Themes: Pirate

So far almost every theme I’ve written has been something from my initial list of concepts. Only two themes came about because a player wanted something specific for a character. The first is the noble and the second is this one. Both of those characters are in the same campaign, and the second season of that campaign is starting very soon. Coincidence!?


PIRATE

You were trained on the sea, but not in the mundane life of an ordinary sailor. You may have been a common smuggler, lived the riskier but more rewarding lifestyle of waterway bandits, or joined a government-sanctioned crew commissioned to stop the former. Your dream has always been to lead your own crew, and if you keep yourself alive long enough your exploits and experience will inspire loyalty in your allies and respect in your enemies.
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Themes: Entertainer

Both of my ongoing campaigns ended within the last few weeks, and we’re a few weeks away from starting the next ones. I don’t have a campaign to work on for what feels like the first time in years. It’s a weird sensation. I don’t think I like it.

But as long as I’m suffering under the burden of free time, I might as well add some of the themes I’ve been kicking around but never got a chance to write.


ENTERTAINER

You base your life around performance. You eat, sleep, and live the show, and nothing thrills you like having an audience in the palm of your hand. Whether your lute gives injured listeners the peace they need in trying times, your caustic oration spurs an army to overthrow their kind if ineffective king, or your dance attracts legions of followers to obey your every whim, you’re only truly happy in the limelight. Other may dismiss you as a distraction at best and a meaningless frivolity at worst, but you know emotions are the strongest forces there are, and you manipulate them at will.
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Campaign Songs: Contract of Barl

I’ve spoken before about our campaign theme songs, but only for a paragraph or two. Since one of my campaigns had ended recently, it’s a good time to talk about one in more depth.

The Eight Arms and the Contract of Barl is another campaign in our Edwardian-era fantasy setting. In the first campaign, one of the characters, Barl, asked to start the campaign in debt, which gave me the idea to base a story around needing to pay it. Over time that changed into something similar, where the character had made a contract with some powerful extraplanar entity, and his creditor called him in for some dangerous, immediate task. The party consists of his allies and their planar guide, searching the planes for him and trying to shoulder as much of the onus as possible without accidentally contributing to the instability of the universe.

Our campaign songs usually aren’t about the players themselves. They’re more about the villains, both because I want to set the mood and because I have some control over what they want and say and do. Sometimes they’re also about what I’d like the campaign to be about or what I think the plot is before the players completely ruin it for me. And in something that’s definitely more for me than anybody else, I try to match the rhythm of the song to the campaign pacing. Most songs aren’t a perfect fit, but some closer than others. This one was really good.
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One-Shot Characters in Ongoing Campaigns

One of my favorite tropes in media is the individual face-offs between antagonistic teams. That is, I love it when the good guys meet the bad guys, and the good guys have a genius magician but the bad guys also have one and you know they’re going to fight, while the big guy fights the evil big guy and the comic relief fights the villain’s pet wolf or something. I’ve tried to work it in my campaign several times, sometimes playing it straight like when the half-dragon orc barbarian went toe-to-toe with the eldritch giant, and sometimes subverting it like when I spent a full session establishing a rival party then killed them just off-screen to set up the real big bad. I had something like this in mind when the players in my current campaign met the minions of one of the campaign villains, and the players knew it. When the party finally caught up with those minions during a trip through Hell, they immediately requested (nay, demanded) that they split up to fight their destined battles.

Of course, a one-on-one battle is incredibly boring in Pathfinder. In my experience they’re rarely tense, clever encounters where the combatants continually one-up each other’s power and strategy. It’s far more likely that one person will run roughshod over the other because of one specific part of their build, usually mezzing, defense, or damage, in that order. A single character also loses out on all kinds of combat options, like positioning and flanking. It takes a certain, rare kind of character to make the fights dynamic, and the more you try to force them into a dynamic mold for a set piece battle, the more that battle resembles a skill challenge rather than the fight you advertised. Worst of all, while one player is fighting, the others sit around and watch.

It’s not fun because that’s not what the system is designed to do. The system, Pathfinder especially, is designed for party-on-party rocket-tag violence. If we want destined battles, we have to find a way to make them group affairs.
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Live GameScreen Available for Download

Over the years I’ve gotten several requests for Live GameScreen, the session-management software we use in our games. I’ve extolled its virtues before, and I’ve finally gotten a chance to use its networking capabilities in a campaign (verdict: …eh, but that might be something in our firewall settings). But for a good while now it’s been unavailable because the site that hosted it went away.

As such, I’m hosting it here. Technically I think I’m legally allowed to do this. You can find download links to Live GameScreen on its new page and in the header bar.

I’m also using this chance to show off our new icon hotness. The default icons with Live GameScreen are lackluster, and we know it. I’ve uploaded some new ones here. They follow a simple pattern: the icon in the middle is what’s happening to you, and the background color is its severity. A red background is a bigger penalty than orange or yellow, blue is a better bonus than green, and black means you’re probably taking damage.

All of these icons use resources from Game-icons.net, which has them available via Create Commons license, so you can use them however you want or make your own. We’ve been using custom ones for specific characters so we know when our dwarven defender is in stone stance or when our swordmage is literally on fire, and nothing quite beats laying so many penalties on an enemy you can’t even make them out any more. Give them a go.

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The Subjectivity of Quality

I’m going to start with something incendiary and explain it later: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 is a bad movie, and King Arthur: Legend of the Sword is a good one.

