Showing posts with label RPG Thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RPG Thoughts. Show all posts

Respecting the Longbow

 



On the 26th of August, 1346, the forces of Edward III, king of England, stood in a series of columns between the villages of Crecy and Wadicourt, peering down the hills towards Fontaine, where a vast French army was massing to drive the English invaders back to the sea. 

The French army was enormous; even ignoring the improbable estimates of ancient chroniclers it is plausible the French outnumbered the English by more than two to one. And while many of the French soldiers were hastily-assembled levies of peasants, the core of their army were professionals: the armored men-at-arms that form the iconic centerpiece of modern medieval warfare. These knights were supported by thousands of professional crossbowmen from Genoa: highly trained experts who carried the iconic pavise shields in addition to their deadly mechanical weapons. 

It was, on paper, one of the finest medieval armies one could amass. It was led not only by King Philip, but his royal ally King John of Bohemia, supported by Prince Charles and a host of other notable dukes and counts. Transported into a fantasy realm, it would be an army well-suited to fighting a demon king or vampire tyrant.

But they did not face a demonic army. Instead, they faced the English, wielding something more lethal than hellfire: the English longbow. The French knights made numerous tactical errors, but nothing saw to their destruction more than the longbow. 

The Genoese crossbowmen could not compete; they were almost immediately outshot and forced to withdraw. The French men at arms charged repeatedly up the hill, each time leaving hundreds of bodies in the mud. Over and over again, they were repulsed, at extravagant cost.




King John of Bohemia was shot in the head and killed. Along with him "died 9 princes, 10 counts, a duke, an archbishop, and a bishop," according to Wikipedia. The battle was a slaughter; the English suffered few losses, while the French lost the greater bulk of their chivalry. And this was not a rare victory: nearly the same events would replay at Agincourt and repeatedly for the better part of the next two centuries. The longbow was the dominant weapon in the English arsenal and, well used, was the most weapon lethal in medieval Europe.


Now let's look at longbows in Dungeons and Dragons: 1d8, 150 foot range, Heavy. Slow with mastery.

It's not hard to see the problem. The longsword, carried in two hands, is a d10 weapon, a d8 with a shield. Both attack, presumably, once every six seconds. One has range while the other doesn't, though range rarely comes up in most D&D modules I've played or read.  

This is absurd. Not only because of some nebulous complaint about realism, though that's a valid point in this case--longbows are clearly not well portrayed here--but because as a game mechanic, longbows are boring. 

This is a problem. As written, a longbow is slightly less dangerous than a longsword; the only advantage is can fire at range, and quickly. This is not as helpful as it sounds, especially since ranges generally shrink rapidly in D&D combat. When the enemy has a longbow, you should probably just race towards them and deal with it. They present little to otherwise react to; they're just another weapon. 

Meanwhile, there is no good reason to use them as an archer!

Instead of the slow, expensive, heavy longbow you have the much lighter, cheaper shortbow, which also allows you Vex, which is objectively better in nearly all cases than Slow! And since most damage with ranged weapons comes from class abilities, a d6 and a d8 are essentially no different. (A massive EV change of 1 damage per hit, lol). If you're carrying a longbow in 5E, you're doing it for RP purposes, which I respect, but I don't think it's good game design when a longbow was such an incredible medieval weapon. 

At the moment, bows have a weak vibe. They're essentially just melee weapons, but with range, and suited almost exclusively for the Ranger class. They're comparable to cantrips; just a weak source of reliable distance damage. When you see them, they don't evoke any particular thought; they're just a generic thing to defeat using the same toolkit you use to defeat any generic threat. Boring. Lame.  


So what am I looking for? What's the vibe I'm going for?

Seeing a longbow should (like any weapon tbh) immediately provoke a weapon-specific reaction. This is a dangerous threat! It must be taken seriously! This isn't like a video game with health bars; it's a life-threatening weapon that could in a matter of seconds drive a 12-inch spike all the way through your skull. Players should look for cover, fetch their shields, fall prone! Racing towards longbows in an open field should be insane. You should get cut to pieces, like the knights at Crecy learned. Find another way! Take cover, withdraw--do anything other than barge forwards, convinced by video games you can just "tank the damage" and hit them with a sword.

(Honestly I can think of nothing more boring. When you start bringing MOBA/video game stuff into TTRPGs, I want to fight you. How dare you? "Tanking?" Are you unwell? King Philip was shot in the jaw! )

So what should be done?

1. Longbows should do much, much more damage.

Longbows should be terrifying. They were essentially as lethal as a firearm, able to pierce through most armor and firing faster than early gunpowder weapons. A direct hit was nearly always fatal because they fired with incredible force; draw weights of at least 80 pounds! These are not normal weapons; they should make players react as if seeing very light artillery--because that's what they are! 


2. Longbows should be hard to use.

These were highly-specialized weapons that required years of training. The reason they were replaced by firearms was not that early firearms were better weapons, but that they were easier to learn. A peasant could in a few days learn to use a firearm effectively; similar training for an archer required years. 

Similarly, these were fragile weapons that didn't travel well and wore down with use. They have great power, and great cost. 


3. They should be easier to counter.  

Cover is too weak in D&D, and shields are mostly pointless, granting a tiny generic AC bonus. Going prone and crawling puts attacks at disadvantage, though even that is probably too small a defense. I'm not sure how to implement it in D&D as is; the game just isn't designed for that kind of tactics. But there should be ways of getting around these weapons that are effective, such that "run towards it and hit it with a sword" will always seem like the reckless (though possible!) decision that it is.


4. Arrows should matter. 

Ammunition should be tracked. This is immutable for the style of gameplay I'm going for: you bring supplies with you when you venture into the world! You make calculations, you protect your baggage train, you use the tools available. So yes, you need to track those arrows. (This is a way of countering archery, incidentally! Burn, steal, or simply drain their ammunition!)

Incidentally, this allows for more gameplay, not less! Resources, like any constraint, give your story texture. They force you to make considerations, to have losses, to consider actions! Otherwise you're going to be in mindless videogame automatic mode: see enemy, shoot enemy. Everything should have *some* kind of cost! 


