To understand the concept of “Mother, May I?” in RPG design, start by looking at the D&D combat system: This system is based on a complete game structure with predefined actions sorted into an initiative system. The players don’t have to ask the DM if they can attack with their sword or even how the attack with the sword will be resolved — that’s all baked into the system.

Compare that to, say, a PC running a tavern. The player says something like, “I want to get some new types of ale on tap to attract new customers.” Everything about that interaction requires the DM to make rulings: How do they find new types of ale? What types? Does this actually let them attract new customers? How many? What effect do these customers have on their business? The player is effectively going to the DM, hat in hand, and asking them to let them do the thing they want to do.

If we wanted to eliminate Mother, May I?, there are a couple ways we could do that:

1. Try to bake everything into the rules so that every interaction works like combat (with predefined actions, etc.).
2. Create a storytelling game instead, codifying a distribution of narrative control so that a player can, for example, declare the existence of certain brands of ale.

Once broken down like this, we can really begin interrogating the idea that Mother, May I? is an inherently bad thing. Storytelling games are great fun, but they’re not the totality of narrative tabletop games. And the first option is actually impossible without stringently limiting the scope of the game. What makes an RPG special (and distinct from board games like Descent or Gloomhaven) is, in fact, the player’s ability to have their character do anything they can imagine, and it’s the GM’s ability to make flexible and responsive rulings that make that possible.

On the other hand, it can still be valuable to think about the effect that Mother, May I? can have on play. Because, in my experience, players do have a predilection towards structure.

For example, consider running away from a fight. One of the reasons players tend not to do that is because it means exiting a structure of play (combat) where they feel like they have control over their actions and, therefore, the outcome, instead entering a Mother, May I? mode of play in which they’re basically just asking the GM to make a ruling that they won’t be killed.

By contrast, the original 1974 edition of D&D had an explicit Escape/Pursuit structure you can use to resolve fleeing from combat. When I tell players this system exists (and how it works), suddenly they start running away from fights. I put these same players back into a D&D 3E or 5E game and the running away disappears again.

So even though Mother, May I? is the secret sauce that makes it possible for a player to do literally anything they can imagine, it turns out that, paradoxically, selectively adding structure in the right places can actually expand the scope of play.

Even more importantly, it turns out, in my experience, that flexible structures designed to empower GM rulings rather than trying to box the GM completely out of the process are usually the best, reducing unnecessary crunch while simultaneously creating richer play driven by player creativity.

THE GM’S ROLE

If you’re a GM, though, what can you learn from the principles of Mother, May I?

First, it’s always useful to remember that when players propose an action, they are almost always doing so because, if the action is successful, they think the outcome will be fun. So it’s almost always a good idea to Default to Yes:

With that being said, the players are not always right about this. And players also want the thrill of risk and the sweet taste of victory. Plus, the consequences of failure are interesting and vital to a well-rounded and entertaining experience. So don’t fall into the trap of always saying yes. Your judgment is of vital importance at the gaming table.

More advanced GMs can also keep an eye out for complex actions, particularly those that have become or might become a common part of play. When these situations arise, rather thank just making a one-off ruling (e.g., “make a check at Challenging difficulty”), think about how you could instead create a structure that could consistently handle these situations. Even better if you can make the structure player-facing, so that they can make meaningful decisions within the structure.

Remember that these structures don’t have to be terribly complex, and it’s more than all right if they’re a little loose and flexible. For example, consider our earlier example of the PCs running a tavern. A simple structure might look something like this:

• Rate the business in terms of its weekly income.
• Create additional tiers of income (both above and below the current income) – e.g., 10 gp, 25 gp, 50 gp, 100 gp, 250 gp, 500 gp, etc.
• Players who make an investment or improvement to the business can make a skill check to advance the income tier.

When trying to figure out a structure like this, there are a couple of useful rules of thumb:

• Can the players use this structure to proactively take action? (e.g., creating a cool new feature of the tavern to spend investment cash or trying to track down new types of ale to feature on tap)
• Can you hang scenario hooks off of it? (e.g., the PCs learn that the lost recipe for dwarven moon mead might be found within the ruins of Khunbaral).

If one or both of these are true, then your structure will have the capacity to spark creativity and integrate itself into the wider experience of play. (As opposed to mindless dice-rolling in a disconnected minigame.)

Not all such structures need to be player-known, but, as noted above, it’s often the case that making a structure player-known can be the quickest way to get players to engage with it and begin exploring its possibilities.

Over time, you may find one of these structures becoming an increasingly central or frequent part of play. If so, you’ll likely want to add additional details or features in response to what’s happening at the table. Or you might find flaws or shortcomings that need to be fixed. For example, maybe each tier becomes a progress clock instead of a single skill check. Or we could add the concept of a crisis (competition, larceny, natural disaster, recession, supplier shortages, etc.) that could either impose a one-time cost or even reduce the income tier of the business.

