Back in early 2003, I started up a new D&D campaign with all new (to each other) group. I had left my previous game group because of play style differences, and decided to get a new group together. (My separation from the previous group was amiable. I didn’t tell them how badly their style was driving me up the wall — that story is for another post.) I found four players and gave them the ground rules for creating characters for my campaign.

I had in mind an epic campaign to cover levels 1 to 20, and possibly beyond. They were allowed any race and class in the Player’s Handbook. After the first game session, they would be allowed access to any material (feats, classes, items, etc.) from any of the basic expansions. This was the time of D&D “3.0”, so the basic expansions included the five core class books (Sword & Fist, etc.). They could create their characters using the point buy method, with 28 points. I also asked that everyone create a heroic character — no neutral or evil alignments, no anti-heroes, no borderline personalities. Their characters were to be true heroes. (They would be saving the world, essentially, but I hadn’t told them that yet.)

Three of the players took this just fine, and made their characters accordingly, with no fuss. But one player couldn’t be bound by such rules. First he said that 28 points was just too few to make a heroic character. He suggested 40 points. Forty points! I had never even heard such a number for the point buy method. I turned down the suggestion.

Then he wanted to know if he could make a character out of the Psionic’s Handbook. “No. Please stick to the core Player’s Handbook.”

Then he wanted to know if he could work his character toward a particular prestige class he found on the Web. I immediately said no to the class, and redirected him to the core books and the five expansion books. Then, out of curiosity, I went on the Web and looked at that prestige class he asked about. It was based around service to a “dark queen” of the forest. A definite non-hero type character class.

Then he finally settled on the cleric class. Thank goodness, something right out of the core book. He asked if he could be a priest of a specific god not in the core books. I wanted to immediately shout “No!” But I decided to take a look at the god he wanted. It was a thieving, back stabbing god of Chaotic Evil alignment. What part of “heroic character” was he not understanding. I told him no because the god was Chaotic Evil. He said, “Oh, I thought he was Chaotic Neutral.” I responded with, “And that would still be outside the guidelines I gave everyone.” But through more conversation, I did end up letting him have Fharlanghn, a Neutral god, as his character’s patron.

I should have realized this player was just going to be a continuous problem for my game. He felt his creativity and his character was restricted and gimped by my guidelines. I didn’t think my guidelines were restrictive; in fact, I was allowing 5 extra books into the game beyond the core rules. 28 points for point buy was 3 points over the baseline, and was the general rule for RPGA organized play. My only actual restriction was asking for only characters of Good alignment. None of the other players had any problems with my guidelines, so I didn’t think it was me that was causing a problem.

Eventually, we all got together for the first game session. I thought this player had finally come around to understanding and accepting my character creation rules, but I came to learn that my troubles were only starting.

I had decided to start this campaign off in media res. I figured it would help get this new group working together quickly. So I opened the first game session with a small battle. Once we rolled initiative, the cleric player (the troublesome player) announced that he didn’t have his spells ready. I’ve never seen a player with a spell-casting character that didn’t at least have something written down for his spell list; at the very least they had an idea of what they would commonly use.

Well, we waited ten minutes for the player to go through the book and find the spells he wanted to have prepared. The character was only first level, he only had five or six spells to choose, but he took his time. And I gave him time; I didn’t want to antagonize him and possibly make things worse. At last, he had his spell list ready.

We picked up the fight again. The cleric player made his first attack (ironic that he didn’t use a spell we just wasted ten minutes for him to pick out) with a whip-dagger. Whoa! A whip-dagger is not in the Player’s Handbook. It’s in one of the expansion books that I said they could use stuff out of after the game starts. “But the standard whip is weak,” was his explanation. So for this he decided to not bother me with asking for permission before breaking the guidelines. I made him lose the whip-dagger, and he chose to take the standard whip.

So he chose to not make a whip attack. Instead he chose to cast a spell: summon monster I. Oh no. This problem was completely my creation and my fault.

The campaign concept I came up with was:
Several years ago, giant gates to Hell and the Abyss had been opened known evil realms in the World of Greyhawk campaign setting. These gates had manifested a “Hell on earth” environment in the world, and the boundaries were expanding. I was starting the campaign within the boundary of the Abyssal “gatelands”. This had several effects on the world, but the only effects that would affect magic spells was that summon monster spells could only summon fiendish creatures. This was a flavor thing that seemed to flow naturally from the setting arrangement — the influence of the evil planes restricted/cut off the good planes.

I had not told the Players the set up or plot of the campaign beforehand. I wanted to reveal it in the first game session. I had this hope that everyone would go, “Whoa! Very cool plot,” when they learned it. I didn’t think they would need to know the details or minor changes, like summon monster spells, for making their 1st-level characters. I had never, in my 20+ years of D&D, ever seen anyone take summon monster spell at 1st level — the spell only lasts one round at that level. It’s almost useless with such a short duration.