5. Stop making archery abilities

This is a personal taste thing, but every archery ability is stupid, video-game stuff. Fire 3 arrows at once! Fire 5 arrows at once! Fire an arrow at every enemy in a 10-foot square! Go full General Radahn and fill 1/3 of the map with glowing arrows! Look, I just don't like this. I don't want a simulation but I also don't want to feel like we're in an anime. Archery abilities, if you have them, should be very specific and easy to justify: shooting when someone starts casting a spell or something, I guess? Specializing in knocking weapons out of people's hands? Stuff like that. But nothing that starts to defy physics please, or to carry out would need to look like some kind of AI video of a guy shooting 15 arrows a second. 


Where does this all lead?

I'm not sure any of this is possible in D&D as is, which is why I'm writing my own game system to try and put this into practice!


Hey, if you read all this, thank you! I really would love to know what you think! 


Limit your players

 

I love Call of Cthulhu. I'll gush about it some other time; for now it's enough to begin with the fact that it is my favorite game system I've ever played and I've played more than anyone I know IRL. (Granted, online I am basically an infant. I don't know how you people are able to play so many games; I don't even know how you're able to find them.)

There are many reasons to love Call of Cthulhu, and few of them really make sense to me. The typical setting of the 1920s is fun but hardly a cultural juggernaut; I don't know anyone who's particularly interested in the 20s other than in the context of the occasional Halloween party themed around Gatsby. The combat system isn't particularly good; it's fine but it's mostly just a way to die, especially as combat only rarely advances the investigators towards success. 

But perhaps the most confusing element of the game's fun is that it's generally pretty formulaic. 


Please don't panic. I know about Horror on the Orient Express and I know about Masks. I know there are probably thousands of surprising, interesting investigations, written by hundreds of talented writers who should in a better world be producing movies. I know that a well-written investigation played by clever and creative players can go in a dizzying number of directions and be full of memorable characters, near-deaths, actual-deaths. 

But I've read a lot of people talking about the game, played it a lot, read dozens of investigations, and I'm pretty confident for *average* Cthulhu players, an investigation boils down to:

1. Learn the premise.

2. Hit the library, archives, widow's house, etc

3. Visit a weird location

4. (optional) Use new leads to do a little supplementary research/acquisition; go mad. 

5. Do a ritual, stop a ritual, or find a Thing. One of you will probably die, a sacrifice the keeper is willing to make. 

At its core Cthulhu is usually a haunted location simulator with a puzzle. Where D&D has dungeons with combat, Cthulhu has Locations with a Puzzle, and if you solve the puzzle wrong, or slowly, or without the right information, a big leathery mosquito from a distant galaxy sucks your juices out. 


This is not a complaint. It's a great formula! Cthulhu is, I stress, my favorite game to play. But there is definitely a stock formula that most new players will fall into. The problem is then: how do you get your players to play it differently, if you ever want to?

This is where I return to my Thing, if I can be said to have one: take away options. Limit your players. 


This is my least OSR-friendly advice, and it obviously doesn't apply to that world. A sandbox adventure in that style, a hexcrawl or whatever; a simulation--these games probably thrive on giving a decent amount of freedom. But there are still plenty of games that are more or less adventure stories that follow a prewritten plot. Cthulhu is generally one of these! Each investigation might evolve differently, but the overall flow of events is predetermined (Until the investigators do something to derail it, which in my experience is pretty much guaranteed!). And for this style of story, I think freedom is a bit of a curse. 

Imagine it like this: a good story needs a consistent tone and it needs a consistent voice. If you're telling, for example, a gothic horror story, you need to have characters and plot events that fit that vibe. Your main character can (should!) be a trembling young girl; your villain can be a lecherous castle owner, a jealous and wealthy lady, a jilted lover--but probably not a slick Fortune 500 CEO. Similarly, if you're trying to run a serious investigation in a smoky 1920s Chicago waterfront, you want player characters that fit that vibe: detectives, gin runners, lounge singers, a beat cop. If a player wanted to be Red Sonja it would kill the vibe. 

So don't let them be Red Sonja. 


Don't dare think I'm going to say you need to just forbid characters. What, are you dumb? This is group activity! It's not your story, it's everyone's. The keeper tells it, so you have the most vital say, but you're not  some kind of boss. 

Instead, work them into the process. These are your friends, right? Tell them beforehand what the tone of the game is and how the characters should *feel.* Tell them how they definitely shouldn't feel! If they insist on bringing a Kenku to a pulp murder investigation, explain why that doesn't work. Show them Spider Noir, if you must. 

In my favorite Call of Cthulhu game, I explained the investigators were all kidnapped teenage girls. They generated characters like normal but didn't start with any assets; they were already in the dungeon of a cult. They had pretty limited options for character generation. They all had more or less the same backgrounds, and the same limited EDU score. On paper they were a poorly-balanced party with a lot of overlapping strengths and nearly all the same weaknesses. 

And it was one of the best, most coherent parties I've ever had. 

The game was a huge hit. We actually finished it and it remains one of my most consistently-fun investigations. Friends still joke about it. I lowkey wanna make it into a novel.  And while we have fun with more orthodox Cthulhu games, none quite capture that particular narrative for intensity. I give credit to the fact the characters were made with limits, and those limits, while they removed player freedom, forced them to really invest in the character they made and think of them from the start as part of the game world. They meshed with the vibe! Normally, you make the character separately and stitch them in; you try to merge them with the vibe, but they're always just a little alien. They weren't born in the game, they were born in the infinite white space of the player's mind.

Limits and rules can be suffocating, but they also give context to make decisions. Walls can be a prison. But walls also give structure. Don't be afraid to put them up. Let there be doors and windows, make the walls pretty and think them through. But you should probably have them, or you'll end up with the same sorts of parties, their feet always floating just an inch above your world. 

Don't Argue until you've seen their Character Sheets

RPGs are intensely personal, which is odd when you remember they're done as a group activity. I guess they have that in common with sex. I'd rather not extend that metaphor further, though. 

