Wonderful Promotional Video

Well, check this out--a promotional video on the Rise of the Underdark and Lolth's schemes, and my novel Spinner of Lies, are connected. Demascus must contend with nothing less than a priestess of Lolth (even as he attempts to defeat all the ghosts of past incarnations).

Crypt of the Ninja Queen

D&D’s beating heart is its wealth of adventures. Recall titles like Keep on the Borderlands, Expedition to the Barrier Peaks, Ravenloft, the Shackled City adventure path, and Tomb of Horrors. Remember the images that modules such as Pharaoh, City of the Spider Queen, White Plume Mountain, Tearing of the Weave, and the Temple of Elemental Evil conjure. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Vault of the Drow, Madness at Gardmore Abbey, Gates of Firestorm Peak, Forgotten Temple of Tharizdun--

Ahem.

Let’s take it as given that D&D contains a mighty corpus of great published adventures, to say nothing of the millions of campaign adventures played at card and kitchen tables around the world over the last 40 years. What happened to the rest of the party after the wizard probed the lightless confines of the great green devil face by jumping through, what occurred when you woke up in a coffin to Strahd’s voice coming through the thin wood, and the aftermath of a thousand foot fall when you were clutching a cracked cask containing a piece of the sun; these and stories like these circulate around game tables, growing more epic with each retelling.

Such stories, when they include published adventures especially, serve as the nostalgic mortar that binds even disparate groups of gamers. Even if every group didn’t lose half its number to a disguised sphere of annihilation, or befriend Meepo, many encountered Acererak’s leering trap, and nudged a weeping kobold in the ribs. These shared experiences are a storied tapestry that knits even far-flung groups of D&D players together into a community of gamers.

Which brings me to Mike Mearls’ Legends & Lore column a few weeks ago, where he contemplated the idea of one hour adventures. To be sure, no one’s going to play through the Caves of Chaos in one hour, but they might clear out a cave of goblins looking for a kidnapped merchant’s son or a misplaced relic hidden in a keg of vinegary wine.

Moving forward into the next edition of the game, we’re likely to see adventures that can play out in the space of just an hour. But we’ll also some adventures that require a few hours, and some that take several sessions of play. What’s important will be the commonality of experience that such adventures can generate among the community of D&D players. If we’re smart, open to good ideas, take the time and effort to craft a wonderful set of new stories, and let’s admit it, a little bit lucky, the first few adventures may eventually take their place beside the epic legends of years past.

Individual adventures always have overarching styles, though of course the best adventures usually include several elements. For example, urban adventures are often heavy on the roleplaying, while dungeon adventures feature exploration. But I’ve certainly played urban adventures that included a lot exploration in sewers, warehouses, and manor houses, and had my share of alliance-making in the depths of mazed dungeons.

So, what elements of adventure design appeal most important to you? Pick your top three.

Urban Settings (politics between crime lords, nobles, and hidden forces)

Classic Dungeon Settings (what’s in this trapped chest?)

Episodic Design (short adventures that wrap up in 4 hours or less)

Campaign Design (multi-session adventures, all somehow linked)

Mysteries (who really killed the vault guard on Moondark Eve?)

Geographical Wonders (Castles made of moonlight and Negative Energy Plane citadels)

World Shaking Events (when the gods come to earth, nothing will ever be the same)

Horror (hunger multiplied with each new corpse that kicked shuddered back to animation)

Puzzles and Riddles (thirteen segments on the door, each inscribed with a different rune)

Traps (through the sleep mist haze, a juggernaut on rollers advances)

Roleplaying (chat up the duchess at the masquerade, and learn something of interest)

Combat (I play a dwarf fighter because I like to hew orc necks)

Exploration (the cave complex has five upper levels, and twelve lower deeps)

Story (to tell a well-crafted tale, sometimes player choice is limited)

Open-Ended (nothing is preordained, the story is up to players and their dice)

Arch Villain (behind everything, a nemesis actively works against players)

I have a different favorite element that I’ll explain in the comments

Alternatively, what elements of adventure design appeal least to you? Pick up to three.

Urban Settings (politics between crime lords, nobles, and hidden forces)

Classic Dungeon Settings (what’s in this trapped chest?)

