Save Vs Rant

Today, we’re discussing boxed text, text meant to be read aloud. Named for the early gaming convention of enclosing it in a box (a convention adopted due in part to printing limitations), read-aloud text can serve as a useful summary of the settings and plots of adventures.

First thing’s first, the Laser Pistol from Expedition to the Barrier Peaks.

Anyway, boxed text. As we mentioned, the article no longer exists on Wizards’ website (and, indeed, isn’t in the Internet Archive either) there was an article discussing how at conventions, they were able to determine that on average the DM only has two sentences to deliver before the players lose interest. It’s still important, however, to get across everything you need to, you may need more than that, and boxed text might be the easiest way to ensure both brevity and completion. It’s increasingly something designers want to do away with, and some pretty clever solutions have been suggested for the problem.

While “illustrate everything” is largely cost and labor prohibitive, it’s not out of the question to have illustrations of key moments. Many 1st edition adventures actually contained pages of illustrations, so this is a longstanding tradition. If you as DM have a bit of artistic talent, you could sketch illustrations of a number of locations. Even if you do, it may be helpful to draw quick map-illustrations to give an idea of space.

Bullet-point lists are sometimes used to ensure that the most important points can be referenced. This gives the DM freedom to improvise in whatever manner they believe will appeal to their group. It further offers the option to present the information in novel ways, perhaps addressing each character in turn, giving the environment bit-by-bit as part of a narrative. Perhaps giving a skeletal overview with a quick note to nudge the players toward the most important elements. Perhaps suggesting skill checks the player characters could make to notice additional things about the environment.

Some give a general description of the area and leave it to the DM to decide how to present it and what elements to include. In the spirit of our “typical suburban kitchen” example, they might choose to use that description as a springing-off point and mention the cute, chicken themed porcelain vessels for fruit, salt, pepper and butter. Perhaps include in the description the smell of fresh baked bread. Perhaps note the thin layer of dust accross everything from chronic disuse. With a single well-chosen addition, the entire mood of an environment can be changed.

Concerns about your player’s attention spans can be addressed, in part, by encouraging back and forth. Give a pregnant pause to allow a player to ask a question clarifying description. Give the villain some James Bond style back-and-forth with the heroes. Let them interact. One of the greatest parts of roleplaying is the collaborative storytelling, and encouraging collaboration will almost always be met with appreciation by your players.

I’d like to do an episode on collaborative games, both those with and without a referee role (or even the rare ones that have only one player role). For now, I want to leave you with the idea that it’s not necessarily scripting that is the problem, but inflexibility, especially as it skews you towards verbosity.

Today’s episode is about the small portable parts of RPGs – mechanics (the individual rules that can be separated out), the subsystems (expansions to existing mechanics within a game) and the minigames (games within a game). Understanding what they are and what the overall effect of them together is an important step if you have ambitions of customizing or developing your own game.

I did a bit of research, and I’m pretty sure that the first mini game in a CRPG ever was Ultima I‘s Space Ace segment, which, while not optional, was a complete departure from the gameplay. I never finished Ultima I, so I don’t remember that part (which comes fairly late in the game) at all. The first CRPG that I remember playing with mini games was Legacy of the Ancients, which featured a version of Liar’s Dice, Blackjack (dealer stands on all 16’s and wins pushes; no splitting, double down 10 only), two different variations of the meteor shooting part of Cosmic Ark, and pachinko. Wow. Genuinely wow.

If there is a single piece of advice I can give to anyone incorporating house rules into their game, designing their own modular parts or even writing their own RPG, it’s this: don’t reinvent the wheel. Different wheels, sure. There’s nothing wrong with changing it up and making something your own, but in most cases if you have an idea, you can start with something that already exists and make the modifications that work best for your game.

The most obvious example of well established landscapes in gaming is the core resolution mechanic: I’m really hard-pressed to think of a genuinely new core mechanic that’s been introduces in a long time. The most common ones are target number systems and dice pool systems. There’s a LOT of variations within those themes, mind you, but nearly every dice-based RPG can be split into those two. Why? Because they work. Because they have both deep and shallow curves for understanding them (that is, you can analyze them deeply for a sophisticated understanding of the probabilities, but even casual players can understand what gives them actual advantages and can, through fairly simple reasoning, figure out what pool / roll is more likely to succeed than another). They’re fairly simple to teach. They have the best of everything.

If you came up with a truly original dice-based core resolution mechanic, I suspect it would fail on one of these points. There would, for example, be a counter-intuitive (or mathematically unreasonable) curve. The system might be difficult to understand. The system might be difficult to teach. If you manage to avoid these pitfalls, however, it’s absolutely certain that other people would create their own versions of your mechanic and, when it finally becomes just another part of the RPG landscape, you would know that you really created something worthwhile.

Most well-known mechanics fall into this category of striking a balance between realism, ease of learning and providing a satisfying game experience. Hit points don’t really represent the way injuries work in real life, for example – in most cases, bloodloss is bloodloss, but disparate injuries don’t typically stack. For game purposes, however, the strike a balance between being realistic (you can only take so much abuse), intuitive (getting more hurt is bad, higher number good), and mathematically sound (it’s easy not only to understand the basic math behind things like hit points and hit dice, but the numbers break down in satisfying ways).

I don’t say all this as a way of discouraging or stifling your creativity. In creative endeavors, be they music, film, art or game design, the old adage is and has always been “you need to understand the rules in order the break them.” When you want to create a successful design, consider other successful designs. Try to understand what makes them successful. Decide what it is you can learn from them and find ways to apply that to your own designs, Don’t be afraid of being “unoriginal” if your idea resembles or borrows from existing sources. The majority of successful artists never tried to invent new colors, just new ways of using them.