What matters about that is that it's often hard to remember how different people's tastes are, and that difference can power disagreements. You can really only productively disagree with someone who has fairly similar tastes/values/beliefs/etc as you. The daylight between your competing towers is a place of tension where you can really engage. If your beliefs are wholly alien, you can huff and puff and swear and mock and do all the annoying stuff people do online, but you probably won't get anywhere. There was never anything shared between you; no ability to respect the other opinion. 

It's hard to know that, though, because online everyone is a black box of memes and dumb little jokes. It's often unclear what people really believe until you're arguing, and by then you're committed. Maybe if you'd realized they had awful taste to start, you never would have engaged?

To that end I like to sometimes give glimpses of how *I* play RPGs. This way you can know if you think my opinion is worth valuing at all. I appreciate whenever people do this, even if it leads me to realize they and I have nothing in common. It's better that then we start to argue--nothing good could come of it, the things we like are too different! 

I bring this up because someone was talking about lore, of course, and nearly all of the conversation was about the GM. But it got me to thinking about the players. What about the lore players bring to a table? I know a guy who loves to write and sometimes shows up with typed, printed character backstories that are easily ten pages long. It's absurd. But I'm glad he does because it helps me qualify his opinions when we converse. He and I have different metrics, and that's good to know.

On that note...


Someone once asked me if, when I play, I write out gigantic backstories. To be honest, I have no idea. Generally I am a little verbose but I don't insist the DM read them or anything; I fill out the character sheet like a normal person and just kinda keep the rest in my own head unless anyone cares. 

But for reference, and so you can decide how to calibrate my opinions, I've attached the backstory I wrote out for the last PC I played; an annoying knight based off a character from the ancient movie Excalibur, which I adore. I'll let you decide if this is extra or not.


*****

“Fight me from your horse or on foot, but fight me, your avoidance mocks me!”

Sir Sagramore d’Bailey is a knight. To his telling, that is all one needs to know of him. 

Though he is a noble son, Sagramore rejects the politics and schemes typical of his class. Sagramore lives and breathes chivalry. He is quick to laughter, quick to friendship, quick to violence, and quick to forgiveness. He was educated and is capable of erudition, but prefers to solve problems on the battlefield or in the boxing ring.

Sagramore carries himself as he believes all knights should: with a furious combination of pride and selflessness. He has no fear of mortal peril, but refuses to touch money. He rejects debauchery and decadence, but drinks wine with every meal. He mocks the excessive piety of paladins and similar holy men, but would never willingly tell a lie. Sagramore unashamedly views himself as superior to the vulgar peasantry, yet he would proudly die protecting them.

Sagramore is a secular knight. He offers prayers to his gods at times, and would not speak ill of them, but he is not a devout man, nor is he interested in what he views as the adoration of weakness. He will defend an imperiled man, but only after pressing a spear into that man’s hands and standing beside him.

Sagramore d’Bailey is the third son of Lohengrin d’Bailey, a living legend and prominent nobleman. His elder brothers, Cassander and Lohengrin the Younger, are both uniquely brilliant men, famed for their wide array of intellectual achievements. In contrast, Lohengrin never took to his studies, instead spending his youth boxing, sparring, and riding. Though it was never a conscious protest, Sagramore took to the martial elements of chivalry with greater energy than any other member of his family; as his brothers have taken over more and more of the family affairs, Sagramore has become ever more of a knight errant. 

Sagramore has no long-term goal in mind; he is content to travel the world in search of adventure, fighting foes and defeating villainy where he finds it. 

Sagramore has three retainers, via the Retainer's feature of the Noble (knight) background.

Bryn Mawr Bailey is Sagramore’s squire. She is his younger sister and the only daughter of the Bailey family. As there is no expectation either will inherit important roles in the family, Sagramore has made it his mission to raise her into the model of chivalry. 

Sagramore refuses to countenance her entry into real combat, instead preferring to mentor her through academic instruction in the moral and philosophical aspects of knighthood. His lessons are sometimes effective.

Elyan d’Bailey is Sagramore’s pageboy, primarily responsible for keeping Sagramore’s armor clean, though he also pours wine, polishes blades, and carries out other minor errands. He is the youngest brother in the family, and still years from entering service as a squire. 

Old Mardonius is Sagramore’s secretary, in charge of the knight’s purse. Mardonius is an aged family retainer now given great latitude; he keeps Sagramore in contact with the family and its contacts around the Sword Coast. Most vitally, he handles Sagramore’s finances, as the knight finds money and its use vulgar. 

Using Class Primers to Help with a Vibe

Night is a setting for my heavily-customized 5e game. I was a coward when I first started running it and allowed all the base classes, though I did require players to read the following text boxes for their class. 

I actually think this worked really well, to be honest. I didn't need to spring too much lore on them in game but it was enough they understood that this was a different type of game with a different feel--a different vibe--and it let them get into character quickly. As they grew more comfortable with the story, it stopped really even feeling like 5e, though we used the same base ruleset. This is actually where I began formalizing my Game Vibes theory. Build the vibes to build a fun game, beyond the rules themselves. 

Anyhow, if you're at all interested what this looked like in practice, I copied my class primers below: 

Classes: Classes suggest social roles, and NPCs need not use these specific rules

Barbarian: There is no urban, cosmopolitan impulse, nor distinct nationalities, in post-Sundown Taurica, so “barbarian” likely reflects more on the character’s personality, such as their penchant for rage or their devotion to pagan idols instead of the Church. It could also refer to a character from a particularly-remote region where agriculture is not practiced and humans live more nomadic lives. In Chalcedon, ‘barbarians’ would see no particular stigma, though they may draw attention as curious outsiders. 

A player barbarian might seek the sunstone simply to gain their power, with less question about their theological importance. Who wouldn’t want to live forever?


Bard: Bards are a common fixture of social life in Taurica and generally well-received. They are among the most common itinerant travelers and their storytelling is the primary news-sharing organ for lay people. With the vast majority of production being local, professional merchants are uncommon, so bards usually play that role as well, leading caravans of both performers and specialty goods such as jewelry or exotic metals. Their arrival in a new town is usually heralded as a fair, where they stage productions and market their goods.

“Bard” is a common term, but they are as often known simply as “caravaneers,” “travelers,” or “

Most bards do not possess spellcasting ability, but many have learned similar tricks and even some minor conjurations from their fellows on the road. Bards that possess such power generally include it in their act, with many even posing as full-fledged magicians. 


