Not quite as auspicious as Gary Gygax’s house rules, but these are the house rules we’ve developed as part of my Thracian Hexcrawl open table campaign.

Virtually all of these rules are the result of discussing the rambling inconsistencies of the rulebooks. For the first five or six sessions of the campaign, in fact, every session started by tackling a few key passages and trying to unravel their meaning (which led to many different experimentations). Over time, however, the table settled sort of naturally into a set of “standard practices”, at which point I codified them and printed up a small booklet to accompany the copies of Volume 1: Men & Magic I have on the table.

WEAPON DAMAGE

One-Handed Weapons: 1d6
Two-Handed Weapons: 2d6, take highest
Light Weapons: 2d6, take lowest

Bows
Short Bow: 2d6, take lowest
Long Bow: 1d6
Composite Bow: 2d6, take highest

Crossbows
Light Crossbow: 1d6
Heavy Crossbow: 2d6, take highest

(In OD&D, despite a lengthy list of different weapons all costing varying amounts of money, all attacks do 1d6 points of damage regardless of what weapon you’re using. This always prompted merry discussion. It gave rise to a memorable session in which a character opted, instead of buying a proper weapon, to simply turn 1 gp into 100 cp and then hurl copper pieces for the duration of the session. During this time period I read James Maliszewski’s Dwimmermount Campaign House Rules and mentioned his rule for two-handed weapons (2d6, keep highest). Everyone liked it and we quickly expanded upon the concept.)

DUAL-WIELDING

Dual-wielding grants you a +1 bonus on your attack roll. On a hit, you deal damage as per the most effective weapon. (You can’t dual-wield with a two-handed weapons unless you have more than two hands.)

HELMETS

Not wearing a helmet inflicts a -1 penalty to Armor Class.

(This was another rule prompted by consideration of the equipment list: Helmets are listed, but what are they good for?)

SHIELDS

Shields grant a +1 bonus to Armor Class (as shown on the combat tables) when they are readied. (Surprised characters do not benefit from their shields.) In addition:

Shields Shall Be Splintered: Whenever you take damage, you can opt to have the damage absorbed by your shield. The shield is splintered and destroyed, but you don’t take any damage from the blow.

Magic Shields: You can do the same with a magic shield, but the shield won’t be destroyed. Instead there will be a 75% chance that the shield will lose +1 of its enchantment.

Magic Shields vs.  Spells: In addition, you can automatically sacrifice +1 from a magic shield in order to make a successful save vs. any spell, breath weapon, gaze, or similar effect.

Special Materials:

• Dragonscale Shields: Can be sacrificed like a magic shield in order to make a successful save vs. any spell, breath weapon, gaze, or similar effect.
• Silver-Faced Shield: Functions as a magic shield against spectral attacks (75% chance of the silver-facing being ruined).

(These rules are adpated from Trollsmyth’s Shields Shall Be Splintered and Aeons ‘n Auguries’ Splintering Shields by Material. Unlike the other house rules here, I included these simply because I liked ‘em so much. The result? Unlike the other house rules, these are basically never used.

What I like about all of these house rules, however, is that they provide a simple-yet-effective method of making greatsword wielders (effectively +1 damage), dual-wielders (+1 to hit), and sword-and-boarders (+1 AC plus the splintering) all mechanically diverse and rewarding options.)

MOVE/TURN IN THE UNDERWORLD

1 turn = 10 minutes = 10 rounds = 2 moves
1 segment = 5 minutes = 1 move

1 move = speed x 10 feet
1 turn = 2 moves = speed x 20 feet
1 turn of flight = speed x 40 feet

Search a 10’ wall = 1 full turn
Listening/ESP/Clairvoyance/X-Ray = 1 quarter turn

(Check out Reactions to OD&D: Turns, Rounds, and Segments – Oh My! for a complete description of archaeological text work that was required to piece out this system.)

COMBAT SEQUENCE

• Declare Magic / Preparations
• Missiles
• Movement
• Magic
• Movement
• Melee
• Miscellaneous

All actions in a phase are considered simultaneous. If a character becomes incapacitated in a phase, they will generally not deal damage in that phase.

Surprise: Surprise allows one movement and one action.

Magic: Includes turning and most magic item use. Characters preparing to cast cannot take other actions. Any damage suffered while preparing forces a prime requisite check (modified by damage taken) to avoid losing the spell / turning.

Preparations: Retrieve 1 item, stow a weapon, draw a weapon (while dropping current weapon), pouring oil in front of you.

Missiles: Firing into melee has 50% chance of hitting a random target.

