Saturday, April 16, 2011

. . . But You Can't Pick Your Friend's Nose

Wow.

I am rather overwhelmed at the response. Who knew there was such a huge, swollen balloon of hidden angst about lock-picking waiting to explode with a simple little prick? I guess I was the prick.

[Watches a tumbleweed roll by as he awaits his rim-shot. Only silence.  Oh well.]

Excellent stuff, excellent stuff. Thanks a whole lot, folks. I was sitting here without an answer, and now I have a truck load of answers. Now to sort through them all and start play-testing.

To my knowledge, the following blog posts, or their comments, have addressed the lock pick/trap disarm added fun value question.  If there are any others, please let me know so I can peruse their wisdom:


Wouldn't it be cool is doctors and pharmaceutical companies had blogs? Some Endocrinologist could pop up and say "You know, this AIDS things suck. Anybody got a cure?" And then 500 bloggers would descend and formulate not only one cure, but 501 viable variations.

Okay, at least I can dream.

The boy has some concerns, though. He thinks that dice or flowcharts may not be the best way to open a lock. He told me - with a serious face and everything - that dynamite would be the best method.

- Ark

Thursday, April 14, 2011

You Can Pick Your Friends And You Can Pick Your Nose, But . . .

The smell of molding paper was overwhelming.  Collapsed wooden bookshelves lay in scattered heaps around the ancient library.  The party stood around a large metal box attached to the wall.  Ferrit the Halfling thief knelt next to it, a set of metal picks, hooks, and a torsion wrench in his hand.

"I search for traps," the boy smiled and picked up two ten-siders, his mohawk flopping from side to side.  Each summer since he was very small, he has requested a mohawk.  Now that he is home-schooled, Texas school haircut regulations need not be enforced, so he can hawk his mo all he wants.

"The DM rolls that in this version, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he sighed, his mowhawk drooping a bit.  I rolled the dice behind a can of Coke Zero.

"You search all around the cold iron box and the lock and don't find any traps," I said.  "What do you do now?"

The boy nervously looked around the table at the other players.  One nodded.

"Okay, I try to pick the lock," he said, grabbing his dice again.

I sighed.

At least in 4e the boy would get to do SOMETHING if his thief was doing his job.  He could at least toss a d20 around.  Thieving by DM die roll in the old school just seems quite . . . unfun.  The boy hasn't complained openly, but the drooping mohawk says it all.

There has got to be another way.  He needs to feel empowered and involved.

I suppose I could have him describe what Ferrit is doing, and then add or subtract some percentage o the skill roll based on how good what he said sounded.  I've done that a lot in the many skill based games of the past.  It just doesn't seem right in this circumstance.

I had a thought, though.

Why not toss the dice.  Not to roll them, just put them away.  Then I could make traps and locks a puzzle for the boy to solve.

I'm not really sure how to do this.  I envision something like . . .

"Okay, you see the lock has four tumblers that you can see from the keyhole," I say casually.

"I take a stick and wiggle it inside the hole a bit,' the boy says.

"Okay Mister Smartypants, you set off the poison needle, which stabs at thin air where your thumb <i>would</i> have been, were you trying to pick the lock with your tools."

"Boomshakalaka," the boy pumps his fist, his mohawk fully erect.  "I carefully roll the first tumbler to the right until I feel resistance . . ."

Okay, something like that, but without the boy and I having to become experts ourselves in the art of ancient lock-picking. And not boring the rest of the party while we are doing it.   I'm just not exactly sure how to pull it off.

Any ideas on this?  Any pointers to someone who has already come up with something similar?

Thanks in advance.

- Ark

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Old School Rocks! World Tour

A Childhood Dream . . .
Joseph Browning of Expeditious Retreat Press contacted me last night about using the Old School Rocks logo.  Since I gave the logo away to all-a-ya'll last month, he didn't have to ask, but it was very nice of him anyway.

He's wanting to use in for t-shirt logos and booth images at the OSRG booth at Gen Con.

Hot.

Frikkin.

Damn.

They've got quite a ginormous booth this year due to a Gen Con scholarship (or something like that) and need to pimp it out big time.  Spinning hubs caps, suicide doors, and a diamond grill.  You know, that kind of thing.  They needs help. Go buy a t-shirt form them!

I'm so pleased!  Okay, not pleased.  Head explodingly wowed.  If someone could figure out how to get them stacks of the t-shirts to sell directly at the booth, I think that would be way cool.  I'm not making any money out of this.  I just want to get the world out and reanimate some grognards or cook up some grognardlings.

By the way, Old School Renaissance Group consists of Black Blade Publishing, Brave Halfling Publishing, Expeditious Retreat Press, Frog God Games, Goblinoid Games, Henchman Abuse, Lamentations of the Flame Princess, Pacesetter Games & Simulations, Sine Nomine Publishing.

That's quite a list of rock stars there! Oh, and some metal dude too.

