longest-running 4e experience, my friend Bryant’s sadly-ending campaign which is just barely limping along to the conclusion of H3: Pyramid of Shadows. It’s also a setting that I have some books talking about it. On the other hand, it’s a bit bland, and while I enjoy reading the books enough to buy them, it doesn’t excite me.

“It’s a bit bland” is a very common critique of 4e, of course. And looking at the body of output WotC has distributed, there are few striking visuals and arresting concepts. Dark Sun will, presumably, address some of that, but it’ll just be two books and out, too. I’m guessing in the same way that WotC of 2000 looked at how rulebooks outsold adventures and created the d20 license so other companies could support their rulesets with adventures, WotC of 2008 looked at how rules outsell settings (or at least at how the Complete Hammersword-Wielder featuring eighty new feats no one will ever take plus one everyone will take, outsells Volo’s Guide to Festhalls of the Northeastern Moonsea featuring discourse on how the Zhentharim are foully interfering in the honest silkworm trade of Melvaunt) and decided to punt. And you can’t blame them for trying to keep to a sound business model.

Still, no one has stepped up — as far as I know — to produce crunch-light, system-heavy 4e support. Partly maybe that’s a result of all the GSL unpleasantness, but the few third-party 4e products I’ve heard of are all rules-heavy (One Bad Egg’s product line is, in fact, about the extent of my knowledge here). I don’t know of anyone putting out product on par with Sword-and-Sorcery Studios’ Scarred Land stuff for 3e. And while I enjoy things that aren’t 4e, I like 4e enough, and I find the frameworks that 4e gives me interesting enough, that I’d want to run 4e.

But it’d be my 4e. I wouldn’t use Eberron (despite the big pile of Eberron books I have upstairs), or the Forgotten Realms, or anyone else’s setting. I’d make my own.

NEXT: Why making your own 4e setting is easier said than done.

Posted in Gaming Talk, Nonfiction.

Plate Ten: FAITH

A ragged beggar accosts a traveling merchant. Neither figure appears in any of the other nine plates. The beggar, a man of late middle age, holds a sack out for the merchant to peer inside; perhaps he is a peddler. Or perhaps his is a pilgrim. The beggar-man wears tattered, earth-colored clothing, or perhaps he is simply coated with the dust of the road he walks. His feet are sandaled and his beard and hair are close-trimmed and neat. His posture is excellent; he might be a former general or bishop, who has forsaken a past life for the sake of him pilgrimage. As he stands in the left foreground, facing rightwards, we see the teeth of his slight smile.

In the right foreground, the merchant peers down into the sack with pursed lips. Her clothes, too, are coated with trail dust, and made shapeless by wear and sweat. Soft light escaping from the sack illuminates her face from below, which would look sinister if sunlight from above were not also shining down upon her. Her profile may be less impressive than her counterpart’s, for she slouches slightly.

While her left hand reaches up towards the lip of the sack the pilgrim holds in front of her, her right loosely grasps a cable, which extends back behind her to the lead of a mule train. Only one and a half mules are visible in the plate, but the cable stretches out past the second mule towards an unseen third, and perhaps fourth or fifth or more. The two visible mules ignore the tableau before them in favor of sniffling and nibbling at grass growing on the side of the road behind the merchant. The lead mule is weighed down with wineskins, but the second mule’s burden cannot be seen.

Above them, rays of sunlight fill the sky, emanating not from the sun, but from a woman’s face. This golden face, perhaps simply a fanciful depiction of the sun, mirrors the reflected seen in the eighth plate, RUIN. She and her halo of sunrays fill the upper third of the plate. The face stares directly out towards the viewer; her eyes lined up to yours. Her shining halos and golden tones contrast sharply with her slack and neutral expression; her lips slightly parted and her eyes half-lidded, as if she were about to drift off to smug sleep.

Behind the pilgrim, in the distance approaching the forested horizon, Jack is a tiny splash of blue and red against the verdant green-gold fields. He holds one hand high above his head, either waving towards the foreground, or playing with his dog Armor-of-God, just discernible in the hazy spring day.

Posted in Fiction, Not Gaming, plates.

