Map of PCs in the Forgotten Realms

I know I always kick around the idea of starting a new, homebrew setting, then keep coming back to FR anyway. While I have a lot of ideas for a custom world that I hope to eventually use, it's tough to start over when I have so much D&D history tied up in Faerûn. How much, exactly? Well...

Here's a map of every character played in campaigns I've run in the Realms (with close-ups of various sections), dating back to 2004. Each campaign is depicted in a separate color which shows (roughly) the region(s) it encompassed. This is pretty crazy to look at, all laid out at once.

The Sword Coast North and the Western Heartlands

Cormanthor and the Moonsea

The Vilhon Reach

Rashemen

Full map (attribution)

This doesn't even include my favorite FR campaign I've played in, a game run by Jason over twenty years ago. I thought about adding Cadazcar and Erik Estrada, but I don't know their geography perfectly, and I had to draw the line somewhere.

In addition to the visuals, a few fun facts:

• Total number of characters played: 52
• Total number of players: 15
• Most characters played by the same player: 7
• PC descendants of other characters: 2
• Total character deaths: 9 (seven in the last five years...)

Will this be the last new Realms game before I finally switch?

Longevity

By all reasonable accounts, Zeb probably should be dead. It wasn't a miracle of the dice that stayed him, but weak judgment on my part. At the last minute (after a failed save had been rolled), I called into question whether a blinded dragon could reliably direct its breath weapon at unseen opponents, even with their last known location unchanged. In the moment, I decided this was too contentious to stake a character's life on, so I allowed Zeb to avoid the cloud, even though the full breath weapon damage would have killed him instantly. Erring on the side of the PCs isn't the worst thing in the world, but I probably leaned too far this time. Zeb can rightly acknowledge this as Malar having spared his meager life.

In light of the above, I've given much thought to the prospect of characters dying and what a tragic event like the loss of Zeb would mean for the campaign. If I felt like allowing a PC to die would spell the end of the game, that would severely burden my judgment when it comes to adjudicating deadly situations.

Fortunately, I think we're all on the same page that the campaign can continue, even under the most dire of circumstances. For the benefit of everyone, here are some points to live by going forward. This is effectively a charter as to my long-term vision for the game.

• If a PC dies based on dice rolls, I'm not going to intervene. It's hard, as DM, not to pull strings at times, but doing so deprives the players of a fairly run game and the experience of overcoming the death of a character.


• I don't expect (nor should anyone else expect) the campaign to end if a character gets killed. Obviously a TPK may result in a break in continuity at the very least, but either way, life in the game world goes on, just like in the real world. I see our campaign as being greater than any individual character; there's no critical plot artery that hinges on the survival of Zeb, Audric, or anyone else. We're full-on Game of Thrones, here.


• A player can either create a new character to replace a perished (or retired) one, or elect to take on a henchman as a full-fledged PC. New characters begin with the same starting XP as the original PCs and are expected to advance in level through play. This may mean that a new PC needs to be shielded from harm at times by the rest of the party in order to stay alive.


• Despite entering the game at a lower XP total, a new PC can normalize in level over time thanks to the AD&D experience tables. For example, a 1st-level, 0 XP Fighter and a 5th-level, 16,000 XP Fighter will both be 6th level, 40,000 XP later. (It's also reasonable to expect that a low-level PC will advance more quickly in a high-level party, since the party's XP awards will naturally be larger.)


• In the meantime, it's possible that other, established PCs will die/retire, or new players/henchmen cycle into the game. The original “new PC” may become a veteran before long.


• Under this system, the total power level of the party is likely to fluctuate over time. Many of us are used to games where the party only ascends in level and ability as the game progresses, up until the point that everyone retires and the campaign ends. In my model, we could look back six months from now and recognize this point in time as the peak power level of the campaign. This allows for organic continuity across years of gaming, with the ability to re-experience the early and mid levels again and again. A high-level character that sustains through it all is truly something to be valued.

I could probably write a book on this stuff, but these feel like the most important points, so I'll leave it here for now. Happy to discuss further in the comments.

The art of preparing to run a session

As a disclaimer, this post is as much for my own future reference as it is for anyone who might be reading (but don't let that stop you...).