Today on Save Vs. Rant, we’re going to talk about the kinds of people who play RPGs. No, this isn’t a dissection of gaming culture (although we may yet rant about that), but a discussion of the different motivations people have for playing RPGs. We also touch briefly on the classification of RPGs and Tabletop Games in general, but that’s yet another topic for a future podcast.

Your reason for playing games is valid.

Don’t laugh – I’m trying to tell you something important. Something that really does mean something and has a real and healthy application to your life.

Your reason for playing games is valid. And so is mine. And so is his, so is hers, so is theirs – all of us play games the way we play games for a reason, and we all want that reason to be respected and considered when we come to a table. If we’re Actors, we want an opportunity to act. If we’re Explorers, we want something to explore. The Instigators want things to do. The Slayers want challenges.

And ever since the bad old days when games were photocopies sheets stapled together by hand, people have played games the way they found satisfying. They changed and applied the rules the way that brought them and their friends the most enjoyment. They designed challenges and rewards that would satisfy and tantalize their players. They schemed plans to get a leg up on their crafty DM.

Over the Tabletop Gaming hobby lurks, at all times, a specter – the specter of gatekeeping. For many years, gamers steadfastly considered themselves a persecuted minority that kind of existed at the fringes of society, and there was some truth in that. The hobby was poorly understood and the well heavily poisoned by popular culture and the Satanic Panic of the 80’s and 90’s. Some of us let that make us resentful. Some of the bullied became bullies themselves. Some of us learned to cope with being ostracized and mocked by punching down.

As a community, gamers need to be better than that. We need to be inclusive and welcoming. While individual play styles might not be for everyone, while certain games might not be for everyone and while, indeed, roleplaying games themselves might not be for everyone, those should all be choices people make for themselves, not because they’re told they can’t be included or that their interest in gaming isn’t valid because of what parts of games interest them.

Someday – probably very soon – we will rant about prejudice in the gaming community (sadly, a rant that is both sorely needed and probably a drop in the bucket). For now, I’d like to say that for many of us, gaming has been a way to let off steam and get away from lives that saddled us with difficulty, unfair expectations, humiliation and isolation. Through gaming, we made friends, learned to face our fears, exercised our imaginations, practiced reading, writing and arithmetic and found reasons to educate ourselves on topics we may have never otherwise explored. Gaming has been a source of healing and solace for so many of us, and to deny someone else the opportunity to discover that because they don’t play the “right” way should be anathema to all of us.

If nothing else, consider playing with someone outside your usual play style as an opportunity to exercise skills you may not have yet developed. For me, one of the most satisfying things about being a DM is having the opportunity to entertain my friends – to collaborate with them to tell a story. I’ve frequently told people that DMing is really a weird sort of performance art where you try to trick a room full of people into believing that they’re playing a game, and there’s some truth to that.

Make them believe that they’re playing the game they want to play.

Today on our season finale of Save Vs. Rant, we’ll be discussing Spires of Xin-Shalast, the final module in the Rise of the Runelords Adventure path. This marks the end of our second season and the end of our examination of Paizo’s first Adventure Path set in the Pathfinder Campaign Setting.

While we have enjoyed examining this Adventure Path not least because we genuinely enjoy Paizo’s Publishing’s exemplary material, one of the things I really wanted to emphasize about it is what works and why those things work. Even if you don’t even run Rise of the Runelords or play in a RotRL campaign, there is a lot we can take from the design of the Adventure Path.

Making the player characters feel special doesn’t mean they have to be the chosen ones. Discovering that the player characters are the legendary “chosen ones” foretold by legend is, to me, one of the worst cop outs and letdowns I can imagine. Paizo made a deliberate design decision with the Pathfinder Campaign Setting that prophecy died with the god of humanity, and the future is as yet unwritten (compounded by the fact that in ages past this was not the case). That is not to say a story wherein the player characters (or someone else) are the hero or heroes foretold in legends should never be attempted, only that we don’t need that and, in my opinion, it is such a common cliche that it should be ardently and actively avoided.

In Rise of the Runelords, the player characters aren’t heroes foretold in some ancient prophecy. Likewise, Karzoug – though a master schemer with plans 10,000 years in the making – is not the villain foretold in ancient legends, and there are no dread portents of his return. His plans are unfolding due only to the opportunities he seizes for himself, not because they are

Giving the player characters a base of operations helps the campaign feel grounded. Again, this is not to say that a wandering campaign cannot be good if the player characters are rootless wanderers, only that it is an excellent illustration of exactly why this can work so well. Player characters with a base of operations have familiar territory. They know where to get their supplies, who they can rely on for information and healing, who provides them with recreation and how they can defend this place from attacks.

From the very first module of Rise of the Runelords, the player characters have the opportunity to acquaint themselves with characters that will be important later, as well as characters to which they will grow attached, making the need to protect the town all the more pressing when it is imperiled in the 4th and 5th module of the Adventure Path. The only real criticism I have for the execution in RotRL is that it might have conceivably worked better if, when the attack on Sandpoint happens in the 4th module, the attack were a bit more aggressive, but he player characters had time to organize the defense of the town.

Having explanations for unusual things doesn’t mean they have to be obvious. My younger brothers are enthusiastic fans of the Dark Souls video game series, and one of the things the series does extremely well is having an enormous amount of lore that you can mostly ignore. I played Dark Souls briefly (well, briefly for a Dark Souls player) and upon discussing it with them found out that every random enemy – every weird seemingly out of place mini boss – had a story with items, background and an implied conclusion. Characters that appeared only once – Havel, Witch Beatrice, et al – had stories and items and equipment and hidden quest lines. Similarly, you can do a kind of iceberg storytelling with your campaigns, adding details that may never come to light but that the player characters could discover if they seek them out.

In Rise of the Runelords, examples include the origin of the Black Monk and his martial arts harpies, the CR 17 river monster that shows up in the third module and Runelord Karzoug’s humble origins. None of these require explicit explanation in the course of a game, but every element in every dungeon has a reason for being there. I’ve always admired Paizo’s Adventure Paths for their ability to adhere to this design philosophy while also ensuring a rich, diverse ecosystem within its dungeon walls.