A player Bard possibly seeks adventure and new material for their storytelling, as the Sunstones always promise drama and excitement far greater than rural life can ever rival. 


Cleric: Overwhelmingly, clergy serve the Church of the Night Mother, which leads worship in nearly every village in Taurica. The church fills many roles in society, being often the only source of organized social services. As such, clerics are respected but commonplace enough that individual clerics do not impress commonfolk through rank alone. 

Within the Church, clerics belong to one of many Orders, each with their own internal politics and theological foci; at its head, the various Bishops and Mothers Superior decide Church governance via complex elections. Though socially generous,the Church is still temperamentally conservative and views the maintenance of tradition as its most important role, which can frustrate reformist clergymen.

Clerics with divine abilities are viewed as particularly impressive, though it does not technically allow them to skip stages as they rise in the church hierarchy. Nearly all bishops and Mothers Superior have great divine ability. 

Generally, male clerics are addressed as “father,” while female clerics are addressed as “mother,” though the generic “priest” can apply to either.

Clerics can exist outside of official Church hierarchy, but all true clerics draw their power from the Night Mother, so a player may be a heretic but they can never be a heathen. 

A player Cleric could be investigating the Sunstones: the church has yet to form an official policy on the metaphysical qualities of the stones or the significance of their use, and the cleric is attempting to learn more.


Druid: Druids represent animist faiths that were ancient even in the time of the Sun. The majority of NPC “druids” are simply lay members of woodland cults. Druids with true divine power are rare, and a player’s chosen Circle represents the last members of that order. The disappearance of the Sun is of enormous importance to all druids, most of whom seek its return though with no clear concept of how. Some druids revere the Moon and actively oppose the restoration of daylight, however. 

There is no overt social stigma against Druidism; which most see as harmless folk tradition. The Church of the Night Mother discourages nature worship but tolerates it as a misguided worship of the Night Mother’s blessings. 

Player druids are likely agents of their order, seeking sunstones as part of a larger plan to restore the sun or maintain its absence. It is possible, given the hierarchical and secretive nature of druids, that the player does not even know why they are so assigned. 


Fighter: Large-scale warfare is rare in Taurica, so fighter PCs are likely more akin to roaming quest-knights, monster-hunters, and treasure-seekers than soldiers. In most towns, crime and punishment is handled by ad hoc assemblies of citizens; only the larger settlements have dedicated warriors working as bridge-guards, monster hunters, or similar order-enforcing roles. Particularly-gifted fighters may abandon such mundane work and elect a nomadic, if challenging, life.

Local folk generally react to newly-arrived fighters as one might view any heavily-armed stranger: with suspicion until they are better known. 

Fighters are an enormously-diverse group, but a player-fighter could be a youth with a longing for adventure instead of humdrum village life or a swordsman seeking a compelling foe. Pursuit of sunstones promises adventure, danger, and more.


Monk: Monks represent religious figures who have accepted sacred poverty, but not necessarily the specific education to become an ordained priest. Monks are sworn members of a monastic order, and are fundamentally religious figures, not martial. Monks are sworn not to bring death upon any human, venerate the Night Mother, and to always serve the needy. That aside, they enjoy particular freedom with few professional responsibilities.

Monks are literate, and in fact often the best-educated people in any particular town, as they can give themselves over to reading and writing full-time while the local priests need to minister and serve their flock. Monks are often employed as teachers in the church schools, helping smallfolk gain a grasp of basic literacy, numeracy, and theology. 

This same combination of free time and erudition feeds another trait not universal, but common, among the monks: their specific study of athletics and martial prowess. The ancients felt a strong mind was wasted in a weak body, and many monks agree, dedicating significant sums of time to exercise and even outright aestheticism; a rare trait in this age. 

The central class concept of ‘Ki’ is an abstraction the monk may or may not make; they would certainly use a term such as “energy” or “inner light” instead.

Monks can be odd, colorful characters, and many do not always live up their vows. However, it is rare for them to be truly malicious or bellicose. 

Like clerics, monks are usually referred to as “brother” or “sister,” though they do not have any particular legal authority and enjoy no special privilege except respect. Itinerant monks that wander from town to town preaching and begging are known specifically as “Friars.”

A monk PC would most likely be driven by a desire to solve the mystery of the missing sun; their martial prowess being borne of their unyielding faith rather than any ideological obsession with unarmed combat. 


Paladin: Paladins represent the executive arm of the Church of the Night Mother, where they belong to an order known specifically by that name. Paladins are the church’s ultimate answer to crises, and they can expect significant support from local religious officials. Despite this, paladins are not aristocrats--like monks, they are sworn to individual poverty and can never own more than they can carry on a single horse. 

Unlike monks, paladins are legally and theologically empowered to take human lives, though they are expected to perform full rites for the deceased and provide a report of their actions to the local parish. Paladins are expected to master a variety of weapons, but consider the sword the most vital and the lance the most noble. Beyond warfighting, paladins are expected to be leaders, organizers, and planners in a wide range of disasters, from outbreaks of disease to wildfire evacuations. 

Paladins are recruited, often from church orphanages, though volunteers are accepted. Squires must demonstrate unfailing self-control, generosity, piety, and mercy for a period of at least three years before swearing themselves to the Order, while they are trained in combat, theology, and etiquette. Once sworn, they are granted relative freedom to travel from parish to parish, seeking injustice. Most paladins swear themselves to a particular “Quest,” which can be anything from a hunt for a particular criminal to a yearslong attempt to recover a lost relic. At any moment, a Paladin can be ordered into service by a bishop, most typically in response to the appearance of monstrous creatures. 

Paladins are among the most beloved members of society. Paladins of particular bravery and beauty are common heroes in folktales; young children often play Paladins and Dragons with sticks as swords. It is a difficult and demanding life, however, spent primarily in travel from calamity to calamity, and relatively few people devote themselves to it. 

Not all paladins carry divine powers as per the Paladin class; however, members of the Order are generally competent, intelligent, and charismatic individuals; they are almost never corrupt. 