Sean and I talk about this topic quite a bit, particularly since he's still relatively new to DMing. How to prepare for a D&D session is something you learn and refine through practice and experience over years of running campaigns. There's no magic formula, and what works for one person may not work for anybody else. It's like studying for an exam in that everyone's brain processes and retains information differently, so you have to figure out through experimentation what works best for you. That said, while there aren't any empirical rules, I can still share and document my approach.

Two axes: geographical and temporal

As the prospective DM, whether you're kicking off the inaugural session of a new campaign or continuing to run a party with many notches in its belt, the idea of being accountable to an entire fantasy world can feel extremely daunting. Where do you begin? Do you start by fleshing out local governments, agencies, or dungeons that exist across the countryside, or notable NPCs throughout the region? If you're running a homebrew world, the climb can seem particularly steep, but even in an established setting with a wealth of published material like Forgotten Realms, you may feel like the game world holds you to an impossible standard. (In that case, the first thing to realize is that using a published world should never hurt you more than it helps, and if that's happening you may do well to reconsider your choice. Further musings on that here.)

To the question of where to begin your prep work, my unequivocal answer is "here and now." The first thing I need to do when faced with a massive decision tree is prune away as many branches as possible to get to what I care about. No one realistically has time to detail every last person, building, and statistic in a game world, so focus on those that carry the most imminent importance. To wit: I don't need to know what will happen in the party's current location six months from now; I also don't need to know what will happen a hundred miles away tomorrow.

These simple assertions drastically reduce the complexity of the problem. I'm not running a campaign where the long-term outcome is already determined, so events unrelated to the party's current time frame or location are of little concern to my next several hours of DMing. This doesn't mean that I completely eschew what may be happening in other areas, but that I need only have a vague notion of those details, and shouldn't make them the focus of my attention since they're unlikely to impact the party over the short term. Having the PCs overhear in a crowded taproom that trolls have begun encroaching on the north border and nearby villages are petitioning for aid is likely to be enough. It's conceivable that the party could take interest in this hook, so I definitely need to be able to convey anything else the local citizenry might know, in addition to accommodating an initiative by the party to set out for the border. That said, I shouldn't prioritize fleshing out this region unless I fully expect the players to take the lead and arrive at the destination. More likely, I'll end up doing this planning several sessions down the road, if ever.

Rather than dive into rabbit holes that may consume hours of planning that I won't use, I want to concern myself most with happenings around the party in an immediate sense, geographically and temporally. If the session is set to open in a town, castle, or dungeon, I need to be well-versed in the ecology of the site: what individuals or populations reside there, how they interact, what sustains/motivates them, and any pressing urgencies to which they're attending. Ecology feels like a greatly undervalued concept in preparing a game; often, too much focus is given to drawing up specific scenes or encounters envisioned in the mind of the DM. While there are instances where this is useful or appropriate, if I truly understand the ecology of the actors in the game world, I should be reasonably well-equipped to adjudicate any situation that arises during the session, even if I need to ad-lib a few names or stop to roll an NPC's hit points or ability scores. If there are individuals for which I suspect these numbers will be needed, I'll roll them up ahead of time.

The further you look down the party's intended path, the fewer details you need to know. If the PCs are embarking on a journey that leads them through a series of towns and villages, I should know the ecology of each settlement at least at a macro level, but I definitely need to more thoroughly immerse myself in the locations the party will spend time in first. Any substantial event, encounter, or distraction has the possibility, based on decisions by the players and whims of the dice, to sidetrack or significantly delay the party's course. I might put a great deal of work into readying myself to run the first village along the road, but the further out I look, the hazier my view becomes. While I might be able to make a confident assumption that the party will arrive in the first village and take part in its dealings, my confidence wanes considerably with each subsequent hop along the journey. The foggier my take on the party's future, the fewer specifics I prepare. This approach serves me in multiple ways: first, I avoid putting time and effort into preparation that has a higher chance of not being needed, and second, because I haven't invested this effort, I feel less compelled, consciously or otherwise, to force the PCs down a path I prepared, giving them more freedom of choice and control over their destiny. When it comes to actually running the game, I want to be the unbiased referee, not the puppet master pulling the strings. Had I spent hours writing up details on the north border region with the trolls, I'd be more likely to artificially steer to party toward taking the hook, when they may not have any real interest in pursuing.