Don’t be afraid of repetition. We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: repeating elements are good. It’s easy, of course, to go too far with this – making an adventure into a single homogenous slog – but some repetition is necessary. If you always have unique monsters attacking the player characters, they will never have the opportunity to adapt their strategy. If you only throw new threats at them, your adventure will not develop a character and theme.

The presence of giants and haunts throughout Rise of the Runelords not only gives the players expectations regarding what the major threats throughout each portion of the adventure will be, but lets abilities and traits that care about monster types – such as arrows of slaying and the Ranger’s Favored Enemy class feature – feel important and not like arbitrary and largely irrelevant selections.

Have a plan, but don’t reveal the whole thing immediately. Only a select few of Paizo Publishing’s Adventure Paths tip their hat right away. Jade Regent, Wrath of the Righteous and Reign of Winter all explain the major plot arc of the adventures right off the bat, but each one more than makes up with it by making use of unexpected twists along the way. I’ll spare the spoilers here, but for nearly all the other Adventure Paths, the player characters start with a mystery or initial quest to solve, but progress through a series of Adventures that turns their relatively meager initial task into a truly world-shaking epic. Consider using this strategy when designing your own Adventures – start with a small adventure and make it crucial – but ultimately tangential – to a larger conspiracy. It may help to work backwards from your ending. I’ve always been fond of having my villains cast more than one net and for the player characters to be caught in just one of them, while the rest may be plans that go off without a hitch.

In Rise of the Runelords, Karzoug’s casino boat plan has already happened and gone off without a single hitch – the majority of a city’s inhabitants are marked with the Sihedron Rune that gives him the right to claim their souls upon death. His proverbial Mark of the Beast is already upon them, and there’s really nothing the player characters can – or even know to – do to help.

Concluding this series, consider also how natural the progression through the different challenges of the adventure feel and, notably, how even in the first module there are supernatural and extraordinary challenges, and even in the last module, there are mundane threats. Don’t rely on magic and the supernatural as your sole source for increasing the threat level within a campaign.

Jeremy tells me that my greatest act of hubris in this podcast and its accompanying blog was the decision to preface the season number with a 0, but it remains my sincere hope that you’ll all join us for out next season! Until then!

Today on Save Vs. Rant, we’ll be talking about the penultimate module in the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path: Sins of the Saviors, a module that focuses on the player character’s first true challenge to the peerless Runelord Karzoug.

Every module can’t be the best, and we at Save Vs. Rant consider this the weakest module in the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path, despite the presence of some compelling characters and interesting dungeons. The problem, as we see it, is that despite the theoretically exotic locales of the Adventure, the encounters almost all feel, more or less, like straightforward combat encounters.

Our firm belief, however, is that published adventures are meant to be customized to the needs of the DM and his group and, as such, I’d like to examine this module and consider how it might have been played differently.

The Scribbler’s Rhyme (The Shrine of Lamashtu) is largely effective. I mean, it does appear rather diabolus ex machina, but the foreshadowing has been there since literally the first module – the presence of the sinspawn and major villain touched by Lamashtu herself does hint at the presence of some underlying source of this power. Clever player characters with good memories should conclude that this is actually a very satisfactory explanation for the otherwise somewhat enigmatic intimate attention that Lamashtu pays the small, unassuming town. The Scribbler’s Rhyme, however, did confuse us a bit as we had spent the entire Adventure Path pronouncing Sihedron “sigh-HEE-dron” and the poem rhymes it with “within,” which only works with the distinct pronunciation “sigh-hee-DRIHN.” Paizo’s refusal to provide pronunciation keys remains a thorn in my side for this reason. The revelation quill minor artifact provided in that section is a great piece of powerful treasure that does something every DM longs to do – gives more or less direct instructions to the player characters on what their next lead is.

Seeking Runeforge is short and sweet, as it should be. Travelling, especially at high levels, is largely just so much filler. The white dragon is great, and should be a memorable battle. The elementals there are a great example of an encounter that is potentially much more deadly than its CR. When you’re fighting on the side of a cliff, being pushed around is a much bigger deal than at sea level.

Runeforge really needs to be discussed in sections. We’ll go in the order of the module. I felt one of the greatest weaknesses of this section was failure to treat each of the different sins as being paramount to the location in question. Almost all of them devolve, more or less immediately, into combat encounters. This really does a disservice not only thematically, but in giving the player characters opportunity to explore the themes of the different sections.

The Abjurant Halls of Envy have something truly unique in them that I wish had featured more in Pathfinder in general: the substance ethillium, a distillation of magic power that is a universal fuel for creating magic items. The original module offered it as a way to reduce XP cost, but, as Pathfinder did away with XP costs for magic items, the Anniversary Edition made it instead improve the Craft check and reduce the creation time (cumulatively if you drink additional doses). Ethillium is, apparently, distilled from magic items (possibly through some sort of modified disjunction) and, thus, could fit the theme of envy quite well if explored further. The destruction of the halls feels simultaneously like a bit of a cop-out but likewise fits the theme of envy – since the mages of envy would never abide others having power, those others had to destroy them.

The major improvements that might be made are, perhaps, the presence of creatures that reinforced the theme. Maybe some monster who attempts to filch items from the player characters or a brooding imprisoned mage resentful at having had his research hall destroyed, but preserved alive (through some life-extending magic) by the others as a cruel amplification of his envy.

The Ravenous Crypts of Gluttony are a pretty straightforward “against the undead” dungeon crawl, although it’s hard to see the theme of gluttony from the monsters in question. There are references to cannibalism and wine present, but despite the necromantic nature of gluttony magic in ancient Thassalon, it seems like there should be, y’know, actual indulgence happening here. Beyond that, why are there actual tombs for actual dead people here? Why would any corpses be interred in a chamber dedicated to necromancy? Why are there only two truly intelligent undead present? I get that there’s been an ongoing conflict in this place for a very, very long time, but the whole point of undeath is living beyond the grave!