Our recent guest post accidentally raises an important question: what makes something good? That is, how do we determine which players, characters, DMs, campaigns, encounters, and monsters were worth our time and which disappoint? We like to say that something is good or bad, but those words don’t mean anything in a vacuum. Something must be good or bad as compared to something else. Whether that’s a set of objective qualities (a good monster has numbers within this acceptable band, because the goal is mechanical balance), a similar work (this character is like my last one, but more involved in the plot), or personal opinion (I thought this campaign was fun) depends on who’s judging it how and when, and often what they’re judging in the first place.

As I’ve said before, I don’t think I measure things the same way other people do:

I’m one of those people who judges something not by how good it is, but by how good it is compared to how good it could have been. If something exceeds my expectations I’m over the moon about it, even if my expectations are very low. If something fails to meet those expectations I don’t like it, even if it’s very popular or objectively good…when you promise me something, I set an expectation for that thing. If you break that promise, you’ve failed to meet that expectation.

The most important step here is that I set my own expectations. They may or may not be what the creator intended and they may or may not be fair, but they cover both what I want from media and what I think it will give me. This is how I determine whether something is good or bad regardless of its actual quality and sometimes regardless of my opinion of similar works. Say I play in a campaign with a loose story, constrained travel and class choices, little character growth, and occasionally blistering difficulty. These are all things I’m normally against. But if you tell me the game is based on 80s video game RPGs like Final Fantasy and Dragon Warrior, then I know what I’m getting into and I made my decision based on the things I wanted to get out of that game. Its most detrimental aspects become either ignorable or part of its charm, and its best aspects (highly variable environments and monsters, elaborate dungeons, strong power growth, and the satisfaction of killing dangerous creatures to end their arcs) are more important.

This is why I’m going against popular opinion on the movies I saw this week. Going into Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, I expected Guardians of the Galaxy, a funny team-based superhero movie about a group of highly capable people who trust and love each other despite their circumstances and who defeat incredibly powerful villains with the strength of their bond and elaborate CGI. Instead, I got an overt comedy movie that sacrifices pacing, characters, and mood to spam the audience with bad jokes hoping some of them will hit their target; about a group made of one character we’re not supposed to like, the hero who doesn’t learn anything though he pretends he does, and three characters who don’t grow in any way and mean nothing to the plot; who argue and snipe at each other until they split up ten minutes into the movie and don’t gather in the same room again until the credits; who defeat an incredibly powerful villain with the strength of pure luck and one person being equally powerful for poorly-explained reasons; with CGI so heavy it distracted from everything else. Almost everything I expected and wanted out of the movie wasn’t there, and if I had known what it was going to be I would have skipped it.

For King Arthur, however, I expected a fun-but-not-great movie about an English guy and a bunch of people around him who don’t matter so much, with a lot of sword fighting and not a lot of color, a tacked-on love story that doesn’t impact anything else, that sacrificed historical accuracy for plot where it could be justified and mood where it couldn’t, all in the style of Guy Ritchie. What I got was exactly that but with more color, no meaningless romantic arc, and a couple of meaningful side characters (and an overbearing, distracting soundtrack—nothing’s perfect). That’s better than what I expected, and I walked out of the movie thinking it deserved my money and attention.

Certainly more people are enjoying the former movie than the latter, and it’s going to make more money, and those are the measures by which we consider a movie a success. But success in and of itself doesn’t make something good and failure doesn’t make it bad. One could argue that the success is actually irrelevant, as you can make good decisions with a bad results and vice versa. One could also apply intention; if you tried to film a drama and people laughed at it, did you make a bad drama or a good comedy? How much does the critical consensus matter? What if it’s lauded by consumers you hate for a subtext you didn’t see or plan? How do we know whether something is good or bad?

We kind of don’t, because those terms have no meaning. In our circles we often use the terms “objective good” and “objective bad” for consensus that might as well be fact, but only in the context of disagreeing with them. This is the language I used in the quote earlier this post. They’re tongue-in-cheek terms that acknowledge popular opinion but also state that there’s no such thing as a truly, completely good or bad movie, or TV show, or campaign, or character, or DM. There’s just people who experience things and form opinions.

I know this seems hypocritical coming off a two-post series about how the zodar is bad and how to make it good. That’s the point. In the context of this blog, based on what I put into tabletop gaming and what I want out of it, the zodar is everything wrong with monster design. Outside of this context, who knows? Maybe somebody is flipping through D&D rulebooks from 2003 right now, coming across the zodar, and deciding it’s perfect for their campaign. They’re allowed, because what’s perfect for them isn’t necessarily perfect for me or my players. Every DM has to judge themselves and their material based not on a tangible set of universally-accepted qualities, but on what they and their players want to run and play and do and feel.

Everybody decides what they want out of something even if they do it silently and subconsciously. My opinion is based on how good something can be, so I want something that lives up to its potential. Some movies do, some don’t, and some even exceed it, because I’m fallible and my perception of their potential can be lower than it really is. My campaigns are the same way; the sandbox campaign based around difficult player decisions and moral ambiguity was bad because I made everything too vague and difficult for the players to explore or make choices, and the second The Legend of Zelda campaign was good because it gave me and the players exactly the feel and payoff we wanted from the games. Whether my players enjoy a campaign is a big factor, but it’s not the only measure that goes into it, and I know they can think a campaign is good when I think it’s bad. They have different criteria than I do, and neither of us is wrong. Those campaigns were both good and bad depending on whom you ask (sometimes when, or why). All campaigns are.