Plate Nine: FEAR

The man hides within his home. The view is mated to plate five, LOSS. Now the destruction foreshadowed in that plate has reached its natural conclusion: Jack’s cottage is in ruins. Jack himself, his body twisted with regret and dread, is barely visible beneath the shambles of blankets that wrap around him. His head rests on the tabletop in front of him, beneath his folded arms, and one can almost hear the wracking sobs wrenching his weak frame. Behind and around him, the materials which made up his home are in every sort of disarray: pots smashed and shelves broken, their contents rifled through and thoroughly looted. The plants, dead but still prominent in the previous incarnation of this scene, have either been carried off or disintegrated entirely. Bare stone walls have tumbled down in places, and the roof is little more than a partial frame, through which a starry night sky can be seen.

At Jack’s elbow, seated next to him at the table, Death waits patiently. Death’s skeletal legs are half-folded under his chair. One bone arm rests on the tabletop, with the other cast casually over the back of his chair; Death lounges, clearly comfortable with the situation and expecting no trouble. Death’s weapon, the crooked scythe, has been forgotten in the middle background, tossed against a rear wall.

The magic horn hovers over the man, emitting music. Thin white lines scratched into the plate convey this music, as foreign and external to the image as the mellophone itself. If the man buried the artifact, and later regretted his choice and dug it up, there is no sign of this, for the horn shines with the same cold light, clean and sterile as ever. There is no trace of filth or dirt upon it, and as before, the rich reds and golds reflected in its gleaming surface do not match even slightly the environment about the horn.

Angels look on, disconcerted, from the sky above. Small winged figures, barely discernible against the starscape, they would be easily noticed were it not for the line of spidery cursive encircling and drawing attention to them: for each blade of grass there is an angel begging it to grow. One peers down, towards Jack, while the other has turned to face the other, and thus appears in profile.

Outside all is wasteland.

Posted in Fiction, Not Gaming, plates. Tagged with , , .

Plate Eight: RUIN

While ambiguity persists in the relationship between CHOICE and ERROR, plate eight (RUIN) falls unequivocally on the heels of ERROR. The scene’s framing remains a snowy field by the side of a desolate country road. The sun has not yet begun to rise; a gray predawn light suffuses the edges of the scene, but the woman’s automobile’s headlights remain the primary source of illumination of the plate’s principal figures.

The woman, seen in one-quarter view, shooes Jack away from her with one hand upraised. The greater light level permits us to see more clearly what we could already discern: she wears a heavy white coat, her age approximates Jack’s age, and her bearing is aristocratic and imperious. By a cunning trick of perspective, a reflective surface on the ground between her and Jack — one of the magical mellophone’s portentous blossoms — reveals with great clarity her face, which otherwise would remain hidden from us, and which resembles a classical statue of Athena the Mistress of Citadels more than any mortal.

Under her stony gaze, Jack flinches. He has turned away from her, unable to properly acknowledge so healthy and untainted a person. Tears flow freely down Jack’s cheeks; he sobs as he digs a hole. Whether it is on his own imitative, at the behest of the woman, or as a result of the strange influence of the magic horn-of-plenty, remains unclear. The hole he digs seems intended to house the mellophone, for it is conspicuously size-appropriate, and Jack eyes the artifact, which floats nearby, as he digs.

The growing light allows us to discern details previously hidden by shadow, darkness, and snow. The snow has stopped and the heavy dark clouds overhead parted, revealing an ash-gray sky. Black birds (there is insufficient detail to permit more specific identification) circle over Jack, high overhead, seven clockwise and five counter-clockwise. Bones peek out from beneath the snowy blanket that covers the ground and hides most sins, though their size seems inconsistent with their surroundings. They may be the remains of Armor-of-God, or of the stranger.

Sublimely unchanging, the mellophone floats just behind Jack’s right shoulder. In the cold half-light it gleams, and once again its light casts over its surroundings without illuminating. In its cold surface, one may pick out trace fragments of an entirely different landscape reflected, a lush red-and-purple chamber entirely unlike the snowfield.

Posted in Fiction, Not Gaming, plates.


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