I get that we already had ghouls in the second installment of this Adventure Path, but when I think of the intersection of gluttony and necromancy, I think ghouls. I also think they should have some ongoing source of food for periodic feasts. If I were to write this module, I might consider H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine as a source of inspiration, with a small, peaceful group of humans kept in a utopian zoo-like paradise to be harvested sporadically for periodic feasts of human flesh. Perhaps, if I felt that was too squicky for the group in question (or that they would be uncomfortable with the idea of liberating these pseudo-Eloi, have the ghouls and their masters – in true gluttonous excess – have accidentally harvested their chattel into oblivion, leaving only the evidence of this place and its purpose behind.

The Vault of Greed does a lot right – it has encounters that don’t necessarily devolve immediately to combat, it has the greatest treasure in the entire complex (a pool that recharges magic items) and it has a mage made of pure mithril (no mention of how much his body weighs and, consequently, how much it is worth, however). It even leaves things open for the DM to add more intrigue, mentioning that the baleful polymorph spell that guards the vault transforms intruders into goldfish.

The two most potentially interesting kinds of intruder to find among the goldfish in the pools would be those creatures that had attempted to raid the vault from one of the other halls (most likely Envy, in my estimation) and thieves who, like the player characters, managed to infiltrate Runeforge but were defeated and imprisoned by this cruel trap, kept alive as pitiful creatures by the magic of this place. Both fit an reinforce the theme. One final thing that might reinforce the theme might be if the magic were potent enough to transform the goldfish to have scales containing real gold, but with some building threat to those who frivolously cast creatures into the fog to transform them for gain.

The Iron Cages of Lust are perfect. A++. 10/10. Would change almost nothing. Might put more pathetic victims in there than just Mr. Mutt. Apart from that, this section is almost perfect, provided you understand that you should tailor the level of erotic content to suit your group. And, yes, barring a group with particularly puritan sensibilities, it is my opinion that it should be necessary for them to use a bejeweled butt plug or gemstone studded strap-on to create the key magic item they need to defeat Karzoug.

The Shimmering Vales of Pride is lackluster, which is, perhaps, vaguely appropriate for vainglorious matters, but frankly somewhat disappointing. The mirror match fight with two of your doppelgangers is potentially brutal, but rather uninspired. Most notably, I was bothered by the strange contradiction that suggests that Vraxeris has already been judged by Pharasma, goddess of death, as, to my knowledge, the lore makes it clear that Pharasma never judges anyone for whom the potential remains for them to be raised from the dead, and I’m unclear on why this would take place so soon. Maybe because he cheated death and Pharasma has, thus, cheated him out of his ability to return? If so, why does speak with dead work (since it specifies in the spell description that it communicates with the creature’s soul)?

Frankly, it would be better to say that he refuses to return from the dead, knowing that his dementia was not some disease that could be simply cured, but a literal absence of information that, perhaps (but not necessarily) truly incredibly magic such as wish or miracle might cure, but that he would be too proud to ever allow another to cast on his behalf. Maybe that’s more or less what they wanted to write but just didn’t want to waste the space. It’s a tragic section, frankly, and brings to mind Ozymandias as a harsh reminder that you can’t cheat death forever.

I’d do away with his succubus simulacrums, though. I really feel like there must have been something better that could have been there.

The Festering Maze of Sloth was garbage in the original version – nothing but an un-section with no map and no content. In the Anniversary Edition, however, the vastly improved version of the maze has purpose, contains denizens and even has a simple lever puzzle. One thing that bothered me is that the choler in the room just causes damage while the other 3 humors mimic psychological spell effects. Disappointing.

Since this is a place of conjuration, it seems as though there should be a better collection of summoned monsters and, moreover, a conjurer with a plan to summon monsters if attacked. Played as written, it’s unlikely that all but the most hesitant groups will face more than the monsters native to the room.

The Halls of Wrath, finally, are on point with their theme, but only because the theme is literally “violent conflict,” which is, admittedly, not especially difficult to pull off. I’m actually very annoyed, though, that there’s a summoning portal here, given that conjuration is an opposition school of wrath. I understand, of course, that they could have bullied other mages into making it, but it still seems pretty solidly out of theme.

Of all the sections of the complex, this is the only one that really suggests a sense of non-immortal continuity, in the ritualistic breeding and sacrifice cycle of the warriors of wrath. Once again, kind of squicky – 10,000 year old complexes dedicated to the study of sin-based magic are bound to be somewhat squicky – but interesting contrast against the other sections that are mostly one or two immortal / trans-mortal / ab-mortal mages and their legacies.

The culmination of all this – forging weapons at the runeforge itself – ends with a sadly anticlimactic battle against a golem that might have been better served as a battle with some sort of pseudo-avatar of Karzoug himself, which might serve as a combat foreshadowing of his powers and abilities to give the PCs a sense of what to expect when they finally face him.

All in all, the module isn’t bad, it’s merely flawed, and conspicuous in its weakness against the others in the series. I’m uncertain why, but 5th modules in Paizo Adventure Paths tend to be either the weakest (as in this case and Kingmaker) or the strongest (as in Reign of Winter, Legacy of Fire and Iron Gods). And don’t give me that crap about taste being subjective – I have an uncanny knack for knowing if a thing is good by reading it and, before you ask, yes, it’s a mixed blessing.

Next up, we’ll examine the final Adventure and give you our final thoughts on the Adventure Path.

Continuing our ongoing examination of the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path by Paizo Publishing, the next installment for us to examine is Fortress of the Stone Giants, a combination civic defense / dungeon crawl adventure. Join us as we continue our discussion of what works, what doesn’t, what was improved in the anniversary edition and, most importantly in our estimation, what we can all learn from this masterful series of adventures.

