#odnd
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i’m running an old-school dungeon crawler! finally!!
i’ll be using a big mash-up of Delving Deeper + a Luke Gearing’s Wolves Upon the Coast and Snackrifice rules. sounds like a lot, but it’s mostly:
the six trad stats w/ three saves (Dodging, Physique, Warding)
simplified attack bonus tables
simplified weapon damage (d6 for everything; light weaponry rolls 2d6kL, heavy weaponry rolls 2d6kH) and weapon qualities
simplified attack rolls (d20 + modifiers + target AC > 20)
simplified encumbrance (AC + 5 slots)
it’s going to be so fun!
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Dragonfinds got some new books today for DND adventures. I got both copies of The Isle of Dread, Legions of Hell, Tales of the Outer Planes, Lankhmar City of Adventure & Thieves of Lankhmar.
#DND#TSR#minatures#dragonfinds#dungeonsanddragons#dungeons and dragons#rpg#ttrpg#dnd1e#dnd2e#odnd#adnd#lankhmar#planescape
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Working on new paper mini monster packs. All the different variations of these jelly boys look really satisfying laid out in a group like this.
Substack Newsletter
#monster#paper miniatures#paper minis#ttrpg#odnd#osr#old school renaissance#old school#gelatinous cube#jelly boys#old school rovers#drawing#cartooning#roleplaying games
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In 20 minutes I got a one shot of 0dnd, so I decided to do a quick drawing of my cleric!
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Five days before Ghosts is updated and the price increases! Best hop on now and get the most bang for your buck!
Blaze
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reading about the history of proto-dnd is fascinating because you'll be browsing the first fantasy campaign text and see all the stuff about like the player character who's vampire oc became a major character in the world, or the Magic Sword Personality Matrix used to determine how intelligent a magic sword is, what its alignment is, how much ego does it have, etc, and then you'll scroll down a lil' further, to the segment about raw dogging slave women to level up
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Level one of the megadungeon is done being drawn and colored. Starting to think about level 2. #fountainpendrawing #artmarkers #rhodiapad #osr #oldschooldnd #osric #classicdnd #megadungeon #ttrpgmaps #dndmaps #ttrpg #dnd #mapdrawing #preppyfountainpen #adnd #adndmaps #firsteditiondnd #odnd #odndmaps #basicdnd #osemap #oldschoolessentials #ose https://www.instagram.com/p/CgV2LcgMQsl/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#fountainpendrawing#artmarkers#rhodiapad#osr#oldschooldnd#osric#classicdnd#megadungeon#ttrpgmaps#dndmaps#ttrpg#dnd#mapdrawing#preppyfountainpen#adnd#adndmaps#firsteditiondnd#odnd#odndmaps#basicdnd#osemap#oldschoolessentials#ose
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I downloaded this today. Beautifully simple with some new takes on old ideas.
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Of Dice and Dens - C-Team 046 - A Wish, A Wish, A Wishie Oh After a long hiatus, our party finally gets their wishes, say goodbye to an old friend, and visit a pirate tavern! Also, we will be doing our 5th annual TTRPG Meowrathon on April 26-28. Visit www.meowrathon.com to learn more! View Original Post and Listen to the Episode Here: https://bit.ly/3SkEEh7 Click here for the RSS Feed.
View the Original Post Here
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Spell Names Suck
EVERY SINGLE MAGIC USER SPELL IS BEING RENAMED WITH THE VANCIAN MAGIC SUPPLEMENT FOR 1E
THIS IS NON-NEGOTIABLE.
Animate Dead? Fuck you, thats boring. It's THE SATIRE OF LIFE RENEWED.
Read Languages? Fuck your eyes with a spoon you uncultured chainsawman fan, it's PHANDAAL'S POLYGLOTAL LOBE.
The names are so obnoxious, I absolutely love them.
What about clerics tho?
Imma make people come up with some absurd title for a fake bible passage or whatever. "The Parable of Saint Sirrian under the Bridge" for... idk, some cleric spell. And then thats what the spell is for characters of that sect or whatever.
Also, if you havent read vance yet, do so.
Half the dialogue opens with an exchange like this: "What intricate effort is this, and what is its object?" "The work is as you see."