Although not as strong as The Sunless Citadel or The Forge of Fury, The Standing Stone mixes a strong premise with some daring design decisions to produce a solid module.

Review Originally Published May 21st, 2001

When it comes to 3rd Edition modules, Wizards of the Coast has established a strong track record with modules such as The Sunless Citadel and The Forge of Fury — each of which, in my opinion, is destined to become a classic. So the only question in my mind when I sat down to read John D. Rateliff’s The Standing Stone, a module for 7th level characters, is whether or not it could stand up to its remarkable predecessors.

The short answer is: No, it couldn’t.

On the plus side, even Mark McGwire can’t hit it out of the park every time. That doesn’t mean you won’t take his singles when they come.

PLOT

Warning: This review will contain spoilers for The Standing Stone. Players who may find themselves playing in this adventure should not read beyond this point.

A tiefling sorceror named Dyson has unlocked the ancient druidic magic inscribed upon the stone circles which surround the small town of Ossington. (For those of you familiar with the real world stone circles of England, Ossington is essentially Avebury with the stone circles and the avenue in slightly better condition.) These magics have allowed him to form an alliance with extraplanar forces of evil, and conceive a plan in which the animals of the forest can be transformed into humanoid form – a powerful staging force for a demonic invasion into our world.

Over the past few months, Dyson has killed almost all of the original villagers and replaced them with his faux humans and halflings. His actions have not gone entirely unnoticed, however: He has angered the local wild elves, and he has been forced to slay a visiting paladin who began to suspect the truth. In response, he crippled the wild elves by inviting them to a parley and then treacherously betraying their leaders. The body of the paladin he has dumped in a tarn at the foot of another local monument: Red Horse Hill (based on the ancient mound-building traditions of Native Americans).

Dyson’s murderous actions have taken their toll: The paladin has risen as a member of the undead, and ruthlessly hunts down any faux humans who wander beyond the protection of the ancient stone circles. The remaining wild elves, in turn, ambush any who escape the horseman. As a result, the villagers have been unable to plant their fields or tend their crops – and now, having exhausted most of their larders, they are slowly starving.

Enter the PCs, who are duped by Dyson into believing all the wrong things: After all, there is a ghost hunting down “innocent” villagers, right? And there are a group of wild elves whose atrocities (in the form of dead bodies with elven arrows in them) are well documented. Dyson will do his best to get the PCs to rid him of his enemies, while simultaneously continuing his demonic work. If all else fails, he will attempt to distract them with tales of yet another local fixture: The Great Barrow, where an ancient warlord rests with his undead protectors.

STRENGTHS

I have to admit that, right from the start, The Standing Stone struck a positive note for me: For several months now, I have been wanting to develop an adventure in which the PCs are duped by evil villagers into going after the good guys. And here it is. It’s a good twist on a familiar concept, and forms a solid foundation for an adventure.

Another nice feature here is Rateliff’s mixture of a variety of elements in building his adventure: Demonic pacts, ancient druidic magics, stone circles, burial mounds, lost souls, elven vengeance, even a tinge of The Island of Dr. Moreau thrown in for good measure. Nor does Rateliff overlook the importance of providing a nice selection of adventure hooks for getting the PCs involved in this dynamic scenario and environment.

Although largely an overland adventure, The Standing Stone also features a minor dungeon: The Great Barrow, in which the Warlord Shainath lives on as a member of the undead. Rateliff makes a rather daring choice by rendering this as, essentially, a random dungeon environment. While I was initially skeptical, I was astonished to discover just how well this works. Rateliff succeeds at manipulating a minimal amount of text into a very rewarding dungeon-delving experience. Where other author’s might have ended up compromising the complexity of the Barrow in deference to the space limitations of the module, Rateliff rises to the occasion.

WEAKNESSES

In reading The Standing Stone I am left with the indelible suspicion that it has been seriously compromised by its editors. For example, several pieces of background information are noticeably absent, despite the fact that they are implicitly alluded to elsewhere in the text. Although the result is not crippling to the adventure, its structure appears to be significantly weakened. (Of course, my supposition here may be incorrect. Whatever the case, however, there are things which should be here which aren’t – and that weakens the adventure.)

The boxed text is another weakness here. Quite frankly, it’s horrid. Besides being, in general, a textbook example of poor writing, it actively undermines some of the module’s best qualities by treating objects of ancient mystery and magic with a stunning colloquialism.

There are also some gaps in plausibility to be found here. For example, the conceit that an entire forest has been depopulated by Dyson creating 80 or so faux humans and halflings borders on the absurd. (Perhaps we are meant to assume that a multitude of animals must die for every one success?)