I want to talk about travel encounters today – especially random ones. I am a fan of random encounter charts (and random charts in general) because, for one thing, they make the DM feel more like he’s playing a game and not merely the omniscient and unquestioned ruler of the game world. They can provide the DM with the opportunity to improvise and feel like an impartial arbiter, pitting the players not against them or the choices they make, but against fate, an indifferent world and the rules of the game itself.

They can also be really, really dull. Order of the Stick, one of my all time favorite webcomics, had this episode that explains how many DMs and adventures tend to approach random encounters (and travel encounters in general). Understandably, encounters that don’t advance the plot can become tedious very quickly, but their complete absence feels artificial. As such, the ideal solution, for many, is to include one – and only one – such encounter during any stretch wherein it seems like something should happen, but does not seem like that something must or should be an advancement of the plot.

As we mention in our episode today, even encounters that do align themselves with the plot of the adventure can be dull, uninspired and tedious. The biggest thing that makes an encounter tedious (and a common problem with random encounters) is the appearance that the enemy exists solely to be defeated. Nothing kills the interest in an encounter more than an enemy that is arbitrarily plopped in the player character’s paths for the sole purpose of battling it. One of these episodes, we’ll discuss random encounters in general, but for now, I want to give a quick piece of advice that I’ve found to be very helpful to me – pre-roll a random encounter or two and plan out how it fits in your adventure. Improvising encounters “on the spot” can often result in the encounter falling short or being disjoined. If you’re not yet completely comfortable improvising compelling encounters that feel like they “belong” in the adventure on the spot, using a random encounter table as a constraint on your encounter building can be a great way to hone your skills without putting undue – and unwelcome – pressure on yourself. No, the encounter with a small group of hill giants doesn’t necessarily relate directly to the dragon hunt the player characters may be on, but it’s a lot more interesting if you plan out an encounter with, say, a group of three giants arguing loudly over an assessor’s land survey they mistakenly believe to be a treasure map than three giants who appear accompanied with the announcement “roll initiative!”

Speaking of disjoined things that don’t seem to belong, treasure, likewise, can be bland, dull and uninspired, failing to evoke the spirit and attitude of the adventure. While gold pieces, gems and other simple fungible goodsable to replace or be replaced by another identical item; mutually interchangeable. are almost always a appropriate, they may lack the appropriate mystique when exploring an alien dungeon, ancient tomb or lair of a creature with no comprehension of material wealth. For these, consider rare materials, art objects and / or things of mystical or technological significance.

Attempts have been made to create random charts from generating treasure, but these have all the pitfalls of monster encounter tables and then some, given how frequently they fail to consider the source of the treasure*. If you want to maximize the interest, try to tell a story – however incomplete – with the treasure you place in an adventure. Many of Paizo’s Adventure Paths have full backgrounds behind miscellaneous treasure – backgrounds that, in some cases, the player characters may never discover. These, however, like Hemmingway’s Iceberg theory of storytelling, allow the parts of the story that the player characters do encounter to have swaths of underlying meaning hidden in them. After the adventure is over, if you so choose, you can even tell them the truth behind the treasure they encounter.

One example that comes immediately to mind is the inclusion of one of the sculptures created by Ayavah the tiefling in the Kingmaker Adventure Path. Ayavah specializes in sculptures of succubi entwined in erotic poses, and a miscellaneous piece of treasure in the path is one such sculpture, fashioned into a rather salacious belt buckle. Ayavah is never explicitly mentioned in the Adventure Path, but as a known character in the Pathfinder Campaign Setting, her handiwork is an amusing Easter Egg. Also, in the same Adventure Path, a set of Ustalavi dishes, intended as a wedding gift for a wedding they never made it to, appear with the remains of the delivery boy. These miscellaneous treasures have weight beyond their existence and, in my experience of running the adventure path, intrigue and fascinate the player characters that discovere them**.

Putting all this together, one of my favorite non-story-advancing encounters from Fortress of the Stone Giants, for several reasons, is The Black Monk. The encounter comes more or less out of nowhere – first, there’s the group of harpies guarding the tower that are inexplicably trained as monks then, within the tower, there is the tightly swaddled dread mummy flying back and forth, clashing with the party and unarmed striking them despite its bound feet and chained arms clutching a scroll case containing truly wondrous treasure. What the heck is that all about? Obviously, there’s a story there. Are the player characters going to learn that story? Who knows, but, to me, the encounter feels simultaneously very “out there” and also like something that can be understood – some part of this ancient and taboo place that makes sense in the context, but that is, nonetheless strange and baffling on the surface. “To battle: mummy monk. Carries scrolls.”

Roleplaying games have come a long way since the first sword and sorcery settings emerged, and more and more even the most inexperienced players have a solid grasp of what constitutes compelling storytelling. When adding material to a game, try to remember one of my most common mantras: there is no wasted prep time. If you don’t use something – or even some aspect of something – today, you can always recycle it for a future adventure.

Join us next time for the penultimate installation of this series, Sins of the Saviors.

Today on Save Vs. Rant, we’re continuing our series on the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path by Paizo Publishing with the third module in the series – The Hook Mountain Massacre. Ogres and their kin, Stone Giants, townsfolk in peril and yet another ghost story await!

For those paying attention, you may note a lot of syncopated repetition, backtracking and recycled ideas in Pathfinder Adventure Paths, Rise of the Rune Lords being no exception. If and when you write your own adventure, you may be tempted to make it as unique as possible, avoiding anything that resembles another portion of the adventure. This, however, is almost always the wrong approach. Let me explain.