It’s why I don’t feel bad saying that a given monster is bad, or a given class, or a given movie or TV show. If I think something is as good as it should be, I’m happy. If isn’t, I’m not. As long as somebody’s opinion is reasonably informed, I don’t begrudge them dissent. The point of gaming isn’t to find the best story, stock it with the best characters and encounters, and run it into the ground. The point is to have fun, and that’s incredibly subjective.

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Underpowered: Zodar

Really, the issue isn’t that the zodar is underpowered. I mean, it is, but that’s not the problem. The problem is that the zodar is boring. It doesn’t fit into any setting, it doesn’t provide interesting hooks to the players, it doesn’t cause fun battles, it doesn’t let characters show off their powers, its own powers either don’t make sense or are used so rarely they might as well not exist, and its presence doesn’t lead to anything. Its low power level is just the cherry on the sundae. To make a worthwhile zodar we have to solve both problems at once.

I really like the idea that each zodar is a tool or highly-limited avatar of a powerful, forgotten entity. It means there isn’t one zodar, but several, possibly with different purposes and powers. It gives us some framework for giving them new abilities beyond turning their current abilities up to eleven and it doesn’t conflict with anything they’re already doing. But we don’t want to define some list of relevant personalities because they may vary from setting to setting and we want the zodar to be universal. For this reason we can’t use existing deities or anything like the vestiges from the 3.5E Tome of Magic, and I want to avoid using domains because I don’t want them to be tied to divine energies. What we need is a list of vague and mysterious forces, acting for reasons the characters and players might not entirely understand. We don’t need to name these forces, we just need ideas for them to give power and influence to zodars.

Oh, wait, that’s almost exactly the text of the opening paragraph for witch patrons. That’s perfect. Patrons are very intentionally not defined; a patron that grants healing powers could be an ancient positive energy elemental, or the primal energy of the planet itself, or even a god of healing. The source isn’t important to defining the monster’s stats, only their effects. A DM is free to reskin a healing zodar as an avatar of Sarenrae or a manifestation of the universe intended to fight against undead or the first wave of a malevolent outsider trying to force the growth of life in a world that can’t handle it. The story specifics are only important in that they give the DM a seed to fit zodars into their setting, which is already more than they had.

We’ll be focusing on what this does for the zodar’s stats, using the twelve patron types in the Advanced Player’s Guide. But that can’t be the only thing we do. The creature is still underwhelming, and we have to bring it up to an expected power level for Pathfinder and late 3E D&D. Part of this is a from-the-ground-up rebuild of the creature to fit with the changes to the construct type. I really, really want to give it an Intelligence score because its mindlessness actively conflicts with everything else about the creature, but let’s assume that’s just part of its charm and we can’t do anything about it. This means it can’t meaningfully recognize and react to situations, so giving it a slew of spell-like abilities won’t serve us in any way. We have to make its powers mostly passive or automatic. We also have to address some of the meaningless slog players face in fighting it and bring its offense up to the level where it proves a worthwhile threat.

Let’s start with the existing zodar powers and see if we can’t do anything about them:

Invulnerability (Ex): A zodar is impervious to all attacks except those from bludgeoning weapons, and the enhancement bonus (if any) of such a weapon is disregarded when determining the result of the attack.

Here’s the biggest problem and the one that leads to the most frustration. If you don’t have the silver bullet to kill a zodar, too bad. If you do have it, you’re still taking forever to whittle away at it while the rest of the party stands around. And why are zodars vulnerable to bludgeoning damage? We don’t know. There’s no purpose to this ability. But it’s also the zodar’s main source of defense, so we can’t just toss it. We have to make it interesting.

What if it was variable? That is, one zodar is resistant to everything but bludgeoning, and another everything but slashing, and another everything but acid, and so on. If you want to make a full-bore puzzle boss you could even make a zodar vulnerable only to falling damage or rock salt. Also, let’s get rid of its total immunity. I’m much happier with damage reduction and regeneration; the regeneration means only one party member needs the silver bullet to disable the region so the other players can contribute, and the DR keeps it alive against players who try to hit it with a truck instead of going for the vulnerability. It can’t actually be regeneration because that’s only available to creatures with a Constitution score, so we have to spoof it somehow. We can also give it some sort of immunity to death unless its vulnerability was relevant in its defeat. That gives it a Terminator-like implacability, letting one zodar meet the party several times until they can put it down once and for all.

Burst of Strength (Ex): Three times per day, a zodar can double its Strength to 50 for 1 round (Str bonus +20).

This is the zodar’s only real offensive power and it’s quite terrible. A +13 bonus to attack and damage is great, but by the time they fight a CR 16 monster most players with Power Attack are dealing +12 damage any time they want, and there’s no difference between barely hitting a target and beating its AC by fifteen. And why only three rounds per day? This works as a sudden spike to put a bit of fear into the players, but it plays itself out rapidly.

To address this, consider where the burst of strength comes from. What if it’s channeling the power of its patron? Most of the time, the zodar is a mindless puppet half-remembering its creator’s will. For some rounds per day, it become a direct conduit to that patron’s power, gaining great strength via a temporary connection. Given that view, it really should grow in much more than carrying capacity. It should be faster, smarter, stronger, everything you expect from the avatar of an ancient power. It can even transform physically as its patron manifests in this world. We’ll need a total rewrite of the ability to do that, but we’ll keep with the spirit of the short-lived burst of power.