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Episode 1
The red sun was touching the tips of the oaks and cedars of the nameless wood west of the Black Marshes. The summer cicadas droned on loud and steady like the hammers of the men who pounded the palisade logs into the mud around the village of Brandonsford. The stream babbled unhurried past the village, its cool water shimmering in golden dapples. The people of Brandonsford were setting up defenses. They had every right to be scared. The dragon had been harrying them for two weeks and they were running out of options. Their only defense had been a group of hunters from George's lodge, but they were all dead now. George had come back alone, his right arm gone, and scarred in more ways than one. He had gone straight to his lodge and locked the door, refusing any company.
The black wyrm wasn't the only thing threatening the village. Faeries of all kinds have lived in this forest for millennia, stretching back far beyond the history of the men that settled here after The Mountain That Fell, hoping to harness its magic. Yes, the forest was a Wild place, and was home to many Wild creatures: a family of strange satyrs, pixies, river nixies, leprechauns, and even a giant. Recently, not long before the dragon appeared, a hobgoblin king and his score of minions had taken up residence in a ruined forest temple not too far to the north, if the hushed rumors spoken in the inns and the village circle were to be believed.
Eric, a round man of about forty-five, was worrying by candlelight in his home. His face was framed by thick brown mutton chops, and purple-ringed eyes fixed upon the parchment on his desk. One thousand gold pieces! He didn't know how the village would be able to pay such a bounty, but the dragon simply had to be dealt with. And the going rate for dragon-slaying had gone up in recent memory, of that he was sure. Eric remembered when the most a reeve had to shell out was gratitude and maybe a feast in the hero's honor. But those days were long past. To make matters worse, it was almost time for Brandonsford to renew their tribute to the elves of Castle Blackmarsh. The elf ambassador was here in the village, unable to travel because of the threat of the dragon. So, Eric, having no other options, signed the document and went out and nailed it to the quest board. Oh, I do hope some brave knight will come and kill the blasted thing, or I don't know what'll become of us! Eric thought, tired eyes wide.
The Clumsy Fox Tavern, normally a place of merriment, was rather dour this evening. The fiddler was taking the night off on account of his arthritis flaring up again, and so the only things to be heard were the nervous voices of villagers, the occasional clink of dishes on cutlery, the knock of hammers on wood outside, and the ever-present chatter of cicadas. The last light of day shone red on the interior of the tavern: a homely space, built of cedar and furnished with sturdy oaken tables and benches. The owner, Bentley, was a halfling with large round spectacles and thinning grey curls. His normally jolly expression was instead gloomy as he looked out over the sad lot drinking in his tavern. His three daughters could tell that their father wasn't himself, but they kept on washing the dishes. His wife glanced nervously at a table in the corner where four mysterious, cloaked outsiders sat in silence. They were from out of town, and had made no effort so far to seem neighborly.
At another table, four noble adventurers sat. Two gnomes, a human, and an elf. Bentley appreciated this type of traveler—the kind that buys lots of ale, tells interesting stories, and rescues the blacksmith's daughter. Bentley was drying a mug with a rag, not aware he was staring at the adventurers, lost in reverie. They seemed to be discussing matters of great importance, and Bentley sighed.
“No, no, my name is not ‘Bur-gull’, it’s Bergle, with a juh sound. Soft ‘g’,” said the old gnome dressed in mages’ robes.
“Where does a name like that come from, anyway?” asked Calmin, the other, much younger, gnome. He was wearing chain mail and had a shortsword at his side, and was on his fourth ale. Bergle’s brow furrowed at the question, and opened his mouth to respond.
The elf interjected, “Should we kill the dragon?” The two gnomes looked at him and blinked. Garold was well-traveled elf, and by the looks of his clothing, a well-off elf too.
“And how do you suppose we do that, Garold?”
“Well, that’s the part we would need to figure out, but it sure would get us a lot of coin.”
The human looked at Garold. He was still getting used to his new companions. Hammy was a man in his mid-twenties, and wore a simple white tunic and his head was shaved. The traditional apparel of a cleric of Thoth.
The door burst open and a man was standing in the threshold of the tavern, casting a long shadow over the swath of golden light.