You may be familiar with the website tvtropes.com which analyzes the tropes at play in various media. Tropes are motifs or recurring imagery or ideas that appear in media*. Some might be tempted to shy away from or even disdain such analysis, believing (falsely) that understanding the underlying concepts behind their ideas will rob them of some artificial idea of originality. The frameworks of most themes, however, are extremely old, many finding their origins in ancient literature and religious texts. The Book of Ecclesiastes goes so far as to say, “There is nothing new under the sun,” and I strongly suspect good King Solomon cribbed that quote from some earlier philosopher.

Don’t despair! Originality is ephemera! Original characters aren’t original because they do things that no one has ever done before – they’re original because they’re a new or creative configurations of old ideas. Characters such as the casts of book series like A Song of Ice and Fire, The Lord of the Rings or The Hunger Games can be disassembled to their composite parts, but that doesn’t make the characters less interesting. On the contrary – we identify with characters in media because they remind us of ourselves, our friends, our enemies, our peers and the people we see in real life. The fact that they also have extraordinary characteristics – wits, charm, brilliance, skill, cunning, physical prowess – make us admire, fear, disdain or love the characters. But no reasonable person would argue that John Snow does not represent an amalgam of existing archetypes; none would say that Katniss Everdeen doesn’t have traits in common with many a heroine before her and many a heroine to come; no one is claiming that Tolkien invented dwarves, elves or even halflings (though his interpretations of these iconic mythological beings have persisted precisely because of how interesting his particular configurations of them are). In each of these cases, what we have is a memorable configuration – a strong example of archetypes that combine into a form we relate to and find interesting.

When writing a game, repeated elements give the players and their characters a chance to approach familiar situations from new angles, refining or reconsidering their tactics and feelings on them. Consider a common battle trope – the support character. Be they bard, cleric, wizard or some other type entirely, a support character provides the rest of the combatants with an edge beyond merely participating in combat. The first time players encounter this**, they are not likely to be well-prepared for it – they may simply run headlong into battle and take on each foe positionally. However, the more they encounter this situation, the more likely they are to recognize the tactical advantage of taking out the support figure first, then moving on to the enemies. Likewise, having enemies that periodically have the presence of mind to focus on the players’ own support team might cause them to recognize the need to protect these characters. Without some repetition, these themes will be lost.

Beyond combatants, layouts with familiar elements can be used to improve the overall experience of a game. Consider the sawmills in The Skinsaw Massacres. Although the player characters do not engage in combat at the first sawmill, they observe that a character has been thrown into the rotating blade to devastatingly lethal effect. This primes them to recognize the viability of this strategy when they fight the cultists in the second sawmill. This sort of foreshadowing makes the player characters feel that they can learn from their surroundings and improves overall engagement.

Beyond that, there’s thematic repetition, which primes the players to expect themes to come around full circle. These forms of repetition are excellent for creating compelling stories that improve the engagement of your players. The Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path features this sort of repetition as well – there are scarecrows that attack the player characters on the farms in the second module, and a powerful monster called “the scarecrow” later in the same module. The haunts and ghosts in that module also pave the way for the ghostly encounter in The Hook Mountain Massacre. Nearly every Paizo Adventure Path has this sort of repetition built into it, some more blatantly than others.

In the Kingmaker Adventure Path – probably my favorite and the only one I’ve run to completion – there is a repeating theme in the boss fights that I felt was strong enough that, with very little enhancement, it could be made into something truly memorable.

While originality often entails creating something that your players aren’t directly familiar with – you should try to avoid, for example, cribbing the plot of a television show, movie or novel verbatim – it’s important that the elements you include are familiar enough to allow your players to relate to them and persistent enough that they build an expectation that they will be able to overcome them not merely through good fortune or quick reactions, but also by building a toolbox of strategies and tactics that match the challenges they face. One thing we hope to inspire by covering Paizo’s excellent work in this Adventure Path is the sense that being able to proactively plan for events, battles and scenarios is a desirable outcome of using material that has some predictable elements and letting your player characters tackle challenges that they recognize at least in spirit.

Today on Save Vs. Rant, we are continuing our look at the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path with Part 2: The Skinsaw Murders. Gruesome murders, a haunted house and a vicious cult. Join us as we delve deeper into this adventure path!

Note: There is some content in this module that may be disturbing for some listeners at around the 11:34 mark. We give a content warning before discussing this material, and skipping forward about a minute at that time will allow you to avoid all discussion of the particulars of this content.

Games are not sterile. They are not apolitical. They cannot exist in an environment that does not have the potential to make players uncomfortable, sad, angry, disgusted or afraid. This is true of all games, be they playground games, card games, board games, video games or roleplaying games. Roleplaying games especially have the potential to carry emotional weight, both intentionally and otherwise. This is not, by any means, a condemnation of gaming, but, rather, something that is absolutely vital for every player to know and accept.

Abstract games such as Go, Draughts (aka Checkers), Reversi (aka Othello) and Mancala tend to have the least political / emotional weight, but even these can have subtle or underlying themes. In Checkers, for example, a piece becomes a “king” when it reaches the far side of the board, granting it additional rights (bi-directional movement) and in most versions of the game, players are obligated to make a move that “takes” a piece if such a move exists. These are, of course, pretty subtle minor influences that aren’t likely to bother (or, indeed, even be noticed by) even the most sensitive players, but they are, nonetheless, one of the ways in which games are influenced by prevailing ideas.

Non-abstract games tend to carry opinions and weight with them. Consider 7 Wonders, for example. In 7 Wonders, warfare allows you to give your neighbors a penalty and you a bonus, scoring you a maximum of 12 points throughout the game and your opponent a -3 penalty. Meanwhile, Science gives 7 points for each complete set of 3, plus the square of your number of each individual type (1 for 1, 4 for 2, 9 for 3 and so on). The message, though subtle, is clear – warfare is relatively weak and is a poor investment beyond what it takes to overcome immediate threats, while technology becomes very valuable, but only if you make a concerted effort to invest in it. Meanwhile, civic advancements are weak early on, but open you up to many more valuable ones later in the game. None of these mechanics are really tied to the concepts they represent, though. The designers could just as easily have divided warfare into an Army, Navy and Defense category and treated them exactly as they chose to treat science for scoring. They could have made science the one that gives immediate point payoffs and paves the way for additional free advancement. They could have made trade dominance over your neighboring cultures a source of points and penalties. This would have implied an entirely different assumptions about the trajectory of civilization than the one the game quietly sells you, and as such we can surmise a great deal more than is immediately apparent about the designers by considering their choices.