Predetermined vs. triggered events

In addition to interactions between people and locations, I make sure to plan through any predetermined events that I've "scheduled" to occur irrespective of the party's actions. Ideally, these events have been logically derived from the ecology of the area. For example, if I know that orcs are plotting an assault against a local village, I should determine, before the session begins, when the attack will occur, how many orcs are invading, what the attackers' entry points and strategy will be, and so forth. The date and time can be chosen outright or be assigned a degree of variance (e.g., 1d4 nights after the next full moon, when the orc chieftain gathers his forces on the mountainside). Wherever the PCs happen to be at this time, the raid will be executed, unless they do something in the interim to subvert the orcs. Preparing for events and allowing them to play out regardless of the party's actions helps create realism in the campaign world. Not everything needs to specifically revolve around the characters, even though I might only plan in detail the events in their vicinity.

On the opposite end of the spectrum are "triggered" events, which are common in published modules, especially in manipulative settings like Ravenloft. Triggered events should be used sparingly in any game that doesn't want to predestine the characters' path; examples are akin to "The innkeeper is kidnapped the night after the PCs investigate the cemetery," or "Whenever the PCs walk past the town constable, they overhear him negotiating the assassination of the mayor." These types of events can be exciting, but they also make assumptions about how the characters must act in order to fulfill the DM's narrative. This approach to running a game isn't strictly right or wrong, but comes with strings attached that steer the campaign toward an outcome largely not determined by the players, and this isn't something that's desirable for every group.

Not exactly "points of light"

Finally, trimming decision tree branches and preparing in less detail the further out you go is similar to, but not the same as, the idea of "points of light" (formalized as a setting concept in D&D 4e), which asserts that there exists a collection of known, civilized areas and that everything in between is mostly uncharted or "dark." While the planning approach I've outlined tends to evoke the feel that the party's immediate surroundings are a "point of light" amid the darkness, this is only necessarily true in terms of your own planning as DM. The regions and timelines outside your short-term scope of interest may be extremely well defined in source material or to the inhabitants of the game world. It's only that you, the DM, don't need to concern yourself with details beyond what's relevant to the party given its present course.

I think I'll end here for now, as this post is lengthening and mostly a result of stream of consciousness writing. Happy to read anyone's comments.

An example of player agency vs. DM narrative

Recently, Sean and I were talking about the difficulty of starting new campaigns, in light of his session #1 kicking off in a little over a week. Do you begin with a mundane assignment for the PCs? A plot-driven story arc that forces the party down a specific path to "introduce" them to the setting? How much narration is OK? How much predestination should be tolerated?

I've self-debated these many times, and learned from past experience on several occasions. We discussed a hook where the PCs begin the campaign as captives in an arbitrary dungeon cell, without their equipment. Is this a reasonable thing to do to a party?

My answer is that most scenarios, including this one, are fine to incorporate into your game, if executed properly. Specifically, the DM should ensure that the party retains a meaningful degree of control over the session's outcome. The PCs should be participants and protagonists, not audience and onlookers to the DM's prologue. To elaborate, I described two ways that a DM might have the PCs-as-prisoners scenario play out.

In the first variation, the PCs awaken in a cell, clothed but lacking any weapons, armor, spellbooks, or equipment. They pass a day in confinement, devoid of opportunities to escape, but learning (from guards, other prisoners, etc.) of their surroundings, why they were captured, perhaps the identity of the mastermind who rules the dungeon: critical information that can be used later in the campaign. Shortly thereafter, a band of rescuers breaks into the cells, leads the PCs to their plundered wares, and shows them the way out. The party battles off a guard or two, but the instruction and heavy lifting are provided by the rescuers.

For the second variation, the PCs awaken in the same situation as the first. Early on, however, they're presented with a potential means of escape: a key slipped to them by a thief in an adjacent cell. The players deliberate on how to proceed; the more time that passes in the cell, the more information they garner from their surrounds. The session revolves around the party crafting and executing an escape plan, recovering their equipment, and making it out alive.

