Verdande

We were playing Labyrinth Lord when we hit some downtime. I don't remember if somebody needed to step outside for a cigarette or if it was a bathroom break, but, regardless, myself and the cleric of chaos were talking about Turn Undead.

We cracked jokes about how the mighty and devout clerics made undead run away, how useless it was, and how incredibly rediculous the whole idea of every cleric turning undead was.

Then it hit me.

We'd recently been playing the Warhammer Fantasy Roleplaying Game, and one of the things that really stood out for me was the use of the wizard's sight. Basically, wizards were in tune with the ebb and flow of magic, to the point where they could detect sorcery. But this isn't the generic, flavorless "Oh, it's a 3rd level abjuration spell" of the Detect Magic spell. Hell no.

Witch sight would only tell you that greenish tendrils hang from the ceiling, or that a bluish, transparent, crystalline mesh covers that sword you just found. Maybe it would tell you that the ominous building you stand before is wreathed in ethereal fire, or that your buddy is covered in an orange mist.

Witch sight could tell you much, or it could tell you nothing. But it was always something interesting, and it does detect magic. Sort of. Sure, it's got false positives, but never a false negative. If anything, it makes the players more cautious than they might be otherwise, which is just fine considering we play Labyrinth Lord, a retroclone. Caution isn't a bad idea when no two of them have more than 10 hit points apeice.

So I've replaced Turn Undead with Witch Sight for the cleric. It fits better, especially with him being a Cleric of Chaos, and it enhances the game a lot. They've strategically used it just about any chance they've gotten, and they really seem to be enjoying the added descriptive flourishes that their characters experience.


I'd recommend adding something of this sort to just about any character who can use magic, honestly. It's a great deal of fun and really reinforces the fact that these characters are a little more sensitive, unusual, and intuitive than normal people. It sets them apart in a way that few other abilities really do.

Now, anybody who knows me knows exactly what I think about alignment, and why, and I'm sure that anybody who frequents these boards already has quite a strong opinion already.

So I'm not going to touch it. Instead, I'm going to share my ideas on how I personally run alignment.

This system is easy to use, simplistic, and provides something for everybody without forcing alignments to everybody, while still allowing those who like alignments to use them as they will.

Now, anybody who's read any of the works of Micheal Moorcock will undoubtedly know that one of the most powerful themes in his writing is that of the grand battle against the Lords of Law and the Lords of Chaos, with the Grey Lords somewhere in between, ensuring that the balance of creation and stagnation remains suitable to their grand designs.

Now what does that mean for characters?

First, an alignment of Lawful or Chaotic does not mean that the character takes a side on the stable vs. creative spectrum, or whatever it is, exactly, that people have interpreted that particular axis of 3rd Edition alignments to mean. No, an alignment of Lawful or Chaotic means that the character serves Law or Chaos, and that's it.

Secondly, alignments are only available to servants, priests, or otherwise devoted individuals. Note that this is not limited to paladins, clerics, and other game-world constructs. If your theif is a devout believer, then he can be Chaotic or Lawful, as you choose. Your cleric could be a cleric of the Grey Lords, and be neutral. It's up to you.

Thirdly, and most importantly, your alignment does not control your personality. There are grasping, cruel, avaricious Lawful people and there are rigid, pious, and chaste Chaotics in the world. Lawful and Chaotic, to use a modern world example, are like the difference between religions. There are cold-hearted Christians like there are cold-hearted Muslims or Buddhists or Wiccans, just as there are kind-hearted people. The religion they follow influences their behavior only superficially- they are still the same people they were before.

Of course, there is a little more influence as far as clerics and alignments go- Chaotic clerics often turn into raving, psycopathic madmen and Lawful clerics often turn into rigid, serious judges, but I suppose that's a topic for an entirely different blog post.

Or: Why I Never Use Alignment

Now before anybody gets the wrong idea, let it be said that this isn't one of those troll-bait, flame questions. This is a serious inquiry into the topic of evil itself. It's a big topic, to be sure, but here's one way to break it down: "What does it mean to be evil in a roleplaying game?"

Most people know what evil means, in and of itself, even if they can't define it in great, broad strokes. They'll point to rape, child molestation, mass murder, callousness, or any other factor. But what does it mean in the context of a roleplaying game, where most people aren't comfortable with the subject?