“BENTLEY! I've just about had it with your rotten schemes! I don't know how you're doin' it, but I know you're tryin' to ruin me! You're not gonna get away with it!” The man shouting was Quinn, the owner of The Golden Egg Tavern. He had a white beard and piercing features, which were currently contorted in jealous anger. He pointed vigorously and shouted for a little while longer, turned, and stormed off across the village circle back to his own tavern.
The room was silent. This was quite the unexpected outburst from Quinn, who everyone knew as very friendly and mild-mannered. Murmurs began rippling across the tavern, and people were wondering if Quinn’s accusations were true, or if this was some kind of act to lift spirits, or if Quinn had finally cracked! In the corner, the cloaked outsiders were leaning in, whispering amongst themselves.
Bergle the gnome waved Bentley over to the table, and he approached, still somewhat stunned.
“What was all that about?” Bergle wondered.
Bentley collected himself, sighed, and pushed his spectacles back up to the bridge of his nose. “Ah, well, mister Quinn has been accusing me of stealing his beer. Says his beer is going missing, the beer he keeps in his cellar. No matter A mystery, that. I'm no thief. I run an honest business here, old Eric can attest to that. I ain't a cheater.”
“So Quinn thinks you're stealing his beer out of his cellar, and selling it here as your own?”
“Aye, that's about the size of it,” Bentley sighed, then squinted at the party of adventurers conspiratorially. “Say, you don't think you could investigate this, could you? Convince old Quinn that I ain't the thief he thinks I am?”
Garold leaned forward and folded his hands. “What’s in it… for us?”
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DnD and character incompetence
I dislike DnD 5E. It's a complicated relationship. I am aware that millions of people love the game, and I am genuinely happy that it has brought so many people into this hobby. I sometimes feel that bashing the five hundred pound elephant is a way of building up nerd cred, of dismissing others' tastes because we've been in the hobby since the good ol' days. I don't want to do that. I don't want to say that 5E can't be fun. I'm currently GMing a fifth edition game, and it's the best campaign I've ever been a part of. Too, the 5E design philosophy ought to be right up my alley. I love games that are streamlined but still have mechanical grit, density, and options. But at the same time, I can't stand the game. After this campaign, I plan never to touch it again.
Here's the thing: the elegance of fifth edition is centered on removing character incompetence. Your wizard never has to deal with the pain of rolling crossbow attacks at -1. If you run out of spells, you have cantrips. You attack with your best stat, deal high damage. Your fighter might not have a rogue's Expertise, but you'll never have to look down at a character sheet with two ranks among 30 skills. These experiences of incompetence, of weakness, are annoying. They can turn a player off from the game. But they also mean that your decisions mattered.
OD&D and 3.X are unbalanced, deeply imperfect. But they're art. The mechanics express something, force you to make decisions and, on some semiconscious level, learn about yourself through their consequences. 5E is an apple among oranges. The game, as an artifact, is devoid of passion, of anything artistic or expressive. It is an ode to the middle of the road, a mass-produced product designed to draw in millions with the lure of occult folk art--and yet, it lacks the courage or drive to make good on that promise. It is afraid of driving off its customers, and as such, refuses to include negativity in its experience.
Art is truth. Truth requires tension, failure, and darkness. Fifth edition is not art. Hell, it only qualifies as a game in the loosest sense of the word. Games are like dreams--they allow us to experience high-stakes decisions in an environment without real-world consequences. They exist for us to face our fears, our failures, and the parts of our psyche we're not yet ready to deal with consciously. Fifth edition removes the stakes of conflict, neuters the scale of competence and incompetence, and denies players the agency to make decisions that matter. There is no way to be bad, and so every character is made flat, uninteresting, and impotent. Playing 5E is like reading Harry Potter. There's something magical about it, and a lot of talent and effort went into it--but once you look at anything else in the genre, the luster fades in a hurry. You realize how much more this microcosm has to offer. Sure, Lord of the Rings and OD&D are strange, dense books. It takes effort to get into them. But once you do, you realize that the primordium that spawned the genre is so, so much more beautiful than its modern progeny. That we have refined the expression, but have never made anything more elemental. And when you read Jade City and The Fifth Season and Mistborn, Pathfinder and Blades in the Dark and Knave, you start to see how much is out there, start to feel like the middle of the road is a boring place to be.
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Urge to play the 1974 edition of D&D: Rising.
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Some more covers for Full Plate, the official HELM zine! Coming 2023!
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