Oh well, I thought the Player could just change that one spell choice to something else and we could continue with the game. But no, it couldn’t be that easy. First, the Player tried to convince me that he should be able to summon a fiendish creature. Of course, by the rules (not to mention common sense) a Good cleric cannot use Evil spells. “But if I’m using the creature for a Good purpose. . .” Eventually, he gave in.

But, it turns out that the Player had created this character as an “animal tamer.” He wanted to summon creatures and use his whip to attack enemies. Of course he never told me any of this until this moment. We’d had two weeks between our introductions and the first game session. He sent me several mails asking about other stuff, but he never mentioned his actual, finalized character idea. So, here, at last, he could point to a problem with his character that was my fault for not telling him about a campaign effect ahead of time.

We eventually got past this problem, but the self-destruct button had been pressed. All that was left till the death of this campaign was the silent countdown. And I was too stupid to recognize it.

At the time we were playing the game, I was writing the game up as a story, exactly as it happened. The campaign lasted two game sessions. You can read the story here:
The Fiendish Oerth – a D&D campaign story

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

One thing that has amazed me from the discussions on various Internet message forums about older Dungeons & Dragons (AD&D1, especially) is how two people can have such totally different experiences with the game even though they both played extensively and with numerous groups.

For instance, no group I ever played with (long enough to gain a level) ever used the training rules in AD&D1 campaigns. I never enforced the training rules, no DM I ever played under enforced the training rules, and no Player in any of my campaigns ever mentioned them.

Also, the concept of declaring actions before rolling initiative, as stated in the DMG, was completely unknown to me until this year — after 27 years of gaming. I played AD&D1 for about 15 years, with a few dozen people, and never, ever, not once, did anyone ever so much as mention that rule. And I’m not just counting groups I played with long enough to gain a level. Even the groups that I played with only one time didn’t mention or use this rule.

But I’ve met people on discussion forums who always used the training rules and declare actions rule, in every group they played with. They never knew anyone who didn’t use them.

There are some people who never saw the xp for gp rule ever used, and there are some people who always saw it used. This is a rule that can seriously alter the game experience in a major way, so someone who never saw the rule used will have a completely different memory of the game than someone who always saw the rule used.

And then there’s the difference of experience with regard to magic item availability, power levels, etc.

Yes, a lot (all?) of this stuff comes from how the individual groups and DMs ruled, house ruled, and styled their games. But how did one person encounter only DMs of a particular style, and another encounter only DMs of a completely opposite style? I know AD&D1 was often heavily house ruled, and there are some book rules that were almost universally house ruled by most groups. But how is it Player A’s experience is that everyone always used the training rules, but Player B’s experience is that no one ever used the training rules (to use just one rule as an example)?

These pervasive, diametrically different experiences just amaze me. How does it happen? Whenever someone talks about “old school gaming” different people often give contradictory descriptions:

“It was about kicking in the door, attacking the monster with wild abandon, and thoroughly looting the premises.”

“It was about approaching every door with caution, using intelligent tactics against monsters (running when the monster was too tough), and knowing what treasure to leave alone.”

Some people say that “in the old days” magic items were rare and wondrous. Others say that “in the old days” magic items were loaded in dungeons by the metric ton.

Some folks say that a DM’s word was inarguable and always accepted by Players back in the day. And others say that there was plenty of bickering, whining, and arguing back in the day.

These can’t both be true, can they?

AD&D1 had many, many styles — just look at the varied official TSR adventure modules. Compare Sinister Secret of Saltmarsh to The Village of Hommlet, or the Dragonlance series to the Elemental Evil series — each a very different style than the other. But how could a player go through 10+ years of AD&D1 only experiencing one style of the game, even after relocating, going to college, etc.?

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Many RPG players have compared high-level D&D characters with comic book super heroes. With magic spells or magic items, high-level D&D characters are so far beyond the realm of normal D&D-world characters, they are like Captain America, Superman, and other heroes with super powers. Well, that’s not true. High-level D&D characters are more powerful than even comic book super heroes.

For instance, look at Captain America: he’s basically a 20th-level fighter with a single magic item (an artifact, really). His physical abilities are all within normal human limits, although at the very maximum limits. A 20th-level fighter in D&D is going to have magic items to boost his physical abilities beyond normal limits. He’ll have magic items that allow him to fly, and resist magic and effects, and he’ll have a whole suite of magic weapons, armors, and miscellaneous gear.