Even simple card games like Pairs or explicitly silly games like Exploding Kittens suggest more than we may readily notice on casual observation. The very premise of “press your luck” style games of this sort suggests that we think in terms of risk and reward. While it’s, perhaps, a stretch to suggest that Pairs’ inclusion of fruit on the cards actually suggests a hierarchy of pomes, drupes and berries, Exploding Kittens’ use of not-exclusively game terms like “Attack” and “Favor” bring to mind the idea that the players are explicitly trying to harm one another or performing tasks with the expectation of reciprocity. These, again, are subtly telling us about the author’s worldview. Even if this is NOT the author’s thoughts on attacking or performing favors for others, it is recognition that those are definitions of those ideas to which the players will relate.

And, at the most anvil-on-the-head not-even-a-little-bit-subtle end of the spectrum, lies RPGs. Not only do the designers of the game write their personal biases, politics and opinions into the game through the settings, rules, NPCs and advice in the sourcebooks, but the players and referees do so all throughout the game as they play. Consider even the decision of what to call the adjudicator of the game – in Dungeons and Dragons, she’s the Dungeon Master (because she controls the dungeon, of course!), in GURPS he’s the Game Master (because he’s running the game, of course!), in World of Darkness they’re the Storyteller (because they’re telling a story, of course!), in Monster Horrorshow, it’s the werewizard (because… what?). In each case, the designer is instilling a sense of purpose in their referee role – subtly (or not-so-subtly) telling you what you’re doing, advising you of the meaning of this game you’re playing.

When we play games, especially tabletop games and especially especially roleplaying games, we are trying to have an enjoyable collaborative experience. Outside of the most grueling competition (also an inherently political concept), the goal of a game is to have fun – for everyone to have fun, win or lose. Someone running a game has succeeded if everyone is having fun including themselves. What different people enjoy is, however, wildly subjective (even when we try to categorize our experiences into the eight flavors of fun). Some players prefer onerous challenges while others want their struggles to be fairly light. Some want deep emotional investment while others want light carefree escapism. Some want to roleplay being unsettled, frightened, disturbed and mortified while others want to be pristine adventurers. All of these speak of our biases – known and unknown, conscious and unconscious, political and personal.

You can argue this point. You can lament that games are political and long for the good old days when they weren’t (spoiler – those days never existed). In doing so, however, you are doing yourself and your fellow players a disservice. Furthermore, if you’re a DM, in forcing your players to play through games and experiences they do not enjoy, you may be harming not only your friends, but your friendships with them.

That’s why – and we definitely plan to rant about this at length at a future date – it’s important to consider what kind of content might be upsetting, unsettling or disturbing for your players (or other players, if you are not filling the referee role). Be aware of what their hard limits are – that is, what content they absolutely cannot handle – and what their soft limits are – that is, what content they find difficult to enjoy or tolerate – and what situations might resonate with their traumas, fears and insecurities. Listen. Pay attention. Don’t intentionally antagonize or test them, but, when in doubt, ask them if they’re comfortable.

Some topics are inherently taboo. While they can be included in games (and doing so can be an enjoyable cathartic experience in the right setting) you should always be wary of such topics when playing with people you do not know well. Even with players you know well and with the express awareness of these topics, things can go south very quickly. Dark, disturbing and frightening fantasies can be overwhelming. In-game grief, fear and anger can manifest as real out-of-game emotions, and when things begin to cross the line, it’s vital that everyone involved be willing to pause the action – or stop entirely – if someone is becoming too uncomfortable. Feelings can be hurt, pride can be bruised and friendships can be destroyed if limits are not respected.

An alarming number of people have adopted to the mantra “toughen up” when dealing with unsettling topics. I’ve never been to a convention or large game where someone hasn’t explained that they don’t let games bother them because they “care about facts, not feelings.” This is an inherently absurd position, given that the core of our beliefs is always going to be what we view as our ideal world, and this is intrinsically based on the world we feel we would belong in or that would be ideal in some way. It has been my experience that every single person who has told me that they allow themselves to be ruled only by facts and never their feelings has been blind to the degree to which they allow their emotions to dominate and rule every aspect of their life beyond any semblance of reason or restraint. When we recognize, acknowledge and embrace our emotions as well as our reason, we are much better able to achieve the balance that allows us channel our negative emotions and real-world frustrations into our games and, beyond merely enjoying them, learn from them.

To be clear, I’m in no way suggesting that we purge gaming of things that might cause offense, disgust, fear, anger or grief. I’m a big fan of Kingdom Death: Monster, which features deeply disturbing khafkaesque nightmare horror. I have run several World of Darkness games that included graphic violence, explicit sexual content, drug use and real-world hate and bigotry. I enjoy bleak settings like Dark Sun with its cannibalistic halflings and cruelly indifferent elves. I enjoy Ravenloft with its theme of good fighting an eternal losing conflict with evil. I don’t want to tone games down at all, I only want players to feel comfortable to explore these topics without the fear of being overwhelmed in the process. Knowing that I’ll be receptive if they say that something is approaching (or over) their limit means that they’ll feel confident to explore and push their boundaries. And if they don’t feel like they’d be comfortable with these topics at all, by all means – let’s play something else.

I mean, it’s just a game, but it’s also more than just a game.