Paladins are addressed as “Sir” or “Lady,” as per their choice, with high-ranking paladins being “Masters.”  Male paladins have a greater tendency to fall in love during their travels and leave the order to become fathers than their counterparts, causing the Masters to skew slightly female.  Even the most-lauded paladin Master is expected to consort with the lowest members of society and model endless grace and forgiveness even upon the lowest sinners.


A player paladin is possibly a “missionary” sent by a larger Cathedral to support the local parish. Sunstones are associated with the appearance of monsters and occult forces; it is the church’s duty to protect the flock from such abominations. The stones themselves are worthy of study.


Ranger: Rangers are omnipresent in Taurica, if rarely seen. Hunters, guides, spies, and even mercenaries at times, rangers are the most common people found traversing the nearly-endless wildlands. Though most are more comfortable in the veil of shadow than the firelit towns, human civilization could not survive without them.

Travel is difficult in the shadowed forests. Rangers specialize in surviving the gloom, and in their travels often encounter inexplicable relics of the bygone age. While they lack any central organization, the men and women who make their living along dark footpaths tend to recognize one another easily and have become the class most knowledgeable about the Sunstones, their mysterious appearances, and their effect on the world around them.

While rangers in general can be from any number of backgrounds, a particular subgroup are the rangers called Vigilants. They are the descendents of the last centralized human kingdom, an elite force meant to protect the crown’s far-flung estates even amidst the gloom. Their mission failed, yet their tradition descended through generations of new recruits. Today, they form an unofficial brotherhood that cooperate to protect civilization from the alien threats lurking in the dark.  

A player ranger is likely in pursuit of sunstones not only out of ambition and curiosity, but because they have seen firsthand the fiery trails they cut through the night sky, and the bizarre warping effect they wreak upon the nearby life that is normally so calm and mundane. 


Rogue: Rogues are not a social class so much as a temperament: those for whom idyllic rural life will never be enough. Jokesters, thieves, con artists; they are bored by agriculture, disinterested in raising a family, and unimpressed by piety. In any town, there are a handful of such characters: second sons about whom everyone has a(n often alcohol-fumed) story; pretty daughters who just can’t seem to settle on a husband; children who just don’t act or feel the way society wants them to. Often, if the pressure of conformity grows too strong, such characters set out to wander the Night, hoping to find a place where they can finally feel at home. 

More darkly, rogues can represent those who, for whatever reason, harbor a desire to inflict pain or death on other humans: a predilection highly-alienating in the cohesive village-communes of Taurica. 

A player rogue seeks a world beyond their village, which they likely view not merely as boring but actively stifling. The sunstones alone seem to offer a pathway to a life of color and the power to make their own destiny. 


Sorcerer: Sorcerers are heavily impacted by this setting. In Taurica, magic is rare, though not unheard of. Magicians exist, often as strange hermits but also as wandering showmen and miracle-workers for hire. These people sometimes possess limited power, but as frequently they are mere showmen; as such most people view talk of “magic” with polite skepticism. However, in rare circumstances, young girls are born with undeniable magical gifts. 

In early childhood, these gifts manifest in subtle and uncontrolled ways, but by early adulthood these women gain enough control over their powers they can exert them by choice. It is possible they have hidden their powers from those around them, but no sorcerer is surprised by her powers, which feel as intrinsic to them as their hands or eyes. 

Sorcerers are always women of surpassing beauty, which coupled with their magic lends them incredible social repute. Tall tales of cruel witches, kind enchantresses, and tempestuous conjurers wind their way through every culture in Taurica, rooted in both the reality of these women and healthy doses of human fabulation. Despite the ubiquitous stories, these women are vanishingly rare and nearly everyone who claims to have met one is lying. 

The true sorcerers, of whom there may be only a dozen at a time, are withdrawn figures of incredible power, engaged in mystical work beyond the understanding of common men. While presumably mortal, they seem to live forever, though there are legends of evil witches being dispatched by clever heroes. 

The existence of sorcerers--under any number of names, such as witch--is often doubted, but the Church of the Night Mother is aware of their factual existence. In secretive conclaves, they have for years debated the significance of these women: some seeing them as incidental and unimportant, some seeing them as a worrisome threat to be investigated, and others proposing divine relevance, even going as far as suggesting direct connection to the Night Mother. 

While mechanically any Sorcerous Origin is presumably acceptable, the player and DM must to reconfigure the framing, as all sorcerers in Taurica share a single Origin, the details of which are nebulously understood. 

The player should select an origin and use its ruleset, but to their knowledge there is nothing unique about their heritage and their unusual powers seem to have appeared purely by chance. 

While magicians of various kinds are common, and some even possess minor tricks, true sorcerers are singular to the point of being unique. 

A player sorcerer would most likely be a young woman, taking her first steps on the dangerous road to power. While entirely ignorant of the reason, she realizes her unique nature and seeks answers in the one thing as alien and powerful as herself: the sunstones. 


Warlock: To the common folk, “warlocks” are no different from sorcerers: mystical figures borne more of tall tale than reality, if always possibly lurking in the shadowed woods. However, warlock-like figures are in reality vastly more common, if typically less powerful. The specific mechanics of the Warlock class only apply to player characters: occultist NPCs may or may not follow warlock patterns. 

For players, Warlocks are mechanically unchanged, but occult forces in Taurica are even more veiled than elsewhere: whatever pact the warlock sealed mechanically, it behaves in-game as a pact with a particular, nameless Great Old One. There is no suggestion of what the alien entity is or what it desires, though it can grant any Pact. The player receives only vague and inscrutable omens, such as disturbing dreams or faint, momentary hallucinations. There are times they feel a compulsion to carry out particular acts, but these acts lack pattern and often lack apparent impact at all, such as opening a window at a certain hour or hunting down and killing a particular blackbird. Among these compulsions is a desire to acquire sunstones that surpasses all others. 

A warlock, by definition, would be a player character. Whatever their personal ambitions, they feel an overwhelming urge to seek and ingest the power of sunstones.



Wizard: Magic today is rare, but was once a central force in the sunbaked empires of old. Aside from the Church of the Night Mother, a single, obscure organization still maintains a fraction of its ancient power: The College of Taurica. 