Wish (Su): Once per year, a zodar can alter reality as if it had just cast a wish spell as a sorcerer of the same level as its Hit Dice. None has ever been known to actually use this ability more than once in a century. Even when the effect of the wish is of great importance, it is likely to be subtle and largely unrecognized as the work of the zodar.

This can stay, but we can’t have a mindless creature making clever, subtle wishes. We’ll restrict this power only to times when the zodar is channelling its patron.

Constrict (Ex): When fighting barehanded, a zodar seldom punches. Instead it attempts to grapple normally. If the grapple attempt succeeds, then the zodar constricts its foe, dealing 1d6+7 points of damage each round the hold is maintained.

I’m wary of anything that leads to grappling, especially when that grapple does significantly less damage than straight-up punching. It doesn’t add anything to the zodar, but if we are going to keep it we need to bump up the damage to make it worthwhile.

Updating the zodar to Pathfinder rules is trivial and boring, so we won’t discuss it. Instead I want to touch on the hard part, coming up with a list of new abilities based on the patrons. The patrons have some issues when we try to apply them to our zodar. For one, they’re definitely designed for a spellcaster. The elements patron doesn’t do much besides energy damage, and endurance isn’t helpful for a creature immune to fatigue. Also, there’s a lot of overlap in patrons. Deception and trickery are two separate patrons for reasons you couldn’t pay me to understand, and a lot of what I’ve considered for endurance, strength, and transformation could have conceivably fit under each other. Third, as we said, our abilities have to be passive or automatic. That’s great for patrons like water, but not plague. We’ll have to get very creative to make those meaningful.

We can partially address this by combining our two biggest powers: the burst of strength and the patrons. Instead of just making the zodar stronger, let’s increase its defenses and intelligence too, until it’s smart enough to use active abilities and tough enough to survive until it can. Now we don’t need everything to be passive, just some of it, and during the zodar’s modified burst of strength it can act with purpose. And as long as it has Intelligence, it now qualifies for skills and feats. Technically it can swap out whatever skills and feats it wants when its Intelligence balloons, but that’s a lot of work for a DM to do on the fly, so let’s hard-code it by patron.

Here’s what we have:


ZODAR
XP 76,800
Any alignment medium construct
Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +3
— DEFENSE —
AC 31 36, touch 14 19, flat-footed 27 32 (+4 Dex, +17 natural, +5 deflection)
hp 135 (21d10+20); fast healing 25 (see invulnerability)
Fort +7, Ref +11, Will +10
DR 25/— (see invulnerability); Immune construct traits
— OFFENSE —
Speed 60 ft.
Melee 2 slams +28 (2d6+7 plus grab) +41 (2d6+20 plus grab)
Special Attacks constrict (2d6+10) (2d6+30)
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 21st)
3/day — hydraulic torrent

— STATISTICS —
Str 25 50, Dex 18, Con —, Int20, Wis 16, Cha 10
Base Atk +21; CMB +28 +42; CMD 41 54
Feats None Dodge, Mobility, Spring Attack
Skills Acrobatics +4 (+16 when jumping), Knowledge (geography) +26, Swim +15 +49
SQ patron, manifest
— ECOLOGY —
Environment any land
Organization solitary
Treasure magic items only

— SPECIAL ABILITIES —
Manifest (Ex) A zodar’s patron occasionally feels the need to work through it directly. As a swift action, the zodar’s patron can manifest in the zodar’s body. It can spend up to 1 round manifesting for every 3 Hit Dice the zodar possesses. While manifesting, the zodar’s Strength increases to 50 and it gains a +5 defection bonus to AC. A manifesting zodar has an Intelligence score of 20. The Intelligence score is considered a temporary bonus, but the zodar gains feats and skill ranks equal to its Hit Dice in two skills. These skills and feats are determined by its patron. All changes are included above in red. It can end its manifestation as a free action, but it must wait at least one minute before manifesting again.
A zodar can manifest for longer than usual for critical tasks. For every round it manifests beyond its limit, the zodar takes 25 damage. This damage counts as a weakness for the purposes of its invulnerability, which negates its fast healing. A zodar can die from manifesting too long.
Invulnerability (Ex) Zodars are unnaturally difficult to kill. A zodar heals 25 damage each round and has DR 25/— against all sources of damage. Reducing a zodar to 0 hit points stuns it for one minute, after which it regains all lost hit points. Each zodar has a specific weakness that negates its fast healing for one round and ignores its damage reduction. This weakness may be a type of damage, like slashing or acid, or it may be a material or situation, like mithral, falling, or the light of the full moon. If a zodar is reduced to 0 hit points within one round of taking damage from or experiencing its weakness, it is killed.