In variation #1, the DM likely ends up doing most of the talking throughout the session - mainly, telling the players what happens as the PCs tag along for the ride. In the second variation, however, the players control the pace, for their planning requires questioning the DM about the subtle details of the cell area, mannerisms of the guards, and demeanor of the other captives. They might spend time (even days) learning about the daily routines within the prison, when mealtimes and watch rotations occur, to figure out the optimal circumstances for breaking free. Do they try to get anyone else out with them? What about the thief who gave them the key?

At the end of variation #1, the players have bore witness to a grand escape, and feel relieved; at the end of variation #2, the players have orchestrated the escape itself, and feel accomplished.

In both variations, the DM starts with the same hook and progresses the campaign from the same point A to point B, but the player experience between the two varies greatly. As a player, I'd find myself disengaged at being an object of the DM's narrative in variation #1, whereas variation #2 would give me a sense of purpose from the beginning (despite the initial forced capture) and a substantial measure of fulfillment (not to mention camaraderie with the other players) upon executing a successful breakout. Variation #1 would leave me doubting whether I'd want to play in the DM's game again; variation #2 would leave me itching to find out what evil plans the party might foil next.

It all boils down to player agency, and enabling the players in your campaign to actually be players in your campaign, as opposed to merely observers. This is largely the stigma behind "railroading" in RPGs: it's not the presence of plot lines or story arcs that causes issues for most players, but the feeling that they, the players, were only invited to the table to consume the DM's narrative.

At the end of the day, AD&D characters are created to play the part of heroes. Let them.

Standing out

What sets D&D apart from any other game is that you, as a player, can do anything, bounded only by the parameters of the campaign world and the limits of your own imagination. RPGs have always been distinct from other games, whether board, card, video, or pen-and-paper in this way; it's the primary reason we choose to play them.

Every D&D game I've ever run or played in has been a learning experience for me as a DM, and often, it's the latter that tends to be the most eye-opening. DMing is a fantastic way to gain comfort with the mechanics and managing the logistics of a complex, fantasy RPG. But it's the rare occasions where I get to step in and be a player that I'm truly enlightened to what elements I like and dislike in a game, whether it's the style, the setting, the edition, or anything in between. Those experiences are taken back and folded into everything I do as a DM going forward.

Most recently, it was the chance to play in Jason's play-by-post that showed me the real potential of a sandbox style game. I've always liked the prospect of a player-driven campaign, but have never been great at stopping myself from weaving elaborate narrative plots with pre-staged and scripted climaxes. And once you make the effort to come up with and start running through the scenes in your head, you develop a bias toward ensuring that they materialize at the table. While some players really like being a pawn in the DM's story, what Jason's game taught me was how much I, as a player, didn't.

In the play-by-post, my character Raith's future wasn't going to get pulled out from under me or dangled along by a string. The other players and I were in control, and this was of paramount importance to my emotional investment in the setting, which soared from the moment we started and for the duration of the time we played. This is the fundamental experience I want to deliver to my players.

To this point, I've done a good amount of stringing along, and have done so openly, to give the players a chance to meld and familiarize themselves with the game world. Now that this has been accomplished, however, and the PCs have found a measure of local notoriety defending a small fiefdom, I'm dropping the tethers and allowing the campaign to unfold as the PCs see fit. The options before them are endless.

More importantly, the choices are theirs.

At the risk of tainting the notion described in the opening paragraph of this post that the players can do anything, I'm going to enumerate a handful of the possible paths before them now. This is most definitely not to persuade or to suggest that these are the only courses they might follow, but rather to give the group a taste of its freedom. The characters could...

• delve into the Witherwood to battle gnolls and see what else they might find;
• stay hither and fortify Brithem and its surroundings;
• research the curious map given to Wren by an ex-shipmate;
• go after the bandits that robbed them along the road;
• travel to the city of Longsaddle and seek out the renowned wizard family that resides there;
• return to Luskan and become pirates;
• venture further north to Mirabar or Icewind Dale;
• set out for some faraway, famous location like the great library of Candlekeep

How do I prepare for such an array of possibilities? That's better a subject left for another post - after I figure out how to do it. It's a natural thing as DM, I think, to strive to control the direction of the party. To railroad; to set short- and long-term campaign goals, rather than let the characters define these for themselves. Relinquishing that control makes the DM's job both easier and more difficult at the same time. Easier in that plots need not be preconceived nor interwoven; harder in that there's much more pressure to exhaustively detail the landscape of the campaign world and how its regions, settlements, and populations subsist and interact.