Episodic Design (short adventures that wrap up in 4 hours or less)

Campaign Design (multi-session adventures, all somehow linked)

Mysteries (who really killed the vault guard on Moondark Eve?)

Geographical Wonders (Castles made of moonlight and Negative Energy Plane citadels)

World Shaking Events (when the gods come to earth, nothing will ever be the same)

Horror (hunger multiplied with each new corpse that kicked shuddered back to animation)

Puzzles and Riddles (thirteen segments on the door, each inscribed with a different rune)

Traps (through the sleep mist haze, a juggernaut on rollers advances)

Roleplaying (chat up the duchess at the masquerade, and learn something of interest)

Combat (I play a dwarf fighter because I like to hew orc necks)

Exploration (the cave complex has five upper levels, and twelve lower deeps)

Story (to tell a well-crafted tale, sometimes player choice is limited)

Open-Ended (nothing is preordained, the story is up to players and their dice)

Arch Villain (behind everything, a nemesis actively works against players)

I don’t dislike any of these, in moderation

I have a different least favorite element that I’ll explain in the comments

Complexity vs. Ease of Play

The great thing about 4th edition is that all the characters provide players several options. Whether you play a wizard, an avenger, a bard, or a fighter, you can choose between a number of resources with varying cost on your turn--usually graded along the spectrum of abilities that can be used every round, once per encounter, and just once a day.

The 3rd edition rule set, building on the concept of non-weapon proficiencies of 2nd edition, introduced hard-coded options into every character class via skills. Players with wizards and fighters alike chose skills during character creation, though usually they chose different ones. (Skill selection is, of course, also part of 4th edition.)

1st edition characters used a core set of rules and a matrix for determining the success of attacks and saving throws, but for the most part, characters of one class didn’t necessarily access their abilities like characters of another class. The game mechanics behind how a wizard cast her spells were in no way similar to how well a thief could hide in shadows, for instance.

With that brief overview in mind, now consider how many options a given class has when compared to the complexity of other classes within the same edition. In other words, compare the complexity of a fighter with a ranger, or a wizard.

For example, a 1st edition fighter essentially chose a weapon and armor and was good to go. On the other hand, a 1st edition paladin could detect evil, had bonuses to saving throws, could lay on hands, cure disease, and so on. A 1st edition rogue could draw upon a specific set of abilities described on a table to pick pockets, open locks, find/remove traps, and so on. Wizards and clerics could choose daily spells to prepare, while most other classes had only a few, if any, daily resources.

Ultimately, the philosophy on character complexity between older editions and the current one is starkly different--earlier editions gave some classes far fewer options than other classes. Such classes are generally regarded as easier to play, or from another point of view, more open to improvisation. On the other hand, 4th edition classes are superbly and obviously balanced against each other, and though no class is easier to play than any other by a large margin, each class does provide every player with a robust list of choices for engaging with the game.

What do you think? Choose each one you agree with.

Every class should offer the same number of options as any other.

Some classes should be easier to play than others.

Fighters should be the easiest class to play.

Fighters should have as many options as a wizard.

I wouldn’t mind seeing a class even more complex than the wizard.

I have a different opinion (comment below).

Iconic D&D Cleric

This’ll be my last blog about clerics for awhile, so let’s end on a broad question, and one that doesn’t require too much set-up: What does the iconic D&D cleric look like?

A lot of people would say a cleric is an armor-wearing mace-wielder who can heal his allies, cast divine spells, and of course turn undead. A cleric also provides moral leadership, intercedes at the temple on behalf of the group, and of course, can channel messages from on high.  This was true for many editions, and I’ve certainly seen many clerics that fit this archetype.

Things changed in 2nd edition with the introduction of the priest. It then become possible to choose a robe-wearing holy man who was less concerned about wearing armor and swinging a mace then calling down holy fire on the foes of his deity. This specialty priest served far more as a sort of semi-avatar of a particular god than earlier and more recent clerics. This style of holy character fills a somewhat similar role as the armored cleric, but trades melee for whiz-bang divine abilities, and specialization for more broad exploration and roleplaying opportunities.

Essentially, the specialty priest opened up the archetype to a much wider interpretation of what it meant to be a cleric. Is the concept of the cleric wide enough to include both, or should the iconic cleric focus on just one of these archetypes, and if that’s the case, which one?