PATRONS
A zodar is commanded and powered by an unknown force, and some of its abilities demonstrate its controller’s power. Each zodar has a single patron that grants it abilities according to its theme. Often a zodar’s armor subtly hint at its patron, and though mindless it acts roughly in keeping with its patron’s intentional and alignment.
If a zodar has a spell-like ability from its patron, its caster level is equal to its Hit Dice and its save DCs are Charisma-based with a +4 bonus.
Agility: The zodar has an additional +10 bonus to Acrobatics checks made to jump. When manifesting it gains a +4 bonus to Dexterity and gains an additional slam attack. Skills: Acrobatics, Climb; Feats Combat Reflexes, Improved Initiative, Run.
Animals: Animal and vermin will not attack the zodar except in self-defense. While manifesting the zodar’s slam attacks become claws and it gains a bite attack. This is a secondary natural attack that deals 1d6 points of damage. Skills: Handle Animal, Knowledge (nature); Feats Critical Focus, Multiattack, Vital Strike.
Deception: The zodar is immune to detection via divination spells. While manifesting the zodar has partial concealment. Skills: Bluff, Stealth; Feats Combat Expertise, Improved Feint, Lunge.
Elements: Select one energy type (acid, cold, electricity, fire, or sonic). Any damage of that energy type heals the zodar instead of damaging it. If the amount of healing would cause the zodar to exceed its full normal hit points, it gains any excess as temporary hit points. These temporary hit points disappear after one minute. While manifesting the zodar deals an extra 2d6 points of its chosen energy damage with a successful slam attack. Skills: Knowledge (arcana), Knowledge (planes); Feats Disruptive, Dodge, Lightning Reflexes.
Endurance: The zodar gains a +5 bonus to saving throws. While manifesting the zodar ignores any ability against which it succeeds on a saving throw, even if that ability would normally have a partial effect. Skills: Heal, Survival; Feats Critical Focus, Great Fortitude, Tiring Critical.
Plague: Undead will not attack the zodar except in self defense, and negative energy heals the zodar unless that is its weakness. While manifesting the zodar causes disease with its slam attacks as the spell contagion. It may change which disease it causes each time it manifests. Skills: Heal, Knowledge (nature); Feats Great Fortitude, Intimidating Prowess, Toughness.
Shadow: When attacked, as a free action the zodar creates an area of darkness around it as the spell. It can use the ability three times per day. While manifesting the zodar can shadow jump as the shadow dancer ability. It can jump a total of 10 feet per Hit Die per day. Skills: Sleight of Hand, Stealth; Feats Blind-Fight, Iron Will, Step Up.
Strength: The zodar’s carrying capacity is tripled as the spell ant haul. While manifesting the zodar gains an additional +10 bonus to Strength checks and to Combat Maneuver Defense when resisting a bull rush, overrun, reposition, or trip attempt. Skills: Climb, Swim; Feats Improved Sunder, Power Attack, Vital Strike.
Transformation: When the zodar takes damage from its weakness, once per day it may change its weakness to a different damage type. This change lasts for five rounds. While manifesting the zodar’s size increase to Large. Its ability scores do not change. Skills: Disguise, Escape Artist; Feats Lunge, Nimble Moves, Strike Back.
Trickery: Creatures who damage the zodar with its weakness must make a Perception check to detect that its attack dealt damage. The DC is equal to 10 + the zodar’s Hit Dice + its Charisma modifier. Only the creature who damaged the zodar may make this check. When the zodar manifests it may cast mirror image as a free action. Skills: Bluff, Disable Device; Feats Blinding Critical, Catch off-Guard, Critical Focus.
Water: The zodar has a swim speed of 60 feet and has the aquatic subtype. While manifesting it can cast hydraulic torrent as a spell-like ability three times per day. Skills: Knowledge (geography), Swim; Feats Dodge, Mobility, Spring Attack.
Wisdom: The zodar has an additional +20 bonus to Perception checks. While manifesting it has blindsense 60 ft. Skills: Perception, Sense Motive; Feats Deflect Arrows, Disruptive, Snatch Arrows.


To address the elephant in the room, yes, a CR 16 monster with +41 to attack is absurdly powerful. It’s even stronger with certain patrons, like animal. I’m okay with that because there’s a tradeoff between accuracy and damage, and there always has been. The zodar punches for 27 damage on average, so it deals 54 damage on a full attack. But a CR 16 creature is expected to deal 80 damage on average if all of its attacks hit. Even at its best a zodar barely reaches the average damage for its level, and it can only do that for a few rounds per day. I’m not concerned. If a character thinks they should hang around in melee with a manifesting zodar, that’s really the character’s fault.

I’m not happy with all of the skills and feats, but I intentionally limited myself to only the Core Rulebook. I want the zodar to be accessible. You shouldn’t need a half-dozen books to play a single monster. That did leave me with a very small number of feats since I couldn’t use anything that required a class ability, spellcasting, or equipment, and I avoided “+2 to two skills” feats because they didn’t feel interesting enough. If I open it up to the Advanced Player’s Guide, which has the witch and thus the patrons, I might be able to find something more appropriate.

I did reference two non-Core spells, ant haul and hydraulic torrent. That’s because I could find nothing else better and both spells are awesome. I’m open to suggestions.

This version of the zodar is still very specific, but it’s playable. We didn’t take away its mysterious backstory or its key traits. Instead we increased both, giving it some direction instead of a nebulous hand-wave and making it a playable puzzle instead of an exercise in frustration. We can even take this and extrapolate it to lesser zodars, a reasonable challenge for mid-level characters, or greater zodars, who fling spell-like abilities and can only be slain by specific weapons or in specific places, and there are more then thirty patrons on the SRD we can use instead of the ones above. We took a random bundle of abilities and turned it into something solid enough to use, fluid enough to change, and extensible enough to fit into several settings and plots. Basically, we changed it from what it was into a proper D&D monster.

We are not, however, giving it new art. That’s expensive.