D&DSM

Ravenloft is the sadomasochism of D&D. In Ravenloft, the DM teases, torments, and defiles the party not only to cause anguish but ultimately for the players' enjoyment. Ravenloft is a ticket that grants the DM free reign to wrest control from the characters at all times; to tear them away to new domains at the crack of a whip; to lead them along by a carrot that remains ever out of reach. Ravenloft is a diabolical, deceitful, and magnificent campaign setting. But it's also an excuse, and a crutch.

They didn't even need to tie him up...

That's the main reason in the end that I elected to stay away from Ravenloft, as much as its allure still calls to me at times. I wanted to give the players something they could truly make their own, without the mists always encroaching and threatening to intervene. There's a far greater challenge and much more to experience this time around.

Let's have at it.

XP: The ends justify what makes you stronger

I’ve always taken an “ends justify the means” approach to awarding experience in D&D. It doesn’t matter if the frost giant whittled the PCs to within an inch of their lives, or if the mage sneezed and a boulder fell and crushed its head before combat ever began. The result arrived at was the same; who am I to judge the party’s methods?

It can get a little silly, when you think about it. In the case where the mage sneezed, the fighter might literally have been standing around doing nothing and reaped a sizable XP award for it. Or maybe he was about to do something stupid, like leave his weapons and armor behind and try to tickle the giant’s ear with a feather. It doesn’t matter. The ends justify the means. The party defeated the giant, so the characters gain and split evenly the XP for doing so.

I don’t think it’s fair, as DM, to cast judgment on these situations. They’re too subjective. The party’s tactics might have put them in position to beat the giant with nary a sword drawn to begin with. In this case, the party could be considered more successful than that which beat the giant while suffering grievous wounds over the course of many rounds - does the battered party deserve more XP, or less? (I guess it depends what you think experience should represent, in your game. More on this later.)

It’s important, when issuing XP for a defeated enemy, to consider whether the party members were actually at risk (or at least, whether they believed themselves to be at risk). But that also can extend beyond the actual confrontation to the events leading up to it. If the PCs slew a band of orcs by firing arrows from atop a cliff that made them nearly impossible to hit, I’d still award the party full XP so long as the situation could have reasonably unfolded differently. For example, if the party had chosen to take the mountain pass instead of the low road, that decision led to the advantage of higher ground, and consequently the ease of their victory. The same course might have made an encounter with a wyvern that much more treacherous.

That is to say, even though the party in this example was not at immediate risk while firing upon the orcs, they were still at general risk in their surroundings, and gained experience from decision-making that led to a successful end result. This is definitely not a combat-centric way of looking at XP.

A key aspect of this approach is that it suggests XP not be awarded for unsuccessful endeavors by the PCs, regardless of good tactics or how much bad luck might have contributed to their failure. Should the party that battled the giant ferociously for many rounds before fleeing really be awarded nothing? It’s a hard question to answer, but my game allows for just that, since the party, despite its efforts, wasn’t able to figure out a way to best its foe.

For better or for worse, the ends justify the means.

“Story” Awards

This is where my subjectivity does come into play. I commonly issue “story awards” when in-game milestones are achieved, though this is a bit of a misnomer. It implies that the party is running through a narrative, and that the group has ventured far enough down a specific path to complete some premeditated story arc that I’d conceived. That’s not really what I mean to represent.

“Story awards” in my campaign would be better named “adventuring awards” or “execution awards”; they serve to reward the party for impacting the game world in a meaningful (and intentional) way. The two recent sessions involving black dragons from the Witherwood are a good example. In session #4, when the first dragon was slain, I issued a massive bonus award of 4,000 XP. I called this a “story award,” but what it represents is the impact the PCs had on the fiefdom of Brithem. The party, through its actions during the session, turned a situation in which the entire castle and its farms could potentially have been lost, into one where only a single Brithem soldier was killed before the dragons were turned away. The 4,000 XP story award was a measure of the characters’ impact on Brithem and its inhabitants.