Movement: Move a number of feet equal to your speed (6” = 6 feet) or charge at twice that rate (suffering -2 penalty to AC and attacks for round).

Melee: If you’re engaged in melee, all non-melee actions (spells, missile fire, etc.) are considered a miscellaneous action and delayed until that phase. You cannot attack during melee if you are waiting to take a delayed action in the miscellaneous phase. (A spellcaster forced into melee during the first movement phase can’t cast until the miscellaneous phase, even though they were out of melee when they declared their spell.)

Miscellaneous: Includes helping wounded comrades, imbibing potions, lighting a flask of oil, etc.

Note: It is possible to shoot a missile weapon, move, move again (into melee), make a melee attack, and then drink a potion (although this would require you to be wielding a one-handed missile weapon and a one-handed melee weapon, since you wouldn’t be able to switch weapons between those actions). Similarly, one can declare a spell, cast a spell, move (into melee), and then make a melee attack (but if someone engages you in melee before the spell goes off, your casting is delayed to the miscellaneous phase and the other actions become impossible).

COMBAT SYSTEM DESIGN NOTES

OD&D doesn’t include a system for determining the order in which actions are resolved. My initial impulse was to embrace a system of simultaneous action resolution. We went through several variants of this — generally with a guideline that incapacitation favored the PCs (either striking one last valiant blow before falling unconscious or preventing monsters by dealing damage by slaying them first) — and what I discovered was that I could generally manage the system as long as the number of combatants remained relatively small.

But as group size grew — both due to the popularity of the open table and the increasing number of henchmen and hirelings — it became more difficult to juggle all of the disparate elements into a compelling narrative and game experience. This led to a fresh round of experimentation. Throughout this process I resisted the impulse to simply embrace initiative checks and call it quits (largely because I view my OD&D experiences as a chance to radically experiment with the basic game-form).

I eventually settled on this system, which is largely inspired by the Mmmmmm! System from Swords of Minaria and the Perrin Conventions. Resolution in each phase is simultaneous, but sufficiently broken up that I can manage much larger groups without losing all sense of cohesion and comprehension.

Consider this: In 1974, create water was a 4th level spell and create food was a 5th level spell. That meant you wouldn’t have magical access to a water supply until you had a 6th level cleric in the group; and you wouldn’t have magical access to food until you had a 7th level cleric. (By 7th level you’re considered a major religious leader and at 8th level you’re assumed to be founding your own churches.)

This remained true in the Basic line of the game all the way through the Rules Cyclopedia in ’91. In the Advanced line of the game, however, things shifted. In the 1st Edition PHB create water became a 1st level spell.

What does this mean? Well, it means that B4 The Lost City was a viable scenario in the Basic game, but not in the Advanced game:

Days ago your group of adventurers joined a desert caravan. Halfway across the desert, a terrible sandstorm struck, separating your party from the rest of the caravan. When the storm died down you found that you were alone. The caravan was nowhere in sight. The desert was unrecognizable, as the dunes had been blown into new patterns. You were lost.

(…)

The second day after your water ran out, you stumbled upon a number of stone blocks sticking out of a sand dune. Investigation showed that the sand covered the remains of a tall stone wall. On the other side of the stone wall was a ruined city.

The whole concept of being driven into an ancient ruin because you’re short on water pretty much ceases to be an issue. This is even more true in 3E when the already devalued create water became a 0-level orison.

But like the wings of a butterfly, the subtle shift in this single spell actually has a profound impact on gameplay.

THE WIDER EFFECT

As my old school 1974 campaign moved towards hexcrawling, my players began figuring out how to equip their characters for wilderness exploration. The hexcrawling was based around a fairly basic system (which served as the test pilot for the wilderness exploration mechanics found in Legends & Labyrinths). It’s not a mass of complexity, but it does provide a basic model for:

1. Travel Time
2. Navigation
3. Discovery

Combined with the standard systems of encumbrance and a daily requirement of food and water, the result was a fairly plausible demand for supplies (particularly if they were heading into the jungle where potable water was difficult to come by).

What they quickly discovered was that, for any journey of appreciable length, they couldn’t physically carry the necessary supplies. So they needed horses.

But horses pose a problem if you need to go spelunking. So they needed hirelings to care for the horses.

And once you’ve got hirelings watching the horses, it doesn’t take much imagination to start hiring men-at-arms to come into the dungeon with you.

All these hirelings, of course, need their own supplies. Which means more horses. And eventually pack horses. (The latter, particularly, once they started hitting treasures that they couldn’t easily haul back in a single load.)