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A to Z Challenge 2017 Postmortem

As part of the A to Z Blogging Challenge, it’s a yearly tradition to write a reflections post discussing the previous month. Looking bad, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I’m already turning over what I might do next year. After a month talking about players and a month talking about monsters, I feel like it’s only right that I talk about something DM-based to finish a trilogy themed after Core books. I am hitting walls around the hard letters; I haven’t run any NPCs, or had any dungeons, or run any neat adventures that begin with X. I guess I have a year to shore that up, and if I go with my current plan to run multiple shorter campaigns I’ll have plenty of opportunities. But my main issue is that I can’t think of any topic about which I’m especially excited, and considering how this year went I may not participate next year at all.

The bad news is that there were some changes to the administration of the A to Z Challenge. Last year, there was a large list of participating blogs on the official website. Blogs were tagged with their genre (gaming, lifestyle, etc.) and participants were encouraged to find similar blogs and follow them. I searched the list at the beginning of the month, I found a few blogs I liked, and I added them to my bookmarks to watch them every day. I still follow most of them. This year, that list went away. Instead authors were asked to comment on the main blog every day with a link to their blog post, and comment on the official Facebook page, and also tweet about it with a specific hashtag.

I didn’t do any of this. I’m not on Facebook or Twitter, so anybody who posted there was completely lost to me and vice versa. I also schedule my blog posts in advance, so asking me to comment somewhere every day subverts the preemptive effort I put into making sure posts happen on time. As a result, I felt largely left out of the challenge as a whole, and it was a thing I did because it was neat rather than a thing I did because it made me a part of a larger community. I also don’t see how removing standards for finding blogs makes it easier to find blogs because in my experience things work in exactly the opposite way. There was no “gaming” tag, there was a loose association of links where I got to read through hundreds of comments looking for the one or two relevant to my interests. That puts the onus on people to find blogs they like, which was already the case before the challenge existed. I’ve had more success finding blogs with a Google search than with this year’s format.

It’s also clear things won’t be changing in the future. The end-of-challenge survey was incredibly passive-aggressive toward people who preferred having the list, and the main way to express my dissatisfaction was to click a checkbox that said “No, I don’t want to spend five minutes a day promoting my blog”. Perhaps it’s that easy for somebody who is already actively promoting themselves, but blogging is my quinary career at best. I don’t want it to be a central point of my life, and I sort of resent the implication that this means I’m not allowed to do it with everybody else. It’s like trying to run campaigns only with people who are own every rulebook and know every errata. You don’t end up with a better campaign for it, you just end up with fewer players.

But regardless of what happens next year, this year is in the books, and I’ve updated the “Blogging from A to Z 2017” page in the header in case you want to read through my lovely rhyme scheme. I’ve also added the doodles on which I fell behind, all done by my lovely wife. She’d like everybody to know she’s a better writer than she is an artist and she has a website to prove it. It only took me 280 posts to link there.

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DMing with Constitution

I don’t know how many of you remember November, when I tried to line up guest posts while I focused on National Novel Writing Month. It didn’t work out, but I did get one late in the month and now feels like a good time to use it. Today’s guest DM is somebody I’ve known since before I started gaming. He’s the other half of Story Time with Blake and Highcove and the designer of almost every session in our version of D&D Delve Night. While we agree on a lot of the structure of DMing, we differ on the methods by which we go about it, and he’s the only DM I know who runs games using a physical stat:


This is a guest post, your usual DM is tired from A-Z April so I’ll be filling in. I’m the person often referred to on this blog as “my FLGS Owner.” Fun -N- Games Hobby Shoppe; there’s a link up on the navigation bar. Today I’ll be sharing with you a little encouragement on the subject of DMing. But first: a parable.

In his article on the Definition of Charisma your regular DM leverages the meaning of having a zero in each ability score. I remember reading these in the 3rd Edition Dungeon Master’s Guide and really understanding the essence of each ability score for the first time through the meaning of its absence. Let’s take Con. If you have 1 or more Con, you are alive. You can find a real living person with a zero in every other stat; they’re usually on life-support in a hospital. But all the con-zero folks are downstairs in the morgue. End parable.

I recently discovered that I suck an DMing. I’ve been doing it for about 16 years. Longer if you count proctoring play-pretend games as a child before I really knew what role-playing was. I just ran a game in the World Wide Wrestling system, an Apocalypse World Hack. There were ups and downs, but in the end I had to finally accept the fact that I just didn’t have The Stuff™ when it comes to DMing. Some people are suited for it and some people just simply are not.

If you found yourself thinking “Me too” to that last part, this article is for you, personally.

I’m a serial outsider. If I walk into a room and there is a person, place, or thing that everybody clearly likes, I immediately look at it critically. But if there’s a noun everybody clearly dislikes, I look at it sympathetically. Con is that odd man out of the classic ability score array, the unsung hero, the roadie to a 5-man-band. HP and Fort Saves, sometimes one Skill depending on your edition. I promise this is going somewhere. When have you ever seen a PC put their highest roll in Con? Once (that was me.) Con is never the star. But dump it and see how far you get. My point? You have constitution. If you don’t feel confident in your ability to DM with charisma, or intelligence, or wisdom, I’m going to try and convince you that you can always fall back on your old friend constitution. Your con has been there all along, patiently waiting for the moment to shine.