In many cases, it paints a convenient black hat on a person who is to be killed without remorse. Sometimes, the "bad guy" will wear a literal black hat, or a black, spiky suit of armor, or be a demon. Such things are certainly convenient, but are they realistic? Are they meant to be? Is a person with an alignment of "LE" or "C" (in older systems) a person who can be slain at a whim? Is that what you want to promote in your games?

And then, what does it mean when an entire race of people are "evil"? Case in point: Goblins. In 3rd edition, they were given an alignment of "LE", and then they were basically said to be mean tricksters. That's it? Apparently, all it takes to be lawful evil, on the same scale as an archdevil of the abyss who subjugates his followers under his boots and tortures people into the long, hideous sunset, is to lay traps and attack invaders and try to get lands in the same way that "good" people do- only eviller.

This one is one I can't answer alone, because I haven't used alignment seriously in decades and I've never really had any inkling of an understanding of what, exactly, alignment is to be used for. I've heard a couple arguments, both for and against, but nothing that was revelatory. Mostly it's between people who are moral absolutists and moral relativists who argue semantics and whether or not Batman or the Power Rangers are Chaotic Neutral or what-have-you.

Back to the question: What does it mean to be "evil"? What sorts of things are necessary to put the black hat on a man? What does labelling a person "evil" entail?

To me, there is no evil. Looking at paladins, I see a man who is inflexible, cruel, intolerant, violent, and possibly racist. All things traditionally associated with evil, in its most base forms. "But Mr. Crayon," one may be thinking, "that man is only inflexible in his pursuit of justice, cruel to the evil and unjust, intolerant of oppression, violent to the threats to his community, and racist against monstrous foes! He's not evil, he's good!"

Well, put it into context. Let's say you're a king who has had assassination attempts on yourself, so you're a bit paranoid. You raise taxes so as to better fund your personal spies, bodyguards, and palace. You put into place policies to limit the conspiracies against yourself, so that you can continue your rule. You waste no time in putting down the lives of those who attempt to sabotage your kingdom or the land and property of your subordinates. And yet, a paladin batters down your door, slays your guards, and puts you to the sword for oppression, tyranny, intolerance, violence, and "evil." Are you evil?

It's not for nothing that they say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.


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What do you think?



(Crossposted, as always, from Sepia Snake Sigil)

Crossposted from [Link]

Something that really irritates me, and had me stumped for the longest time in the development of my own roleplaying system was the issue of classes.

Specifically, how many should there be? What differences should they have? How much customization should they have? And so on.

Most people who have played D&D for any length of time seperate it down into four classes, who, at their core, are seperate and irredeemably different than each other. They usually name Fighter, Rogue, Wizard, and Cleric, letting such friviolities as Hexblade, Samurai, Barbarian, and the like out to rot, as some sort of combination of those few.

Putting the calls of "Bullsh*t! Bullsh*t!" away, let's look at the reasoning for these classes. Surely, there is a good reason for fighter to be there. After all, he's the big tough guy, the one who get slapped upside the head and takes all sorts of pain so the squishier guys can shoot their spells and whatever else. The theif, on the other hand, deals with locks and traps so that the party can steal better, so that everybody gets less arrows shot into them. The cleric, obviously, exists to patch the party back up, and to provide both frontline combat ability and some assistance through his magic. And the Wizard, dear wizard, he exists to fling fireballs and make everybody fly and whatever else he decides to do.

And it's all flawed.

The main flaw is that the roles are reduplicated, or in some cases entirely unnecessary. The biggest example is the theif, of course. Why the theif? Well, think about it. The theif is a character who is a relatively inept warrior whose entire purpose is to steal things and get away with it. He relies upon fighters to save his hide from the physical problems, and the wizard to help him escape from the magical ones. In short, he's a fighter minus the fighting. A warrior without the war. And why?

It's entirely possible to have a fighter who is also a theif, a man who is capable of intelligent thought and disarming traps and stealing things, who is also able to put on some armor and slash through some people. It's called a hero, this amazing man. It's a hero in the very most classical sense, ranging back to the greek Oddyseus, or possibly even the sumerian Gilgamesh.

In the systems I'd always come up with, there were basically two roles, one for each way of solving things. If you solved things with blades and muscles, then you were basically a fighter. If you were a sneaky fighter, then you were a sneaky fighter. If you used bows, then you were a fighter who preferred to be called an archer, or whatever. If you solved problems with the powers of your god or gods or arcane formulas or demon-pacts, or any other sort of mystical and magical powers, then you were a sorcerer. If you were a holy man, you're still a sorcerer. The rules didn't care about the flavor, only your abilities.