Superman? A 20th-level wizard would clean his clock. Even if Superman made every saving throw roll, a high-level wizard has so many options at his command, he can easily catch Supes in a no-save spell. A single 20th-level wizard has more options, and more powerful options than the entire Justice League combined. And that’s before even considering magic equipment.
There is no argument — high-level D&D characters are, indeed, super powered characters. But they were not born with this amazing, super power. They did not get it all at once in some mutation, or freak chemical reaction, or even some magical experiment. A 20th-level D&D character worked up from 1st level, gaining power in small, incremental steps. A 3rd-level D&D character is not super powered compared to a 1st-level character. An 8th-level character is not super powered compared to a 6th-level character. A 13th-level character is not super powered compared to a 10th-level character. A 20th-level character is not super powered compared to an 18th-level character. The power did not come at a big jump. The power increase is relatively slow, gained through many adventures, over many months or years, in game time and real world time.

And this is all a good thing. There’s nothing wrong with playing a super hero-like character in a non-super hero world. If that character was built up from low level, through the normal ways — adventuring, overcoming obstacles, surviving dangers — gaining the super power levels feels natural and smooth.

A comic book super hero character usually starts his or her career with super powers. They are either born with them, or at some point they go from 1st level normal person to 20th level super hero in one jump. But D&D characters usually start their career at 1st-level hero, then work up to 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, and a long last, 20th-level hero, through a lot of work.

Comic book super heroes are usually far above all other people in the world, powerwise. You have normal people, and then you have super powered people. There’s a huge gulf between the two, like having 1st-level people and 20th-level people, and no one in between. But in a D&D world, you don’t have 1st-level normal people and then 20th-level super characters. You have a wide array of levels throughout the world. There are 19th, 18th, 17th, 16th, and 15th-level characters as well as 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th-level characters. Sure, the high-level characters will be fewer, far fewer as the levels rise, but they are there.

Only when you look at the end result in isolation from all the work up to that point does the high-level character seem strangely super powered.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I want a group of adventurers that stick together and survive for long periods of time. I want stories and plots to unfold over time. I want a bad guy the PCs fought at 3rd level to come back to haunt them at 12th level. I want plots that the PCs first saw back at 5th level to be resolved when they are 15th level. I want the PCs to learn that the minor information they learned at 8th level is actually the missing piece of a puzzle they need at 20th level. I want the PCs to have back stories in and from the actual game play.

This storytelling* is what sets RPGs apart from other games. It’s the draw that makes me prefer an adventure RPG game over an adventure board game.

I’ve never had a single PC group/story that lasted more than about 6 levels. PCs die, singly or in groups. For instance, they make a powerful enemy at 3rd level, they encounter a big plot at 4th level, they have a history together by 5th level, then they die at 6th level. The enemy, the plot, the history are all dropped as a new campaign arises. I could keep the enemy and the plot for the new campaign, but the new PCs don’t really have any in-game connection to it as their predecessors had. I tend to hope to build new enemies and new plots that the current PCs actually build in-game histories with.

Or maybe they don’t all die at one time, but rather one at a time, over many game sessions, each dead character being replaced with a new character, such that by 10th level, there’s no original PC still in the group. That villain from 3rd level, the current PCs have no real history with him. That plot from 5th level, none of the current PCs have any connection to it. That piece of info they learned at 8th level, the current PCs don’t know it.

And bringing in a new 12th-level PC to replace the dead just feels so wrong; building a character up from low levels to high levels is a major cool factor of D&D. A highly experienced character just walking onto the set with no real in-game back story, to join other PCs, just seems so against the meaning of D&D. And starting a whole group at 12th level, a whole band of very powerful characters, with no real, in-game back story, just feels so fake.

I like looking at the 12th-level PCs and knowing they’ve been through hell together since low levels, and here they are “all grown up.” I don’t like looking at the 12th-level PCs and knowing that one leveled up from 5th level, that one from 8th level, that one from 10th level, and that one is just starting new with the group today, at 12th level.

I used to be content with the rotating door of PCs in a D&D game. The story went no further than the current dungeon. The PCs’ in-game back story went no further back than last game session. But now I want long-term stories, extended in-game histories.

I know some DMs cheat the game to make sure PCs never die. As a Player, I hate that. As a DM, I find it distasteful, but I also don’t think I’m good enough to do it without being obvious. I like seeing how things play out by letting “the dice fall as they may.” But that means deaths, and the end of stories. You can’t have it both ways, apparently. You can’t let the dice fall as they may and expect a long running story with long-term PCs. Are they just mutually exclusive?

I now find myself disappointed with playing RPGs. Character death really annoys me. Might as well play a board game where nothing carries over from session to session.

[* I don’t mean a “story” in the sense of a predetermined script, but just the natural story that evolves from playing the same characters over a period of time. Dungeon crawl to dungeon crawl creates a story just as much as following a plot path. Especially when elements of earlier crawls resurface or follow into later crawls.]

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com