When I was 11, Gen Con was my Mecca.  I never got to paint my donkey orange and go on Hajj, but at least this time I am going in spirit. 


Boo! :)

- Ark

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Crotchety Old Sour Man

So I'm on a message board that doesn't have anything to do with role playing games (yes, I have a deep life outside of role playing games) and a post pops up about older Dungeons and Dragons and getting a local game together.  I was all over that (okay, so my deep life outside of role playing games is more like a very shallow bathtub.)

Even though I have a group already going, I could always play some more, eh?

The organizer asked about what versions people are interested in, and I pop up with my 0e or 1e Old School Rocks spiel.  Then the avalanche of 3.5, 4.0, and Pathfinder post start.  People are hooking up right and left and I'm siting there with my dick in one hand and nothing else in the other. 

It made me feel old.

Old and lonely.

I remember when I was absent from D&D for years, then came in when 4.0.  I was with it, brah.  I was NOW.  I heard other people bitching about 4e and man - those guys were old crotchety bastard who just couldn't get with the future, baby.  They were stuck back in childhood nostalgia and were perhaps just bitter and nasty old people to begin with. 

So I sat there feeling bitter and nasty. 

But maybe . . .

Maybe I should give 4e another try.  I mean, what does a paltry 2 years of campaigning really tell a person about a gaming system?  Or maybe I should embrace Pathfinder?  Forget the boring ass game I had when I tested out 3.5.  Pathfinder couldn't really have hour long combats, could it?  Maybe if you just halve everybody's hit points or something.  I mean, maybe there was a way to be hip and modern and fun and not have to rewrite the newer D&D versions completely in a way that I hadn't tried yet?  Maybe?

Maybe I was just a stubborn bastard who would rather wallow in self-pity and melancholy rather than get with the new times and have some fun.

Then I received a private message on the board.  It was from a guy and his friend and they really wanted to get together with me and play some 1e.

BOO FUCKING YA.

Suck on THAT, modern day burnt coffee swilling smart phone addicted hipster D&D!  Imuna go crawl back into my caveman cave with some caveman buddies and play some real shit!

;)

- Ark

Monday, April 11, 2011

Seafaring Halflings

"Get off the computer and let's play something," I told the boy when I got home from work. 

He spun around in his chair.  "How bout Minecraft?" he said.

I gave him a 'dad' look.  He gave me a pouty ten year old look.

"Get off the computer and stare at the wall then.  Just get off the computer.  You'll go blind and sterile.  We could go play soccer."

"Nah."

"Munchkin?"

"Nah."

"Castle Ravenloft?"

"Nah."

"Sorry Sliders?"

"Nah"

"R2D2 Trouble?"

"Nah?"

"Forbidden Island?"

"Nah."

"Zombie Dice?

"Nah."

I checked to see if my son had turned into the Aflac goat.  Not quite.  Horns, but no beard yet.

"How about Small World?" he asked.

I blinked.  Small World - the game that had sat languishing on the dresser since Christmas morning.  The boy had shied away from it as if it was a cootie-filled girl dressed all in pink.

"Um . . ." I still hadn't finished reading the rules.  There was a lot of rules.  It seemed like a pretty complicated game.  I wasn't sure that I could pull it off and make it enjoyable for him.  If I showed one second of unsureness - WHAM - he'd be all over me like stink on a dog and he'd never want to give the game another chance.  Crap. 

"Sure!" I said.  Sometimes you have to stuff your our neuroses down into the pit where you keep your childhood fear of Aunt Sandra and that whole striped sock fetish thing.  "But I don't know all the rules yet, so I'll read them out loud as we go.  Okay?"

"Okay," he smiled.

The game turned out about 500 times easier than I had thought.  You've got all of these fantasy races on a world that is too small for them - so they are fighting it out one chunk of land at a time.  Races have their own powers - like Trolls attack really well from mountains.  But then the races get a random attribute - like Flying, so they are not forced to only attack adjacent land, but can go attack anywhere on the map.

The two of us picked up the game really quickly.  There are some weird things, like when your race gets spread to thin, you can put it into 'decline' mode and go get another race to continue your conquest.  Each race and ability offers a lot of options and tricks - if you use them right.  Each bit of land you hold generates money for you, and at the end of the game, the player with the most victory coins wins.

The boy went first, paying top dollar for Berserk Dwarves.  I went for the cheapo Spirit Trolls.  The Beserk Dwarves ate up a lot of ground, while my spirit Trolls attempted to make a mountain empire.  We stayed on opposite sides of the board, not fighting one another.  At first, I wasn't sure how to do that anyway.  But then about at the same time, we realized that we had extended our armies to the breaking point.  There was really nothing to do but set the races into decline and pull out new ones. 