Conversely, in session #5, the party struggled to find an answer when the second dragon returned and began assaulting the outlying farms. Though the PCs ultimately prevailed and saved the bulk of the fiefdom, their presence was less impactful overall, since many lives and resources were lost. I subjectively decided that this session warranted a much smaller group award of 1,000 XP. (Another reason for this is that I didn’t feel the characters would have “learned” as much from this second encounter as they would have from the first. The actual planning and combat was more of a known territory to them at this point.)

It’s also noteworthy that the reason these awards exist in my game at all is that the campaign is generally not combat-and-treasure-focused enough to give out XP strictly “by the book” and expect the party to advance at a reasonable rate. Given the infrequency with which we play, it still requires many months of real time for low-level PCs to gain a level. The “story awards” help supplement both the nature and real-life pacing of the campaign. For me, this system works well, even though it leaves a large amount of the party’s advancement up to my discretion.

What Doesn’t Kill You...

The reason for writing all the above, is that I recently read Alexis Smolensk’s alternate XP system, which rewards party members for dealing, taking, and witnessing damage when involved in combat, regardless of the encounter outcome. The justification for this is that all of these represent learning experiences for the characters. I personally find this a fascinating approach to XP, and think it makes a great deal of logical sense.

For my campaign, I’m not sure our sessions are combat-heavy enough on a consistent basis to effectively apply Alexis’ system (although the multiplier could always be raised to help compensate). It also comes saddled with additional in-game bookkeeping (on my part) and questions where it pertains to certain types of spells. But I love that it incentivizes players to take risks and work together, and provides a good framework for accelerating the advancement of lower-level characters that enter the party due to a new player or the death of a previous character. I somewhat dislike that it fails to award tactics that lead to a greater degree of success by the party, though that could be supplemented by the story awards described above. It’s something to think about trying as the game goes on.

Learning vs. Success

The fundamental difference between these two systems is that the traditional views experience as a measure of achievement, while Alexis’ views it as a measure of learning. Alexis’ system also encourages the players to take more risks, where the traditional rewards tactics that avoid excessive risk. I worry that Alexis’ system creates a dynamic where the players are faced with conflicting goals: take the bloodier path and gain more XP, or employ superior tactics and ensure everyone comes out alive. It definitely isn’t a system I’d move to without significant buy-in from the group.

A final and important point of note is that neither Alexis’ nor traditional systems award XP to characters that get put to sleep and robbed in the middle of the night...

Players: What you need to know to play

It's really fun having players new to the game in our campaign, though (continuing the sentiment of my previous post) it holds me responsible for ensuring that everyone has a basic understanding of certain things about AD&D in order to play. The following is a relatively short list of things I'm classifying as "need to know":


Your ability scores (Str, Dex, Con, Int, Wis, Cha). The six abilities represent how physically and mentally talented your character is. Many of the game's mechanics take ability scores into consideration, and scores of 15 and higher typically yield significant advantages.

Your THAC0 (To-Hit-Armor-Class 0). This is the number you need to roll on a twenty-sided die (d20) to hit an opponent of armor class 0. The higher the opponent's AC, the easier they are to hit. For example, if your THAC0 is 18 and your opponent is AC 5, you only need to roll a 13 (18 - 5 = 13). Other bonuses or penalties can also apply to your roll (for example, when using a magical longsword +1 or attacking an invisible opponent). THAC0 decreases over time as a character gains levels, based on class.

Your armor class (AC). Armor class represents how difficult you are to hit. The main things that influence AC are quickness (Dexterity score) and the type of armor worn. The base AC for anyone is 10 and gets lower the better protected they are.

Your hit points (hp). Hit points measure how much damage you can sustain before being knocked unconscious or killed (this happens when reduced to 0 hp or lower, see here for details).

How many attacks you can make in a round. Low-level characters only make one attack normally, however bows (short bows and longbows only, NOT crossbows) can fire two arrows every round (rate of fire/ROF = 2). This makes bows ideal when attacking at range, though they can't be used right next to an enemy and suffer a -4 penalty (as all missile weapons do) when fired into a melee.