After some trial and error, each group found their own equilibrium. But, in general, adventuring parties grew. And as the parties grew, the need for larger, more elaborate, and more rewarding ventures grew.

The reality of this dynamic is actually more complex than this, of course. (For example, I also believe the fact that hirelings are given a prominent place as a major feature of your character in the original rulebooks plays a large role in making them a major feature in old school play. Take those same rules and put them somewhere else in the rulebook and that gameplay doesn’t get as much attention.) But the need for supplies was, in a very real sense, the camel’s nose in the tent: Take that need away, the need for horses disappears. The need for horses disappears, the hirelings disappear.

And I’d argue it can actually be taken one step further: Take low-level hirelings away and you take away mid-level fiefdoms because you haven’t developed the skills or style of play necessary to gradually transition into those fiefdoms. The entire original “end game” of the game disappears.

THE LARGER METAPHOR

The other thing about create water as a spell is that it’s a small example of a larger phenomenon in D&D which is often overlooked.

Specifically, it’s an ability which removes gameplay.

I’ve spoken with many game designers who consider this to be a huge mistake. It was certainly a motivating factor in the design of 4th Edition. A similar motivation gives you the game world scaling of Oblivion.

But I, personally, think it’s great: As you play D&D, the game shifts. At 10th level you aren’t playing the same game you were playing at 1st level.

If we consider this narrow slice of the game, D&D basically used to say: “Okay, you start out exploring a nearby dungeon for 2 or 3 levels. Then you start exploring the wildnerness and you have to really focus on how to make those explorations a success — supplies, navigation aids, clear goals, etc. We’ll do that for 3-4 levels and then, ya know what? I’m bored with that. So we’ll keep doing the explorations, but we’re going to yank out all that logistical gameplay, replace it with some magical resources, and start shifting the focus of wilderness exploration to staking out fiefdoms and clearing the countryside. We’ll do that for 3-4 levels. By that time you’ve probably transitioned pretty thoroughly into realms management, so we’ll just give you this teleport spell and we can probably just phase that ‘trekking through the wilderness’ stuff out entirely.”

(Of course, it’s not really gone because the same players are running multiple PCs. So if they’re in the mood for some hexcrawling on Tuesday night, they’ll just bring out their lower level characters to play.)

You’ll find these kinds of abilities studded throughout the game. Their impact has been dulled somewhat over the years (and removed pretty much completely from 4th Edition), but this fundamental panoply of gameplay experiences continues to be a major strength of classic D&D.

This is more of a mini-reaction, but during last night’s session I was suddenly struck by something in OD&D’s description of vampires:

VAMPIRES: These monsters are more properly of the “Undead” class rather than Lycanthropes.

Whenever I read that passage, I would think to myself, “Well… yeah.”

But tonight I had an epiphany which may already be obvious to some of you: “Oh! Of course! They could be classified as lycanthropes because they turn into wolves.” (This may be because I’ve been spending a bit more time than usual around Dracula.)

Bit of a digression here: I went to see Blade II in the theater with a large group of friends and friends-of-friends. My most vivid memory of the experience comes from the car ride home, when I listened to someone in the backseat ramble on for 15 minutes about all of the different ways in which Blade II had violated the continuity of Vampire: The Masquerade.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Blade II took it’s fair share of inspiration from the milieu of the World of Darkness. But it is also self-evidently not the same setting and, therefore, not bound by its rules.

With that being said, I do think it’s interesting to note the degree to which roleplaying games encourage us to think about myth and fiction in terms of categories and quantifications.

To explain what I mean, let me digress again: We interpret all media through the lens of our previous experiences with media, a fact that I think can probably be seen most clearly when we are young (and our exposure to media limited). For example, I can remember when any new work of space opera I encountered was first understood in the context of Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy and Star Trek. Unless the author clearly established a delineation, I just sort of assumed that their universe worked like an admixture of the Federation and the Galactic Empire. This wasn’t a conscious choice on my part: It was just that my formative experiences with these works had created a lens through which other experiences were understood.

This is an effect which has been significantly diffused as my exposure to science fiction has broadened and deepened, but this doesn’t mean it’s gone away: When an author invokes the Singularity, my brain promptly plops in a whole gestalt understanding of what that means based on exposure to Vinge and Stross and MacLeod and Transhuman Space and Eclipse Phase and God only knows what else. Because it’s diffused, I think it’s easier for each work to make its unique impression upon me. But that filter of previous experience can’t be fully escaped.