Setting the races into decline keeps the land on your side, generating money, but not as much as it would have if they were not in decline.  Again the boy paid top dollar - this time for Seafaring Skeletons.  I grabbed the cheapo Diplomatic Halflings.  Those skeletons were wicked.  Since they were seafaring, they could grab lakes and seas where no other army could.  And the were freaking undead, so they could generate extra troops if they conquered lands with creatures in them.  Geez.  My Halfling spent their wad pretty quickly, and I was overextended.

But my Trolls had been Spirit Trolls, meaning that they could stay in decline longer than any other race.  So I popped my halflings into decline, kept my Trolls in decline, and grabbed some Heroic Humans.  In the end, because of the trolls, I generated more victory coins that the boy did, and won.  Boo-yah!

It will probably be the last time I win, so I best revel in it.

One thing I really liked about the game is that it doesn't take itself too seriously.  Its all funny and goofy - and the boy didn't get upset when he lost.  Other battle-type games have set him on edge before.  This was light and fun and we are both looking forward to play again.  I just need to go over those rules again to see what I messed up on. :)

Four thumbs up!

- Ark

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Poison

The party was recuperating in the ruins of the temple above the dungeon again.  They had been fighting a room full of gelatinous cubes - slowly - over a period of a week.  Suddenly, Tim's crazy elf, who was on watch duty, heard grunting sounds.  He quickly woke everyone else and they went outside to take a look.

Crouched behind boulders, they saw eight orcs sniffing around - perhaps for truffles.  The PCs were nervous since they were no match for such a large contingent, but the party had careful canvased the area with snares the day before.  Luck was on their side as seven of the eight orcs sailed into the air, cursing and dangling upside-down like pinatas.

The players smiled.  This would be a breeze - but they had to act quickly.  The orcs could break free very easily.   Ron's dwarf assassin jumped up.  This was Ron's second dwarf assassin, as the first had recently been eaten by a dragon.  He pulled out a dagger that had been carefully coated with the venom of a giant spider and threw it at one of the dangling orcs.

Ron rolled a 1. 

As a DM, I see critical fumbles as the universe's way of informing me that it is now time to be a dick.

"Hmm, roll an attack on yourself."

He sighed and rolled the d20.  It came up 20.

"Ouch, full damage," I blinked.  Ron stared at me, and continued to stare, as if I was forgetting something.

I suddenly remembered.  "Oh crap.  Save vs. Poison." I searched my mind for what type of poison.  It was save or die.

He failed.

"Um, okay," I took a deep breath.  "You throw the dagger and it lodges into your foot.  You clutch at your chest, make a death rattle, and fall down on the ground, dead."

Ron calmly slid his character sheet under his folder, pull out a piece of notebook paper, and began rolling six-siders.

Tim pulled his jaw back to it's closed and upright position, looked at me, and busted out laughing.

I try really hard in my life not to upset anyone unduly or pick on people or make them feel bad.  However, I am human.  I laughed. 

The whole group began to laugh uncontrollably until our sides hurt.  All except Ron, who finished rolling up his new character.

"I'm sorry," I apologized to Ron, trying to control myself.  "What is this new character going to be?"

"Another dwarf assassin, of course." he smiled.

"Hopefully the third time would be a charm."  We all cracked up again. 

When we all calmed down, I described the situation again.

"We are so screwed," Tim shook his head, the smile fading from his lips.  "I run."

- Ark

Friday, April 8, 2011

The Croucher

Are you tired of dragging the characters through dungeons already?  Maybe it's time to clean house . . .

The Croucher

No. Enc.: 1-12
Alignment: Chaotic (evil)
Movement: 60' (20')
Fly: 180' (60')
Armor Class: 4
Hit Dice: 2
Attacks: 1 (drain)
Damage: 1d3 (special)
Save: F3
Morale: 10
Hoard Class: None
XP: 56

The Croucher, or Rabisu, is a demonic spirit that occupies the houses of the living.  They can be found at the thresholds of doors and in dark corners, waiting to pounce on the unwary.  They enjoy scaring people and their pets.

During the night, they will sneak into the rooms of children and siphon off their life energy, causing horrific nightmares and bed-wetting.  They can use this life-stealing ability on adults, but usually only when cornered.  The Croucher gains as many hit points as is drained from the victim.

In their natural state, the Croucher is invisible.  Throwing salt onto the spirit will cause it to become visible for 1-4 rounds.

Oftentimes, Crouchers will be found in groups, each infesting a different part of a house and not interacting with one another.  However, if one of their kind if assaulted, the will swarm the attackers and attempt to drain them of life.

The creatures may be turned by clerics, but for such purposes they are considered to be Infernal.  Crouchers brought to zero hit points will disappear, but reappear 1-8 days later.  The only way to permanently rid a structure of Crouchers is for a cleric to perform a ritual cleansing of the house after 'killing' them all, which involves lighting every corner of the house and throwing a loud, raucous party with plenty of joke telling and laughter.

Based on the Croucher, page 183 of A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels, and Other Subversive Spirits, by Carol K. Mack and Dinah Mack.

- Ark