The location of the College is secret, and so little is known of the organization many think it a myth. But the College is real, and for a thousand years it has survived more losses and battles than it can ever reveal. 

The College trains wizards in the ancient art of magic; specifically the potent form of arcane magic that once fueled empires. Wholly secular, the College’s magic relies on complex mathematical and philosophical theories understood by no other people today. As such, it poses no challenge to the Church of the Night Mother’s authority, with which it enjoys tacit relations as the only fellow intellectual body.  

Wizards themselves are academics, with no interest in political gain, conquest, or the acquisition of wealth. While powerful, their magic is far weaker than it was in ancient times, and their work is focused on research, rather than practice. 

The spellbook is the central tool of the class, and is a nearly-irreplaceable artifact. Fewer than one hundred spellbooks remain, all the creations of the mage-kings of ancient times. The bizarre runes and incantations scribed within are impossible to decipher, but they can be invoked and manipulated with proper study. As such, most people have no understanding of their value and would fail to recognize a wizard as opposed to a simple church scholar. 

Conversely, all wizards recognize one another on both personal and professional levels. 

Wizards generally prefer to remain cloistered together at the College proper with its abundant resources and endless library archives. 

Obsessive archivists, the 5 Regents of the College are well aware their roster is at an all-time low, with a total faculty of less than 50 wizards. 

The College is collegiate, but sensitive archival research is reserved for senior wizards, while newer initiates are often tasked with less-desirable field research. A player wizard could be relatively young and just beginning their career, having either been assigned or chosen to investigate the nature of sunstones. Authoring a pioneering paper on these could open doors to the most sensitive collections in the College library: the ultimate dream of any wizard.


Worldbuilding only matters if the Mechanics Support the World


Sword-Coast D&D is so dominant that it's not only the assumed setting for all D&D campaigns, it has become the default setting for essentially all western fantasy. When someone wants to break out of the mold they need to open their story with a rape or a brutal beheading; get that Game of Thrones energy on display, otherwise everyone is going to start looking around for kobolds. 

This isn't a bad thing; I like the Forgotten Realms, I think. It's a fun place full of adventure and bright colors and wizards and curses. I like fantasy. I love it, in fact. 

But I do sometimes want a different kind of story. One that doesn't slot into the same grooves as thousands of other games. We live in a world of imagination and I want to use it. So every now and then I'll bang together a new world, one utterly distinct from the Sword Coast, with a history and culture and its own monsters and cities and cosmology. And I'll drop my players into it, and--

Look, you know what happens. The same things. The fighter fights, the wizard casts his spells, they talk to people, they seek treasure, they make a balanced party. They do the same stuff, just in a different place.

I think this bothers some worldbuilders and leads to them starting to preach. "No, there's no monarchy in this land," they'll say after you roll a 9 on your knowledge check and they decide yes, absolutely sure, you know a little bit, and it is the following 6 paragraphs speech about a republican revolution led by Githyanki slaves; when you finish your players are texting and nodding, 4% more dead than before. Preaching is the enemy. Unless you're Homer, you're probably not cut out for it. 

But then how do you get the players to appreciate this world? They aren't interacting with it! They're just...playing D&D; it's as if they're in Waterdeep! 

It's one thing to create a new and specific setting; but if the players are given the exact same tools, they're probably going to keep using them in the same way. Why shouldn't they? They don't know the world and they sure don't want to study your dissertation; that's not why anyone plays an RPG. They want to be part of a world, not listen to someone talk about it. So how can you make them be part of it?

Take away their options. 

Well, you can add some, if you like. But I'd recommend stripping out; D&D is a hugely broad game. It might not be GURPS, whatever that is, but it allows for nearly any stock fantasy cliche. And that's the problem: you don't want a stock fantasy cliche; you want extensions of your world. So to do that: change the options. Outlaw classes, limit gear, change the game. Force them to realize they're not playing in Faerun! 

Obviously you should let them know beforehand; some people really want to play a Kenku. They're my enemy, these people, but I will grant them the right to happiness; provided they stay out of my group. Let them know this campaign has limits. Once the familiar tools are out of reach, they'll start grasping for new ones. And then they'll start gripping your world. And then you don't need to preach--they'll learn the world just by being part of it. 



Building Vibes with Encounter Tables


A few days ago I posted something about vibes. I stand by it; I think that at the end of the day the most fun games I've ever played all shared a single, clear vision about the kind of story your group is going to tell, and used everything they had to help indicate that vibe. You can always play against it--sure, I guess--but at that point you're mostly just showing off how clever you are. I can't praise that kind of indulgence, sorry. I was raised Catholic. 

I've been trying to build my case, and part of that is an attempt to figure out how to build vibes. For most TTRPGs, the art plays a huge role. (The huge prominence of art, in a medium where the game takes place entirely in the imagination, and most people are not even looking at the rulebook often during play, has always struck me as weird and an early sign there was a mystic quality behind effective TTRPGs that was hiding from description: the vibe.) Art shows players what their world feels like, what the threats feel like, how dirty everyone is, how bloody the combat is; art answers a thousand questions almost immediately. We can say it looks cool or good or fire; that's all true, but it also serves a critical purpose, quickly showing players what sort of vibe to bring to the game. Not everyone reads well, but most people can look at the DCC illustrations and figure out right away what sort of game they're in for. Nobody ever looked at Yazeba's Bed and Breakfast and thought "I wonder if there are rules for two-handing a longsword." Even without glancing at the rules you know enough about the games you could probably persuade an ignorant stranger that you had run it a dozen times. Every pink-cheeked cartoon bisexual with a Dark Secret tells you what pages of lore won't. 

But other than art there are many ways to establish a game's vibe. The rules, obviously; you can probably imagine what I'd say about those. If you have systems for slicing off heads, your players will obviously spend the game looking for necks. I don't think it needs elaboration. 

So I'm thinking about other, subtler ways that I feel like I've gained a sense for a game's vibe. One of them is in encounter tables. 


I understand that random encounters are Controversial. I don't care about them one way or the other; I am not interested in this moment about the mechanics or the balance or the pacing or any of that. Run the game the way you want! 