QUESTION: What does the iconic D&D cleric look like?

ANSWERS

The cleric is an armor-wearing mace-wielder who can heal allies, cast divine spells, turns undead, and is (perhaps) a moral authority.

The cleric is a robe-wearing “prophet” who focuses on divine spells, has special god-granted powers, and is almost like a mini-avatar of his or her god.

The cleric concept is wide enough to encompass both choice one and two.

We’re actually talking two classes here, a cleric and a priest. Do them both!

Favorite Class

Let me tell you about my character. I’m playing a star pact warlock named Melech in Chris Perkins’s weekly game. Melech has learned the secret names of the stars. He’s caught a glimpse of a realm far beyond the lamps of night. Though it nearly drove him insane, he gained amazing power thereby. He can madden or terrify his enemies, scour his foes with star curses, and cast all manner of terrifying spells.

Although my preference could change over time, it wouldn’t be a mischaracterization to say that the warlock is one of my favorite D&D classes. I first played a “warlock” named Japheth as a made up class in my friend JD Sparks campaign in 1984, but “official” warlocks appeared in D&D during 3rd edition, and showed up in the first player’s handbook of 4th Edition D&D.

I happen to know that my friend Rob Schwalb has an unhealthy interest with assassins. Something to do with the staby-staby, perhaps. Assassins have been around since forever (as in, the Blackmoor supplement as a thief sub-class).

And my friend Monte Cook is enamored with Wizards. And really, who isn’t? Wizards learn magic, and with enough study, become archmages or lichs, and may even get spells named after them if they become famous enough. D&D has had wizards since the beginning, though they started the game with the name magic-users.

Throughout its history, D&D has published dozens of classes, from cavaliers to barbarians, and shamans to thief-acrobats. And you probably have a favorite. Just to keep the list of choices manageable, let’s restrict the possibilities only to classes that have appeared in a player’s handbook (and moreover, a player’s handbook that served as the initial offering of a given edition).

QUESTION: What is your favorite class from across the editions?

ANSWERS:

assassin

barbarian

bard

cleric

druid

fighter

illusionist

monk

psion/psionicist

ranger

rogue/thief

paladin

sorcerer

warlock

warlord

wizard/magic-user

A Quick Look at High Level Play

I once ran a 1st Edition D&D adventure where the player characters took a trip to the Abyss to steal the Wand of Orcus. Recommended level of play was for levels 18 to 100. Yeah, that’s right. 100th level characters. As most of you recognize, I’m referring to the module H4: Throne of Bloodstone. The three governing rules provided by the adventure for dealing with ultra-high level D&D characters were: 1) stomp on the power curve of expected character growth; 2) Strictly apply all the rules; and 3) actually, don’t apply the rules strictly--instead, weight results against the fortunes of the high level characters. They can take it.

I played in and DMed quite a few high level games during this time, using a varying mix of D&D, Rolemaster, and house rules for years, depending on the game . . . but I’ll resist the temptation to tell you about my college campaign. For now.

2nd Edition D&D brought us Skip WIlliam’s DM Option: High-Level Campaigns, which provided guidance on a variety of topics, including instructions for DM’s on how to handle potentially game-break situations and adventures,as well as new magic items, true dweomers (higher level spells than 9th level), and extended advancement charts to 30th.

3rd Edition D&D rolled out the Epic Level Handbook, an epicly sized tome by Andy Collins and moi that extended the style of play of lower levels into the stratosphere. The book also provided a bestiary of epic level monsters (including my favorites, the abominations) and a “roll-your-own” spell system that tried to provide a formulaic way for players to create spells that could do almost anything.

4th Edition brought high level play right into the core game, with expected progression from 1st to 30th described. The last ten levels of a character’s advancement includes that character’s epic destiny. Epic destinies were portrayed as if they could change the way players would interact with the game . . . but despite a lot of stirring verbiage, at the table the abilities provided by a character’s epic destiny where not too divorced from the same sort of things the character had been doing at earlier levels.