I actually used to think I was a pretty top-tier DM: delusion of the ego. Then after my most recent campaign finished I realized that some sessions had been great and others terrible. What was the difference? There wasn’t one. Certainly nothing I did right or wrong seemed to affect the result. One day a player had a migraine, next week he was struck by profound inspiration and took the session to olympian heights of awesome. Pure Butterfly Effect. I had no control. That was my Creek Moment.

Going back over all tabletop games I had played in and run I realized that the DM never had true control:

  • One time two players who were married IRL got divorced in the middle of a campaign. That will put a damper on things.
  • Another time I was a player in a game run by this blog’s author. I spent several rounds holding back my best attack because I saw the possibility for it to be super cool and cinematically awesome if I just got the right narrative timing with the enemies and allies in the right position. Finally got my shot and rolled a 4. I was inconsolable. Session ruined. This happened 2 months prior to this writing.
  • The worst campaign I ever ran started with very high hopes. Session 4 a conflict broke out between two players. This was a home-brewed game system that lacked mechanics for intra-party violence. Cordiality broke down. There were threats of IRL violence. Some of the players in that game still refuse to speak to each-other.

How are you supposed to run a game through any of that? You can’t. Players might be in a mood before the session starts. Dice might break poorly. The game system might suddenly unexpectedly fail you. You can’t win. No amount of skill or experience can guarantee a successful session -much less a campaign. At first this realization was depressing but then I realized it’s incredibly liberating. If you can’t force success then why should you feel bad about failing to do so?

So you’re primed now. Of course the technical definition of “constitution” is related to bone density, vascular elasticity, white blood-cell count, etc. Obviously DMing with Con does not mean liquefying your players and injecting them into your bloodstream. It’s a metaphor. The way to DM with Con is to sit there in the DM chair. There’s no trick to it, just show up. Find a table full of players that seem like they expect an RPG session to happen and sit at the head of it. Just sit there breathing with your Con score of at least 1.

If that sounds lazy, you’re right. Lazy is good. Lazy is easy. Anybody can pull off lazy. You can pull off lazy.

If that sounds factually inaccurate, you’re also right. There is more to it than just sitting there. You have to prepare, make up stories and/or settings, probably roll some dice or something. There is definitely work involved. It takes strength and dex to roll dice. But we’re not talking about DMing with Strength or Dexterity, we’re talking about DMing with Constitution.

Constitution gives you HP and Fort saves. Sometimes the Endurance skill. Since this is a metaphor, let’s think of these things as social rather than physical. DMing with Con means you have the social HP to withstand expected social damage from embarrassing yourself. Fortitude saves happen when something bad is happening to you, but you don’t have to let it affect you. Endurance means you can perform strenuous activity repeatedly and continuously for long periods. Basically just let whatever happens at the table wash over you like a wave and when the session is over, leave it all on the table. Bad sessions are not your fault. Try to remind yourself that you don’t create the fun, you create the game. Fun can’t happen without the game. Creating fun is hard, creating the game is actually easy.

The core value of DMing with Constitution is to just get out there and do it. Stop wringing your hands or being afraid to embarrass yourself. Embarrassment really just means people seeing who you are when you’d prefer they see a superior illusory version: a delusion of the ego.

Lots of motivational speakers like to tell you stuff like “just get out there and do it.” And I find this logic neither compelling nor logical. If you want to try running an RPG but haven’t yet, you certainly have one or more reasons holding you back. I’m not saying those reasons are bad or wrong. If you intend to DM with Charisma, embarrassing yourself is a terrific thing to be afraid of. DM with Constitution, no problem. Let’s say you’re not confident you can design monsters well or plan a challenge that is both difficult and beatable. If you hope to DM with Intelligence, you’re boned. DM with Con, you’re golden. You can do this. Not because you are special, but because you don’t have to be.

So let’s break it down simply:

DMing with Con is about a realistic grasp of responsibility.

  • Run the game, take responsibility only for making the game itself happen.
  • If the game sucks, it’s at most like 10% your fault. The metaphorical and literal dice just didn’t break your way, no reason to feel bad. Try again next week.
  • You don’t create fun, you create a game wherein fun can happen.

DMing with Con means being tough.

  • Success or Failure is not a choice. It’s just something that happens to you when you try.
  • Failure and embarrassment only hurts as much as you let it.
  • Don’t be a coward.

DMing with Con is easy.

Despite earlier self-deprecation on the subject of my DMing skill, I intend to continue doing so, I actually have a bunch of successes already under my belt.

  • First D&D Campaign I ran was precipitated on breaking the magic item economy by giving the player’s access to every item in the game via random table. Total trash at every turn, not one good DMing decision made throughout. However, the players had a great time and to this day (16 years later) more than one of them occasionally asks if I’ll restart it.
  • First game I ran in 4th edition was a disaster, I tried to run in like it was 3rd edition because I just didn’t understand yet how 4th worked. I should have read the books better but I was just too lazy. But for all its flaws, that campaign ran for several months and ended successfully. It had a narratively satisfying conclusion and gave us some of our favorite D&D stories of all time.
  • The game I just finished had some real stinker sessions where everybody was miserable and I went home and cried myself to sleep in my wife’s arms. That is not an exaggeration. And yet still, plenty of fun had as well. Two of the players were close friends I’d always wanted to DM for and they got to play out their long imagined fantasy wrestling tag team: Bucket & Krump. That could not have happened if I did not run that game.