But you should probably include encounter tables anyhow, even if you don't think players want to use them; in fact, even if you tell them they don't have to; even if you tell them not to. Because encounter tables build a vibe. They tell you what sorts of events the world has in them. You don't need to tell them in dry text "Hey, this world is old and foreboding and overgrown with Pervert Ants that steal your socks." That's boring (well, the prose is, at least.) 

But you add a table in? Tables are quick, easy to read, they suggest a certain professionalism...and you can stuff them full of Pervants and people will widen their eyes and realize "Oh, this is *that* kind of world." The fact they discovered it on their own even makes it more fun for them. ("Show, don't tell," remember? You are writing a book after all. A lot more people will probably read your book than play it so you might as well treat it like the fiction it truly is.) 

Anyhow, I decided to copy some of my Encounter Tables below, so you can see how I'm trying to do it. In my game, major locations are keyed to hexes, and they have Major and Minor events that can pop up there as players spend time there. The minor ones are generally little side story seeds or just random descriptions. Does it matter if players actually *experience* them? Well, it'd be fun. But also just reading that these are the possibilities hopefully helps the GM realize the vibe of the game, so they can create their own. 

Take a look and see if you how the Blue Palace is supposed to feel! 


Snakebite Encounter Tables


By Region and Subregion


The following tables are not intended to be exhaustive or definitive! They are meant to give the feel of a location. Use them as is, modify them as seems right, and make up your own in whatever proportion fits your story. 


Major encounters are intended to create some form of puzzle, combat, or other necessary action. Minor encounters can do the same, though often they are merely seeds.


Kocari’s Palace

Located almost exactly in the center of his realm, Kocari's palace was once a Giant fortress. Many of the vast columns and slabs have been raised once more through sheer mass muscle, though those split and damaged by time have not been repaired. It is a largely open palace, populated by hundreds of retainers, footmen, slaves, and craftsmen. Dozens of bright tents and pavilions fill the vast halls, where the lord’s guests and servants work and reside. The uninvited are refused entry to the palace, though given its incredible size and derelict state, the guards don’t seriously attempt to keep out determined visitors.

Lord Kocari feasts every night, and by day generally hunts monsters in the nearby fields and woods, surrounded by his warriors. To what extent he manages his realm, the work is done by his daughter, Saga. She is found always in the company of her Companions--bodyguards who have pledged their lives to hers. Their loyalty, like their ability, is beyond question.

Travelers come to offer services to Kocari, but otherwise it is not a major settlement: life at the palace wholly revolves around the lord.


Kocari’s Palace is geographically small. However, it is a hive of political and military activity, surrounded by a web of encampments, depots, and lookouts. Within the core of the palace, encounters should be carefully managed, as the stakes are very high. Kocari’s elite guards have almost no patience for trouble from outsiders. 


The Blue Halls

The Blue Halls stretch to the west of the main palace grounds, taking their name from the preponderance of blue tiles decorating the architecture. These ruins are mostly intact: broad, arched hallways, chambers of crumbled stone dozens of feet across, ruined courtyards disappearing under the dirt. Toppled statues and broken columns fill muddy fountains full of frogs and crickets. Kocari’s workers haul the least-damaged pieces towards the central palace, leaving the rest to crack in these titanic chambers. 


The Blue Halls are inhabited by an array of hangers-ons, servants, and lesser courtiers. Though the structure is largely stable, few use it as a genuine domicile, instead opting to pitch tents or build crude lean-tos amongst the ruins. Kocari’s soldiers periodically patrol the ruins, but they have little interest in the task.


Minor Encounters:


d10

Encounter

1

The party comes across a pot of stew, bubbling gently over a cooking fire. A triangular tent of blue fabric flutters nearby, but there is no sign of the occupant. As they turn to leave, a drunk voice rings out, accusing them of theft. An unshaven, unsteady man in once-nice clothes is staggering towards them, grasping at his sword.

2

A drape is hung over a wide doorway. They hear voices from the other side; two men in a serious discussion. One appears to be demanding “more payment” from the other, as he claims the “job” wasn’t what was promised. Both men grow silent when they realize they’re being overheard and glare at each other. One of the men is clearly some sort of mercenary, while the other appears to be a member of the Blackjacks. 

3

A member of the party kicks a stone, revealing it to be the head of a broken sculpture nearby. It depicts a man with no eyes, mouth agape. If placed on the body, the entire thing crumbles. 

4

The party comes across a vast fountain full of frogs and small, colorful fish. A few of Kocari’s slave girls are gossiping at the far end, watched over by eunuch attendants. They wink at any handsome party members.

5

A team of workers are struggling to move a particularly well-preserved statue. It depicts an armored warrior, wielding a sword and triangular shield. The tip of the blade is damaged, and they seem concerned about breaking it further as they try and untangle it from the broken stone around it. 

6

A band of Blackjacks carrying torches are scouring a series of rooms. It’s clear they’re looking for someone, or something, though their weapons aren’t drawn and they seem mostly relaxed. An eagle-eyed adventurer might spot a small figure, curled up under a fallen column. It’s not a very good hiding place…

7

A dark stairway leads down into blackness, with stale, wet air rising from it. A crude barricade has been erected from some tree boughs and rope, though it looks like someone has recently pushed through it and entered the tunnels below…

8

The party finds a massive mosaic, nearly intact. It depicts a historic scene from the age of the giants: a great city, a great battle, a host of massive giants towering over an army of gold-clad human knights. Scaled dragons fly menacingly overhead, breathing flame. The scene is breathtaking.

9

The party finds a statue group, nearly perfectly preserved. It depicts a gathering of knights, raising their swords overhead in mutual salute. They are idealized, heroic, handsome. There are enough details that each knight is distinct, down to the mottos they have carved on their swords. One of them, oddly, seems to be an elf, which doesn’t make sense. 

10

The party finds a mosaic, covered in grime and dust. Much of the art has been destroyed, but enough remains to make out a series of giants, arms raised over their heads, praying to the stars. There is something colorful weaving between the stars, but it’s impossible to make out what--too much is missing. 