So, that’s the nickle tour of a few highlights of high level play from previous editions. If you believe some rumors, high level play is “broken” and many groups don’t enjoy it, regardless of level. I’ve probably already revealed my bias, but I’d like to find out what you think. For the sake of the question, let’s define high level play as games that occur within the last few levels of a given edition’s level cap, or games that occur within a given edition’s follow-on rulebook describing high level play.

QUESTION 1: What do you think of high level play?

ANSWERS

I detest high level play.

I like high level play on occasion, but I prefer lower-level games.

I like them both equally.

I like lower-level games on occasion, but I prefer high level games.

I love high level play.

QUESTION 2: What is your favorite (actual or hoped-for) element of high level play?

Wide open narrative possibility, granting players a chance to treat with or defy emperors and gods, and more.

Ramped up usages of the skills, feats, spells, and other abilities that I’m already used to using.

New ways of playing the game with modified base mechanics, new ways to cast spells or use powers, and new ways to show forth martial might.

Choice 1 + 2 above

Choice 1 + 3 above

Choice 1 + 2 + 3 above

None of the above

What's in a (Spell) Name?

Melf. Tasha. Bigby. Leomund. Drawmij. Otiluke. Tenser. Evard.

Other than being famous D&D wizards, what do all these folks have in common? They’ve got spells named after them of course, spells like Tenser’s floating disc, Otiluke’s reslient sphere, and Melf’s acid arrow.

D&D spells that include proper names are rich in history, both because of the real-world story behind a particular name, and the in-game myths that surround the famous wizard in question. For example, the spell (and 4E ritual) Drawmij’s instant summons was devised by Drawmij the archmage, who was a founding member of the conclave known as the Circle of Eight. And in the real world, Drawmij is of course the talented and famous Jim Ward’s name spelled backward. Jim, a player’s in one of Gary Gygax’s games, once remarked how darn useful it would be to have a spell that would summon misplaced but owned articles to hand. And so it came to be.

Spells that bear a creator’s moniker have been part of the game nearly since its inception. However, there’s an argument (given some, but not complete, heed during 4th edition design) that eponymous spells speak to a specific D&D setting. To include eponymous spells in the core game is actually anachronistic for games that take place in settings that don’t include those wizards in its history. The argument goes that in order to avoid anachronisms across all the possible potential settings DMs might create for their campaigns, all such eponymous spells should merely become spells, which would mean that Melf’s acid arrow, for instance, should just be acid arrow, Bigby’s grasping hand would be grasping hand, and so on.

The counter-argument goes something like this: Eponymous spells are part of D&D. Wizards created these spells, and to strip those iconic spells of their names is to actually do damage to the story of D&D. If a particular DM wants to strip names from spells, then she can do so simply by indicating those spells are not part of her game, or to the extent they are, different (or no) names are associated with those spells. But D&D has lore all its own, lore which is part the game’s identity, and eponymous spells speak to that. Besides, is it so hard to believe that ancient archwizard’s spells have spread via a panspermia-like migration of dimensional travelers over the millenia?

What do you think?

QUESTION

Should eponymous spells be part of the core game?

ANSWERS

No, eponymous spells should be presented with the settings they’re appropriate too.

Maybe a few, but eponymous spells should be restricted.

Yes, eponymous spells should be part of the core game because that’s what D&D is.

Yes, and in fact, add more than before! How about some spells by Emerikol, Entreri, and Blackstaff?

A Close Call with Negative Hit Points

Demascus is no slouch when it comes to swordplay, especially when he can remember his previous incarnations (when he was almost unbeatable). But that was then. Now, an ambush by a drow hunting party has knocked our hero unconscious.

He’s lucky that Carmenere the cleric is on hand with a healing spell. If Carmenere has a powerful enough spell, Demascus might not only survive, but he could be back in the fight in mere moments.

If the above scene plays out in a D&D game, the edition in which it occurs makes a big difference as to how likely Demascus is to survive. That’s true for a whole host of reasons, including the fact that in early editions, once you dropped to 0 hit points, you were dead. Later, the concept of negative hit points was incorporated into official rules, which allowed characters to linger a few rounds while unconscious and dying. The character could then be saved by a comrade with a handy potion of healing or a cure light wounds spell.

In the current edition, the number of negative hit points available to a character is larger than ever, to say nothing of the healing surges. Both of these elements have increased character survivability (some would argue too much).