How much damage your weapons inflict. The weapons on your record sheet have numbers like 1d6 or 2d4 next to them. These are the number and type of dice you roll for damage when you hit with an attack.

Ability checks. Often, I'll ask you to make a check against one of your abilities, which means you want to roll equal to or lower than the value of that score on your record sheet using a d20. This is a simple way to determine success/failure for arbitrary feats like jumping onto a moving horse (Dex) or finding a marble in a pile of weapons (Wis).

Any special things your character can do. You shouldn't feel like you need to memorize a rulebook to play D&D, but you always should read the full description for your character's race and class in the Player's Handbook. This will tell you what extra things your character can do, like cast spells, backstab, and turn undead.

That some enemies require special or magical weapons to be damaged. When you swing your run-of-the-mill sword at a ghost and it passes right through, you don't deal any actual damage. That's because ghosts (along with many other creatures, particularly magical ones) require special or magical weapons (or spells) to hit. For example, that simple dagger you're holding won't do a thing to that werewolf if it's not coated in silver. Also, the DM won't tell you when this is the case for an opponent you're facing - you typically have to figure it out through trial and error.

That some enemies are perfectly capable of wiping out the entire party. Never assume, just because you're up against something, that you're likely to come out victorious. Part of what keeps the game "real" is the idea that sometimes the characters are simply outmatched. When this happens, find another way to deal with the situation or, if all else fails, RUN! It's usually fairly obvious when the party doesn't stand a fighting chance, though the characters ultimately need to decide for themselves.

That some enemies can kill a character with a single attack. Last session, Dowding died from poison after only being hit once. That wasn't because his hit points were reduced to 0, but because the specific attack forced him to roll a "saving throw" (a last-ditch effort to avoid a horrible fate, which he failed), or die. It's not always easy to predict when these kinds of attacks are coming, but you should definitely be aware that they can happen.

That sometimes good vs. evil is not absolute. Not every person or creature you meet in the game will be cookie-cutter good or evil. Sometimes bad things result from good intentions, and vice versa. Sometimes what's good in one person's eyes is malevolent in the eyes of another. Sometimes motivations are conflicting and blurred. Subjectivity is a remarkable thing.

That you can try [pretty much] anything you can think of. Don't ever feel restricted by the numbers and abilities on your character sheet. If you can imagine it, you can try it in the game. That doesn't mean everything you try, however, will work. I'll typically use a combination of attack rolls, ability checks, and common sense to figure out if your attempt succeeds.

That I'm not out to kill your character. It's pretty easy to come to the conclusion that my job as DM is to make the bad guys kill everyone in the party. Nothing could be further from the truth. My primary responsibilities are to adjudicate the game fairly, preserve the realism of the campaign world, and (most importantly) help make sure that everyone has a great time playing. I actually feel terrible when a character dies. That said, it isn't fair and takes away from the challenge of the game if I start fudging decisions or dice rolls to keep it from happening.

Trust me, if I wanted your characters dead, they would be. ;)

The importance of finding another way (and AD&D combat math)

(This ended up being a lot longer than I intended, but once I started writing I just kinda went with it. Hope the party finds it helpful.)

This last session, I saw so many 2s, 3s, and 4s rolled by the players in combat, I swear I wanted to throw up in my shirt. And it wasn’t just attack rolls. DM rolls a 2 for initiative? Players roll a 1. Players roll 5? DM rolls 6. Players roll 6? DM rolls 6. (All of those actually happened.)

So many unlucky rolls, how could the PCs possibly prevail?

That’s what I was asking myself afterward, particularly when Jason mentioned a “dice bowl” idea where players can remove a d20 from a bowl of dice to re-roll an attack or save, then the party gets XP after the session for any dice still unused. It’s a neat gimmick, a little game within the game that helps solve the fundamental “problem” of a party bogged down by terrible luck.

I’m always a little hesitant to make changes like this to my games. Partly because it feels like cheating, but also because it’s hard to remove them without causing disappointment.