The module also suffers from the simple reality that it’s far too deadly for the 7th level characters it is supposedly designed for. And Rateliff (or his editors) should really know better, considering that the lowest Encounter Level he assigns in the course of the entire adventure is EL 9. My “favorite” bit is when he actually assumes that four 7th level characters can take out four NPC villains ranging from 8th to 16th level, when those NPC villains are accompanied by more than 30 angry villagers.

The worst fault to be found here, however, comes from the module’s conclusion: Although, technically, a mystery in which the PCs are supposed to figure out what Dyson is up to, there is really no way for them to solve that mystery until after the adventure is completed (by reading through Dyson’s notes). This type of thing drives me nuts. You shouldn’t have to wait until after you’ve beaten the bad guy to know why you were trying to beat him in the first place.

CONCLUSION

The Standing Stone is a solid adventure, built on some really great concepts and developed within a locale with an intriguing history and magic about it. Despite its structural weaknesses, I found it to be a more than worthy addition to a D&D campaign – and easily salvageable from its unfortunate weaknesses. If this is the worst that WotC can produce, then I remain confident that they’ll continue seeing my hard-earned cash for years to come.

Style: 4
Substance: 3

Authors: John D. Rateliff
Company: Wizards of the Coast
Line: Dungeons & Dragons
Price: $9.95
ISBN: 0-7869-1838-1
Production Code: WTC11838
Pages: 32

Hey. Past-Justin. Quick question: Do you think the hill with a horse carved into its side might be inspired by the Uffington White Horse, from the same cultural heritage as the druidic stone circles? And which was clearly the inspiration for the cartographer’s illustration in the book?

“Nope. Definitely Native American mounds.”

Sigh.

This is mostly interesting as a reflection on how every reader (including you!) brings their own POV to what they read. I had visited Avebury. I had visited the works of the Native American “Mound Builders.” I had not visited the Uffington White Horse. (I think I would have at least been aware of it in 2001, but perhaps not.) If past-me had visited the Nazca lines in Peru, perhaps I would have instead confidently assumed they were our shared point of reference.

I was probably also being influenced by my personal predilection for cultural mash-ups as a source for inspiration for fantastical settings. It was more exciting to imagine Native American mound builder traditions and druidic stone circles both being sources of inspiration, rather than just a straightforward copy-paste druidic theme.

In any case, my suspicion that the later D&D Adventure Path modules were being compromised by the limited page count — either due to the designer cutting corners to make stuff fit or editors slashing the text after the fact — only grew to a certainty as the series continued. The scope of high-level adventures tends to expand, and in D&D 3E even the size of the stat blocks would grow significantly and consume more and more space at higher levels. Where this was somewhat worrisome in The Standing Stone, it would become a serious issue for the subsequent installments.

For an explanation of where these reviews came from and why you can no longer find them at RPGNet, click here.

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 47A: The Master of Two Servants

Tee babbled something about a letter and the shipment that Wuntad was delivering to Mahdoth. “And since Wuntad is a bad man, we just assumed that you must be—“

“Who the devil is Wuntad?”

“You don’t know who he is?” Tee, in her charmed state, was honestly befuddled. But those in their right wits were beginning to figure it out.

“Let me see this letter,” Mahdoth demanded.

Tee dug it out of her bag of holding. Mahdoth grabbed it with his telekinetic eyestalk and perused it with half a dozen eyes at once.

“Where is that traitorous halfling?”

When the PCs intercepted plans indicating that Mahdoth’s Asylum was being used to smuggle goods for the chaos cultists, they jumped to a conclusion: Mahdoth must be involved!

The assumption was reinforced by what seemed to be corroborating evidence: Mahdoth had been rude and secretive when they met him previously. More importantly, he was wearing a Pactlords’ ring, and they knew that the Pactlords were bad guys. This, in turn, caused even more conclusions to come spilling out: If Mahdoth was one of the Pactlords and he was helping the chaos cultists, then there must be a connection between the Pactlords and the chaos cultists. Maybe that double agent of the Pactlords they’d found embedded among the chaos cultists of the Old City hadn’t been a double agent after all; or maybe she’d just been scouting out the cultists for a potential alliance!

As we’ve now seen, none of this is actually true: The smuggling at Mahdoth’s was being coordinated by his corrupt staff members and has nothing to do with Mahdoth being a former member of the Pactlords. (Mahdoth is actually completely reformed and no longer has any contact with the Pactlords.)

When the PCs went haring off along this false trail, I remember being gobsmacked. It had not occurred to me that they would jump to the conclusion that Mahdoth was responsible, nor double and triple down on a course of action that would see them going toe-to-toe with a beholder.

(When I talk about not needing to prep red herrings for adventures, this is what I’m talking about.)