That, to me, is how a system should be. It should be rules-light, with no rules for anything other than combat. Already I can see people asking why, people telling me why rules need to be thick and heavy to cover every possible situation and how we need skills covering things like diplomacy and social skills and not putting your elbows on the table and all that "fun" stuff. That's a topic for a different post, and I promise I'll go into it then.

(I apologize if any of this is a bit unclear, I've got a headcold and am running a fever. Bear with me, please. )

Crossposted from Sepia Snake Sigil


How to Irritate your DM

There's possibly nothing worse than a disruptive player. They don't seem to understand that roleplaying is supposed to be a fun game with buddies, or, they don't seem to understand that it's a game and not a series of Monty Python jokes.

But how do you know if you're being irritating to your DM?

1) You're way too serious.
You know who I'm talking about. They come packed to the gills with magic items for every contingency, and they talk in character about everything, sometimes to the point where they dress up as their character. They're prepared for everything, and nothing takes them by surprise. Sure, they're useful when you're trying to scale the blasphemous walls of the Keep of the Underhorde, but they're not any fun to play with! You try and crack a joke or two, or talk even for a minute about a funny anecdote you have, and the Mr. Serious over here scowls at you, and ignores anything you have to say. They might even take it out on your character.

2) You're not serious enough.
This one is pretty bad, too. When you're in a party with Alkazar the wizard, Thickbeard the dwarf, and Jacob the Paladin, you're Smackdown the half-ogre wrestler who is always messing up. Or you're Slickblade the fruity bard, who, without fail, gets in trouble by looking for romance in the wrong places, gets chased out of town, or is otherwise the center of attention. We get it, you're a funny guy, but don't use your attempts at humor to upset the game or try to hog the spotlight. There's a time and place for fart jokes, and it's not when you're nose to snout with a demon.

3) You're a stereotypical character.
You're an androgynous elf with a bow who likes magic and fine things and is sneakier and prettier and quicker than everybody else. You're a dwarf with a weakness for alcohol and a big axe and a scottish accent. You're a halfling with a sling and a big nose and you're constantly stealing from people. We get it, you're a non-human. But do you have to be so boring, all the time? Not every human is the same, and you shouldn't be able to peg a demihuman, either. Maybe you're a dwarf who hates the underground, so you're a lone woodsman. Maybe you're an elf who knows he looks like a girl, so you carry around ultra-manly things and tries extra hard to be masculine. Maybe you're a halfling who realizes he's short and wears extra big boots and hats to make up for it. The point is, make an interesting character.

4) You're too atypical.
But you can carry the last point too far. When every level one character you create has a backstory ten pages long, and his own heraldry and developed ancestors and all sorts of irrelevant things, you're going to be upset when character death, a natural part of any game, inevitably occurs to him. You're going to be mad, and take it out on the DM, who has probably told you that it's more than likely your character won't make it this far. Pay attention, and don't lavish character on a guy who's little more than cannon fodder at this point. Have a few ideas, sure, but don't waste them on a nobody.

5) You refuse to follow plotlines.
Now, I'm not advocating that the DM should plot out the entire campaign ahead of time, and decide what and how the characters are going to get from point A to B, and all of that. That's a hallmark of a novel writer, and if you know anybody who relentlessly railroads you towards their grand and epic story arc, politely inform them that what they want is to write, not DM. But there's a fine line here, and I think it's here: Get along with your players and your DM, but make sure each of you is in control. What I mean by that is that you don't need to be pulled along by the nose by your DM, but if everybody but you wants to explore the Unforgiven City, don't refuse to go and cry "Railroading!" on your poor DM. Calm down, and go adventuring. That's what you're there for.

6) Refusing to make up your own plotlines.
This is probably why so many DMs feel that they need to railroad their players. A lot of players don't want to make the effort to discover new locations, or go exploring for the sake of exploring, or strike up a friendship with the Sheriff, or the wench in the tavern. They expect important characters to run up to them and tell them what they should be doing, and for kings to take a break from running a kingdom to point them towards the nearest plot hook. If you're not actively engaged in creating the universe that you and the other characters share, you're part of the problem, not the solution, and you've lost your right to complain that you're bored or that you're being railroaded.