So, I took a step back and started thinking more deeply about what I was trying to solve, and specifically the combat math from Monday night’s game. Let’s take Alaric, the party’s undisputed best fighter (actual rolls notwithstanding).

Alaric is a 3rd-level paladin that hits a well-armored (or very small/dexterous) opponent of AC 3 on a 14 or better with his longsword +1. (The math is THAC0 18 - AC 3 = 15 needed to hit, with +1 to his roll from the sword.) That’s a 35% chance, an expected hit rate of about once every three rounds.

That’s not super great to begin with, but passable enough to justify a swing, especially considering that the player doesn’t know the opponent’s actual AC during combat. But what about when the opponent is invisible? That’s another -4 to hit (see here), which plummets his hit chance down to 15%, less than once every SIX rounds, on average.

Six rounds? The PCs are likely dead before then - and that’s the party’s best fighter.  I’m pretty sure the other three characters each need to roll a 20 in that situation.

That brings me back to the dice bowl idea, which subverts the “natural” AD&D combat mechanics in favor of the party. Now, if your hit chance is already around 40% or better, or if trying to survive some kind of save-or-die effect, the dice bowl is pretty helpful. But at 5-15% to hit an invisible enemy, a single mulligan roll doesn’t improve the success chance all that much. Taking last session’s rolls as examples, even if those 2s, 3s and 4s were all 12s, 13s and 14s, almost every one of them still would have missed. And that’s a testament to the fact that, last session, luck wasn’t really the problem. Knowingly or not (and I think mostly not), the PCs made very statistically poor choices.

The truth is, when you’re up against an invisible enemy who’s darting around and stabbing people in the back with poison, you’re best off finding another way to address the issue. Attack rolls are normally well and good (not to mention a core element of the game), but in this situation the attack roll shouldn’t have been plan A. Spells, chalk, rope, blankets, practically ANYTHING should be tried before swinging a longsword for a 1-in-6 chance to hit. Shooting 3s from half-court isn’t winning basketball.

And that’s where D&D really shines, because RPGs are all about thinking outside the box to find another solution. For me, it’s probably my favorite part of the game, the biggest reason I still DM and play. It’s about stepping into your character’s shoes and asking, “My life is literally on the line here, what do I try to do?” AD&D is awesome at accommodating that mindset.

The flip-side to this is that players can sometimes drift so far in the direction of “outside the box” that they forget the box even exists. This happens when you see a party trying to take down a warband of orcs by tying all their daggers together as some kind of ridiculous lasso-tripwire. This approach to combat tends to not be very lucrative either. You want to find the right balance between being creative and pragmatic.

So, having gone through all that, I think the first thing I can do to help with the “bad luck” problem is to show some typical hit percentages for our party:

	Roll needed to hit...
PC/weapon	Lightly armored opponent (AC 8)	Moderately armored opponent (AC 5)	Heavily armored opponent (AC 2)
Alaric (longsword +1)	9 (60%)	12 (45%)	15 (30%)
Aginot (staff)	12 (45%)	15 (30%)	18 (15%)
Leilana (spear)	12 (45%)	15 (30%)	18 (15%)
Nora (short sword)	11 (50%)	14 (35%)	17 (20%)

Look at those numbers closely, because there’s only one in the whole grid that’s higher than 50%. It’s noteworthy that Nora has a +2 Dex bonus when firing her bow, making those chances 10% better (bows also can fire two arrows every round). Opponent invisibility effectively reduces any hit chance by at least 20%, so that’s something to keep in mind as well. Incremental advantages like being on higher ground can impact the rolls, too.

The point is, before blindly choosing to bust out sword or mace, try to think a couple rounds ahead to how events might play out if the dice fall like the numbers suggest they should. If that result looks a little grim for the PCs, you may want to reevaluate your options to see if there’s another approach worth trying.

In closing, my games have never been strongly focused on mechanics, and I don’t want players to feel like they have to memorize the rulebooks to play. A side effect of this, though, is that I probably need to do more to ensure that players are comfortable enough with basic combat math to have a feel for when it makes sense to attack as opposed to looking for other ways to win.

Sometimes it definitely makes sense to swing the sword. Sometimes it’s the only option you really have. But often, success or failure is ultimately determined before any rolls are made at all.