But 4th Edition also introduced the concept of healing while at negative hit points that goes something like this: Any time you receiving healing, no matter how many negative hit points you have, you calculate the healing you receive as if you had 0 hit points.

For my question, I want to set everything else aside and focus on the idea that healing always brings a character to consciousness.

The reason the rule was introduced was because the designers hated it when a cleric spent her entire action healing a comrade in a previous edition, only to roll a 1 on the healing die. A dying character at –6 hit points is now at –5 hit points (though probably at least stabilized). A few more bad healing rolls might mean that character sits out the rest of the fight and sucks up the cleric’s actions in the process. In addition, it’s just easier to dispense with having to add positive numbers to negative hit points.

It can be argued, however, that the above rule is too favorable to a dying character, too “gamist” at the expense of simulation, and really anti-intuitive, breaking the rules of regular math which, come on, aren’t all that difficult. Ultimately, it could be argued that “always heal up from 0” is just not in accord with every previous edition of D&D.

What do you think?

A New Abolethic Sovereignty Review

Even though I'm enjoying writing about Demascus these days, it's great when books in my backlist get some love. So it was fantastic to see a new review of my Abolethic Sovereignty trilogy (Plague of Spells, City of Torment, and Key of Stars) by the Crimson Bastards, a podcasting and game reviewing site.

"I have read several books by Bruce Cordell but I think that the books in this trilogy might be my favorites. From the beginning the Lovecraftian vibe these books bring to Faerûn captured my attention and didn’t release it until the story was complete."

Read the full review here! http://crimsonbastards.com/2012/01/review-abolethic-sovereignty-trilogy/

Holy AND Radiant Damage?

The earth erupts, and undead stagger forth. But the cleric brandishes her holy symbol, and calls down a flamestrike on the catacomb mouth. The undead are caught in the torrent. In addition to fire damage, they’re subject to holy damage that suffuses her divine spell.

Later, the cleric and her comrades are ambushed by trolls. She directs a beam of searing light into the eyes of the biggest one, potentially blinding it with radiant damage.

The cleric’s friend the warlock, sworn to the stars, follows up with the spell glow of Ulban, which spears another troll with a blast of glittering otherworldly light that dazzles it with radiant damage.

And so on. The point to theses examples is illustrate how both radiant damage and holy damage in the same ruleset might look. Prior to the most recent edition, holy damage was the kind of damage clerics (and other divine characters) dealt when they cast certain good spells. In 4th edition, holy damage was absent, and in its place was radiant damage. However, radiant damage had bigger shoes to fill than just the original concept of holy damage--it also came to be an expression for light charged with uncommon energy, such as particularly intense light, mystical moonlight, mystical star light, and the alien light of far realms.

The question is, can holy damage and radiant damage exist in the same game?

Some believe the two damage types are mutually exclusive, because radiant damage is holy damage, just with a different name (and a little extra). If this remains true, the damage types do seem like they would be stepping on each other’s toes.

Others think that holy damage should be separate from radiant damage because “good” and “strange/intense light” is too much ground for one damage type to cover. If the ruleset wanted to contain both damage types, no vestiges of the divine would remain in the radiant type, leaving each to their own sphere.

What do you think?

POLL: Can the holy damage and radiant damage type exist in the same game?

ANSWERS:

Yes, especially if they don’t overlap.

No, they’re too close together and one should give way to the other.

Holy And/Or Radiant Damage

A minor point but one of potential interest to D&D players who've played multiple editions of the game. Can holy and radiant damage both live in the same game? (Another way to put it: can we get by with just the one and not feel like we're missing something?)

Take the poll here.

So, Yeah, "D&D Next"

I'm a day late to this party, but I hereby publicly confirm that, yes, I'm one of the designers on D&D Next (as the cool kids are calling it), a project that will likely evolve into a new iteration of the Dungeons & Dragons ruleset. We intend that these rules connect with all previous versions, and indeed, the players of those games. Our goals are big, we own that. But they're good goals, and we won't accomplish them if we don't try. We want to create a rulset that can include players of every previous version of D&D because, after all, it's ALL D&D. The essence of D&D lies outside the mechanics, and we're on the hunt to bring this goal to ground.