So, to escape out of this recursive sequence of digressions, let me say this: Sitting in that car 10+ years ago, I could shake my head sadly at someone who interpreted all fiction through the lens of a roleplaying game. But it took this sudden epiphany regarding OD&D vampires to realize the degree to which a youth spent pouring over Monster Manuals had planted some pretty deeply rooted hierarchies into my understanding of the fantastic.

Vampires are undead.

So are skeletons and zombies. Actually, the clear-cut and categorical distinction between skeletons, zombies, and ghouls (among other things) is something else that I almost certainly owe to D&D.

And this isn’t just me. And it isn’t just limited to roleplaying games. By vector of fantasy fiction and film and computer, this stuff has seeped into the cultural gestalt.

This was something we talked about during rehearsals of Drakul: I think it’s actually impossible for any person in the modern world to fully appreciate Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

I mean, I’m generally somebody who really enjoys reading works with an eye towards their historical context: I get a huge kick out of reading Skylark in Space and realizing that this shit had never been done before. I can feel the vicarious thrill of imagining what it would be like to read that book for the first time in 1928. But with Dracula I can’t quite pull it off: I mean, I can sort of intellectually see that Stoker is very carefully hiding the true nature of Dracula from his readers and treating it as a terrific mystery. I can logically conclude that Victorian readers would be wondering what strange and horrible curse had afflicted Lucy.

But my brain just keeps thinking, “It’s a vampire.” She has bite marks on her neck? It’s a vampire. She’s experiencing acute blood loss? It’s a vampire. C’mon, let’s get with the program. It’s a vampire.

And so forth.

To make a long story short: I find the degree to which pop culture fantasy has eradicated the mystery of the mythic interesting to consider. Perhaps even more interesting is the question of how we can inject that sense of mystery (and majesty) back into our own fantasies.

The description of the original helm of teleportation from OD&D recently struck me as particularly interesting:

Helm of Teleportation: The Magic-User employing this helm must have a Teleportation spell in order to take advantage of the device. Having but one such spell the Magic-User can Teleport himself endlessly about the universe, but if he teleports some other person or object the helm does not function and the spell proper is used. Thus the helm is good only to transport the Magic-User himself. Treat as a non-protective helm if worn into combat.

(A passage which also indicates that “protective helms” should have some beneficial effect in combat, but if there’s any explanation for what the benefit would be the rules are rather silent on the matter. I’ve been thinking about applying a -1 AC penalty for missing helmets. But I digress.)

What I was particularly struck by in this passage was the similarity between its mechanical construction and the construction of reserve feats from Complete Mage for 3rd Edition. Conceptually I always liked the idea of reserve feats (allowing spellcasters to make minor magic-based contributions on a regular basis), but found the actual execution to be rather broken. (Allowing wizards to do 6d6 points of area effect damage per round with no saving throw, for example, no longer qualifies as a minor contribution.)

But it might be interesting to take properly balanced reserve-type abilities and have them accessible via magical equipment (like the original helm of teleportation). I’m particularly drawn to the image of magic wands that don’t have charges, but instead allow you to use specific spells you currently have memorized in a powered-down form.

On the other hand, maybe chewing up an equipment slot would be necessary to keep this sort of thing balanced. Or what if there was a percentage chance that you’d lose your reserve spell whenever you triggered the reserve item? In a semi-similar fashion, AD&D’s helm of teleportation limited the number of uses per day based on the number of teleport spells you had prepared. (So that the item extends your magical endurance, but not necessarily limitlessly so.)

A few interesting factoids about the Blood Shield Bandits:

1. Several of the bandits worship a giant demi-goddess named Herathka. Their cult for this near-forgotten deity stems from the ancient shrine they discovered within a secret chamber hidden in the cave complex at one of their hideouts.

2. Before riding on a raid, Blood Shield bandits will pour a little alcohol on the ground in order to appease the godlings of mischief and mischance.

3. One of the 4th level fighters wears the mummified hand of his dead brother on a strap around his neck. The bandits believe it brings them good luck on their raids.

4. The bandits maintain small stashes of emergency supplies and gold scattered throughout the region. They’re marked by the symbol of a small raven that is carved into nearby tree trunks with small, coded symbols indicating the distance and direction of the stash.

5. Arik the Bold, a bandit lieutenant, has a fascination with all things arcane and magical. He particularly enoys collecting spellbooks, even though he can’t understand them at all.

6. On the night of a blue moon, the bandits burn a taper and watch for the winding sheet: On the morn they’ll ride on a great raid in the direction of the winding sheet’s bent. (The winding bent is an old folk belief. When a fragment of wax stands higher than the candle’s flame it’s known as a winding sheet. When it begins to bend under candle’s heat, the direction it bends is the winding bent.)