Today on Save Vs. Rant, we’re discussing the first module of Rise of the Runelords, the first adventure in Pathfinder’s Adventure Path series set in the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Setting. Why would we review an Adventure Path from 2007 (re-released in 2012)? Not only because of the insight it gives us into the mentality professional game designers creating memorable adventures, but also as a retrospective on Paizo Publishing’s masterful Adventure Path series!

But given that this blog is not intended to just reiterate what we say in the episode, I don’t want to spend this entry gushing about the Adventure Paths. Instead, I’d like to talk about the art of Pathfinder, and what I consider to be the regrettable side effects of good art direction.

There’s a lot to be said for having a consistent art style. In a cartoon, graphic novel or other strictly visual medium, anything that diverges from a strict interpretation of the series’ art style can be jarring. Even minor variations on art styles are likely to be treated as cardinal sins by dedicated fans.

But a roleplaying game is primarily displayed in the imaginations of the players, and visual aids such as illustrations and miniatures are just that – aids, not moment to moment reflections of the events of the game. While holding to a single art style or an exacting degree of realism might be appropriate, I’ve always appreciated when roleplaying sourcebooks include the work of several artists. White Wolf’s World of Darkness series has sourcebooks that all features diversity of artistic styles. A lot of the older Pathfinder material, likewise, features artists with wildly different styles.

Compare, for example, these images of Aldern Foxglove from Burnt Offerings:

I mean, I get it. It’s hard to argue that the new version isn’t “better” art in the sense that it’s more detailed and realistic, but Arnold Tsang’s art on the left has a stylistic appeal to me, partially because it’s not an extremely detailed rendering. Partially because it has a cartoon aesthetic that makes it feel somewhat fantastic to me.

Likewise, consider these illustrations of Koruvus, a mutant goblin from the same module:

And, once again, I understand why the editor would choose to go with the illustration on the left. The one on the right goes so far as to largely disregard the design elements of a goblin (bulbous head, green skin, beady red eyes) and seems to draw some sort of deformed saggy-skinned orc-thing in its place. But one thing I do like about it is how miserable the creature seems – it’s so far lost from being a whimsically and sadistically euphoric goblin that the wretchedness of this thing is palpable.

Ok, one more:

Ok, I get it. I really do. The one on the left is almost absurdly silly in presentation, while the one on the right is largely the same character portrayed in a much more serious tone. And as a major boss in the second module, it’s understandable to want to present the character seriously. But, to me, part of what makes this interesting is the portrayal of such a serious threat to the campaign in such a whimsical costume. Honestly, both of them are dressed in ridiculous ceremonial garb, but on the right an attempt is made to portray the outfit as serious and realistic, while on the left, no effort is made whatsoever to make the over-the-top nature of the costume presentable. Honestly, I think that goes a long way toward contrasting the ridiculous appearance against the dangerous enemy.

And now that I’ve complained about consistency in art, how about I change gears and complain about the opposite of that? Pathfinder’s line of paper miniatures largely seemed to want to maintain a semi-consistent art style, featuring primarily arts with bold dark lines, lower levels of detail, heavily blended colors and relatively simple shapes, all of which compliment the idea of paper miniatures. The artists tapped for the project, however, all have substantially different approaches to this, Ashton Sperry, being my favorite, followed by Crystal Frasier, Todd Westcot, and lastly (no offense) Callous Jack. Even the worst of the paper minis products is worth using and actually pretty good, but the disappointment of my favorite paper miniature artist cycling off the project, coupled with the fact that they didn’t finish minis for several of the adventure paths was a substantial disappointment, quite frankly.

Maybe it’s my inner grognard complaining about changes being made to the face of the campaign (and my small army of paper minis). Maybe I’m weird to like unusual art styles that clash with one another. Maybe I just like seeing lots of different art styles and will use basically any excuse to see lots of different art styles. Whatever the case, I hope that unique artists and unusual art will continue to periodically make appearances in Pathfinder material – as well as that of other RPGs.

Next episode, we’ll look at the second module, The Skinsaw Murders. Stay tuned!

Welcome back to Save Vs. Rant! Today’s episode is all about miniatures, in the context not only of their own hobby, but as part of board gaming and roleplaying games.

Miniatures are a phenomenal part of gaming! Take it from us, everyone loves miniatures! Along with artistic images, they are one of the strongest sources of sensory fun to be found in gaming, be it the delicate lightness of plastic, the ponderous weight of metal or the robust satisfying heft of a wooden figure.

Even so, the quality of the casts and the sculpts has remained largely steady. While there are some outliers among both old and new miniatures for poor design, for the most part minis purchased singly are high quality. The semi-soft plastic miniatures frequently sold in blind boxes tend to occasionally be pretty terrible, but they are, for the most part, about what you would expect for the price. Metal minis have, of course, varied by sculptor and character design changes with the time (the character designs of a lot of the 2nd edition setting absolutely scream 1970’s and 1980’s) the skill of the artists has remained very solid.

In today’s podcast, me mentioned quite a few companies – particularly Ral Partha, Reaper, Games Workshop, Army Painter and CMON – several of our personal favorites. Reaper’s Bones line of affordable plastic miniatures are phenomenal and highly recommended.

Honestly, to a large extent, this episode was an excuse to order some miniatures of ourselves from Hero Forge. The resemblance is honestly absolutely uncanny. Here’s Timmy Skittles, our music producer:

Here’s Jeremy, our Jeremy:

And I’m there as well!

Honestly, they’re pretty delightful and we’re excited to add them to our collection. It’s frankly a pretty impressive service, and something that I know the gaming community immediately recognized the potential for when 3D printing was just starting to appear! It’s great to see the inevitable evolution of the technology finally come to fruition!

And just to be clear – Dark Souls the Board Game, Rising Sun and Conan the board game all have gorgeous miniatures of fantastic quality, and it’s a shame that such fantastic art should be connected to such mediocre games.