The Dungeon Master’s Guide, game mastery forums, and advice blogs like this can easily induce the illusion of a huge range of DM quality, as though the leagues of difference between a total noob and a master DM translates directly to player enjoyment. But think about it, does it make sense that a level 20 DM’s game is 10 times as a fun as one run by a level 2? In my experience tabletop fun comes mostly from interpersonal chemistry. Do the players get along well? Want the same things out of the game? Complement each other creatively? If so, all they need is somebody in that chair. If not -and yet they still want to game together- then sit in that chair anyway. You may not give them the game they wanted, but you’ll give them the game they deserve.

After the World Wide Wrestling campaign finished I shared my revelation (about sucking) with the author of this blog, who was one of the players. He told me (angrily) that if he didn’t think the game was worth troubling to play in every week, he would not have done it. Remember that lesson: If you say, “Hey I’m running a D&D game, wanna play in it?” then everybody who says yes is giving you permission (which remember is harder to get than forgiveness) to run the game your way, even if that way is fraught with incompetence. Just let nature take it’s course. If the game sucks, they’ll quit, and all will be right with the world. But if it’s awesome, you’ll be the hero who everyone says how great they were.

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Z’s Also for Zodar, Just Look at This Trash

One of the takeaways from April should be that you can make just about any creature interesting by putting your own spin on it, either by playing up its role in the story, subverting the players’ expectations for it, or using its stats to make something that does what you need. Now that it’s May, I’m going to throw that right out the window. Not every creature is interesting. Heck, not every creature is even salvageable. Consider the zodar.

Zodars are mysterious to a fault. Their origins are unknown. Their goal is unknown. Their methods are unknown. Their reason for being in the 3E Fiend Folio is unknown, because they don’t seem to serve any sort of purpose. They’re a haphazard arrangement of numbers and words assembled as though by manatees pushing balls with monster powers on them. I can’t rightly understand why they exist or why they would be published, and I can’t see any way to use them without scrapping so much of their stats and background that I might as well have made something up on my own. They’re a master class in how not to design monsters.

Don’t take my word for it. Look at their stats. A zodiac is a CR 16 monster, which in 3E meant it was an appropriate challenge for L14-L17 characters, and they are always met alone, so we can consider it without the benefit of allies. Let’s compare it to the sample NPCs in the Dungeon Master’s Guide, which we know are underpowered compared to actual characters. Using these NPC as an example, the zodiac’s AC is laughably low and a front-line character will hit it with his or her first attack about 75% of the time. Its attack bonus is decent but its damage is on par with a CR 4 monster; for three rounds per day it can be much scarier, but it’s still almost impossible for it to kill a L16 tank with any sort of healer support. Its hit points are objectively terrible, but it only takes damage from bludgeoning weapons, so if the party only has mundane clubs the fight becomes a meaningless slog. Besides that, it has no combat abilities and nothing that makes fights dynamic. It’s a boring monster with a boring combat strategy.

A bad monster can be saved by a good story; the zodar is not. As I said above, they exist, and that is most of what we (characters, players, and DMs) know about them. They can talk but only do do once every fifty or sixty years, and the one sentence they say is guaranteed to be important and is understood by everybody who can hear it. Sometimes they stumble upon an adventuring party and follow them around for no discernible reason, and that’s the only way they seem to interact with PCs. They don’t guard anything, they don’t hold ancient secrets, and they don’t offer any assistance.

It’s possible they’re the emissaries of some forgotten god, slowly observing and nudging history to a point where their master can return or take over. That would be a great background for them, and it would explain their once-per-year wish ability, which they tend to use only once per century in such a way that nobody even knows the zodiac did anything. But unfortunately, it’s impossible. See, despite being able to shadow PCs, speak on matters of great importance, and cast wish with intentional subtlety, zodars have no Intelligence score. They cannot think. But they’re also chaotic neutral, which means they want to advance entropy, but quietly, which they accomplish by not acting at all and not thinking about it in any way. I get the impression they needed another paragraph of backstory to explain everything, but they don’t have it, and without it they’re a mess.

When I discussed this with other DMs, one offered that zodars are a heavy-handed DM adjudication tool. They don’t help the party, they resist attempts to kill them out of spite, and they can push the players by word or deed into a specific course of action. I like them better as extensions of some godlike being, ceramic shells will no will but that imparted by a sleeping or imprisoned deity. They’re chaotic neutral because this creature is, they’re tough because they only sort of exist, and they’re standoffish because they’re being controlled via a slow, spotty mental link that gives them a lot of downtime with no commands. Whether they’re an intentional metagame bludgeon for the DM or Lovecraftian sock puppets, none of this is even alluded to within the monster entry. We have to look at the creature and invent some story for it, connecting unnumbered dots over and over until we get a shape that vaguely resembles something useful. We shouldn’t have to solve an ancient riddle before we can use a monster.

The zodar is, above all, boring, and that’s the worst thing a monster can be. No matter what backstory or purpose we invent for it, we’ve invented that. It’s because of our action, not the monster’s. The zodar itself resists all attempts to use it because of the hurdles we need to jump to give it a place, punishes characters for interacting with it through its unexplained defensive powers, demands deep investment from the DM and players, and relies solely on us to provide its payoff. It’s a thoroughly, almost aggressively bad monster.

At the beginning of the month, I asked why we don’t treat monsters more like characters, and I spent twenty-six posts giving examples of how to do it right. Luckily the zodar still fits this framework: whether it’s a monster or a character, if you see something this shoddy, throw it out and start over.

…in fact, I just might do that.

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