Thinking about Vibes in RPGs

I've been thinking a lot about vibes. I think they matter, and I think they matter more than I've seen people aknowledge. Everyone praises fun systems, and they praise clever rules, and they praise light rules that allow for fun systems without tedium; they praise dense rule systems that allow for complex simulation; they praise art quite a lot. A few people praise the layout of rulebooks.
But people seem to take vibes for granted, and I'm not so sure that's wise.

Some questions.

What are vibes?
Do you mean tone?
You really think nobody talks about how important mood and tone are?
What, are you dumb?

Let's answer these in reverse, because I can build up to something rather than open with my thesis. This being the opposite of most writing advice, it will obviously catch readers off guard. Art of War.

Yes, I'm probably dumb. But I'm doing my best.

Of course everyone recognizes how important tone is! They would immediately say so, I'm certain. I just...don't ever see it, at all. I see people praising mechanics all the time, and fun or not-fun, they praise originality, they praise artistic styles, they condemn annoying conservative writers...but while everyone dances around the idea of tone, they rarely actually comment on it. A lot of OSR people seem to have settled on a house art style that I gather is inspired by the scratchy black-and-white art of the 70s and 80s RPG scene; a lot of cozy games rely on pastels and cartoon aesthetics to create a calm, pleasant, whimsical vibe they can either lean into or gently subvert. But I haven't seen people discussing the way art and rules and even text layouts work together to create a vibe.

A vibe is a little different from a tone, though the tone obviously affects the vibe. Tones are, after all, a musical term. Tones describe the feel of a sound; the timber that makes a note on a piano distinct from the exact same note played on a cat. The tone of Wanderhome is similarly distinct from that of Call of Cthulhu. In one, you might be a cat who bakes an apple pie with her friends and gets a bit of fur in the filling. In the other, you might *be* the filling, and the cat is an ancient space creature. The difference in tone is obvious. 

But tone is not vibe. They are distinct concepts, though there is a dependency: just as sound waves create musical tones, vibes create the tone of an RPG. Tone is really just an expression of vibe.

A vibe isn't just the mood, and it isn't just the tone. It's the elaborate mental space, complete with its own values, that players create collectively when they agree to play a particular game. When players gather to play Call of Cthulhu, they agree to enter into this shared space together. They agree to feel a joint tension, to create characters they're willing to lose, to look up monsters in a library rather than barge into its lair with broadswords. Their goal is mostly to survive, not to collect gold or take down a space dictatorship. And the vibe affects the way they react to everything. When an investigator dies, the players might feel regret, but there's also a surge--admit it, psychos--of satisfaction, of vindication. The stakes are real! This is a dangerous world you're mucking around in! Bad decisions or bad luck; either way, you don't get a lifeline. You love when you roll low and everyone groans and cheers as a slug eats your left arm. You love when the sexy jazz singer you've played for 9 months finally cracks and drives a truckful of dynamite into a cult leaders house. Everyone loves it. The keeper loves it. This is Call of Cthulhu, you think to yourself.

Now imagine that happening in D&D. Unfh, for some players that's upsetting. It happens, it's always a risk, but...you played that halfling for 8 sessions! Are you really never getting closure on her missing lost sister? What about the blood oath she swore to reunite her tribe? What about the mysterious prophecy she received in the Sunk Swamp?

Now, imagine that happening in Wanderhome. Look, sicko, I don't know you. I bet you could find a way. Maybe the pie was just that good. Or just that bad. I don't know; but the points the same: If you find cannibalism occuring in Wanderhome, someone at the table is a psycho. 



Maybe you're skeptical; maybe this feels broad. Hey, think about the worst people you've ever played with. No, not the outright creeps; the ones that just didn't play right. They kept making weird decisions; they wanted to murder NPCs or they wanted to hit on them or maybe they refused to murder any npcs. Maybe you wanted to bake an apple pie and they wanted to stuff it with goblinflesh. What did this person do wrong? In tons of games murdering NPCs and goblins is fine?

They didn't get the vibe. Somewhere they failed to enter the shared mental space; the game didn't bring them in, the others players didn't; their own brain was just wired differently. The why here doesn't really matter, only the reality: every time I've ever had an annoying player, it's because they didn't get the vibe of the game they were in. It wasn't just the tone; they often understood the tone. But they lacked the rights vibes, so everything they did felt grating; it chafed against the fiction everyone else was creating and sharing. They were in the same world, but at the wrong angle. The notes were discordant. The vibes were off. 

Vibes are fizzy and rarely defined specifically, but I think can best be summarized by answering What experience is this game designed to support. For Call of Cthulhu, you're meant to read about a weird guy who bought an Egyptian manuscript and used it to kill his neighbor with a Lemurian; you'll faint several times while doing so and possibly get ripped to shreds if you open one particular door in his house. The others all contain vital clues. Also, if you find his mother's birthplace a secret diary explains everything. 

The whole game exists to build this vibe. The rules are intuitive but fairly detailed, allowing a crunchy bit of character creation that's nevertheless extremely easy to play once you start. The monsters have stat blocks even though nearly all of them can kill any human; most can't even be harmed. The stats aren't for combat: they're to show you how unwise combat really is. The art is heavy black lines showing middle-aged professors being scared--you're supposed to be a scared nerd, not a grizzled hero! And of course, the rulebook itself opens with the Call of Cthulhu itself. The entire book exists to build a vibe. There's an entire section on old books--most you'll never use, but their presence builds the vibe. There is an entire list of gods, each with stat blocks; all of them are immortal and utterly impervious to human weapons. Most will immediately kill your investigators; those that survive will be driven insane. The stat blocks have no reason to exist mechanically--you'll never fight Azazoth. But you can see how big the numbers are, and how *obviously* you'll never fight him. The stats aren't truly stats. They're for the vibes. 



The best games build the best vibes. TTRPGs are a shared experience and they depend on group dynamics. The more invested your group in the spirit of the game, the more they'll like it. No individual rule, no system, no drawing, is enough to get people invested in the shared psychosis that is a great RPG session. You need to use them, as many as you can, to build a vibe. Once it works, and everyone starts humming along with it, you've got a good game. 

Respecting the Longbow

  On the 26th of August, 1346, the forces of Edward III, king of England, stood in a series of columns between the villages of Crecy and Wad...