I also kept expecting them to course correct. (For example, by questioning Zairic or some of the other cultists involved.) In fact, the players had almost talked themselves out of precipitous action by the end of Session 46, but by the time we’d reconvened for Session 47, they’d worked their way back to, “Mahdoth must die!”

At no point, however, did I feel the need to correct the players in their mistake or somehow “fix” what was going on. This is because nothing was broken.

As long as the PCs are moving forward and with purpose, it doesn’t matter if they’re doing so due to a misapprehension: I had prepped a situation (in which chaos cultists pick up shipments of chaositech from Children of Mrathrach at Mahdoth’s Asylum) and the PCs’ actions were driving them to engage more and more deeply with that situation. Was that engagement different than I’d expected? Sure, and if I’d prepped a plot that might have been a problem.

THE REVERSAL

When running a situation-based scenario, in fact, these kinds of false assumptions are often desirable. They provide a completely organic, but dramatically satisfying reversal when the truth comes out.

A reversal, you see, is that moment when everything you think you know about a story is suddenly turned on its head: The private detective has been framed by the dame who hired him. The “CIA agent” who recruited the PCs was actually working for the bad guys. You thought you came to assassinate a beholder, but it turns out you’re actually here to help the beholder layoff some troublesome staff members.

There are techniques you can use to prep reversals, but they can be tricky to pull off in a satisfying way. Even when you do pull it off, the players will know you pulled a fast one on them, even if they appreciate the moment. But when the players know that they duped themselves? When they completely own the false assumptions?

That’s pure gold.

That’s a dramatic beat that lands and lands hard.

Or, alternatively, if the PCs finish the scenario without ever figuring out their mistake, it will likely generate all kinds of delightful complications and blowback for them to deal with later: Imagine if they had killed Mahodth and left the asylum completely unsupervised! What might the consequences have been?

Campaign Journal: Session 47B – Running the Campaign: Fighting With Monsters
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 47A: THE MASTER OF TWO SERVANTS

December 26th, 2009
The 25th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

There were still a couple of hours before the shipment was due to arrive. Having found a place to conceal themselves while watching Mahdoth’s front door, they continued their discussion. It wasn’t long before they had once again talked themselves out of waiting: They would obviously have an easier time of it if they tackled Mahdoth and the cultists separately (rather than all at once as the transfer was made), and in re-reading the letters they weren’t even sure that their doubts about Mahdoth being the ultimate source of the suppressive fields in the asylum were well-founded.

“Although,” Tee said, reminding them again, “Whether the suppression fields drop or not, we’re still leaving an asylum full of inmates with no one to watch them.”

“Well… we can always just tell the city watch what happened,” Elestra said.

“Except they might not be happy with us killing everybody inside,” Nasira pointed out.

“Mahdoth is wearing a bone ring,” Elestra countered. “That means he’s a cultist. And we’ve been deputized to take care of the cultist problem.”

Whatever the ultimate solution to the “madhouse full of unwatched inmates” problem proved to be, they headed back into Mahdoth’s with murder on their mind.

THE WESTERN CELLS

Nothing seemed to have been disturbed and it was clear no alarm had been raised. They headed back to the office they had left perhaps a quarter of an hour before and then headed through the next door.

This brought them to a T-intersection. To the west a flight of stairs dropped away. To the east, the hall ended abruptly in a door of solid-looking iron.

Tee, who was habitually taking the lead, briefly debated with herself about which way she should go. She had just decided to check out the door when she heard a soft, light-hearted humming coming from somewhere down the stairs. Turning aside from the door, she headed down the stairs.

The stairs were stark and steep. After a couple dozen feet they bottomed out into a cell block lined with close-set doors, each barred with a heavy slat of iron. A swarthy-looking man was lounging against the wall near the far end of the cell block, humming the guileless tune that had attracted Tee’s attention while spinning a ring of keys on his finger.

The ring of keys made the decision easy for Tee. She planted three arrows in the man before he had a chance to stop humming. He dropped with a soft, almost noiseless gurgle.

Tee quickly scouted the room. There were no other threats. She noted that the door at the opposite end of the cell block was considerably less used than the similar doors lining each wall. There was also a small passage winding away from the cell block.

Tee, suspecting that this was the “western cell block” Zairic’s corpse had told them about, was tempted to explore the passageway. She suspected it might lead to Mahdoth’s quarters.

But instead she went back upstairs and got the others. While talking their options over, they decided to go the opposite direction instead and make sure the locked door at the top of the stairs wasn’t perilous.

“If those are the western cells down there—“

“And they are the western-most cells we’ve seen.”

“—then whatever’s behind that door is pretty close to the western cells, too. It might be Mahdoth.”

MAHDOTH

Tor was something of an incorrigible noise-maker in his clanking armor, and the suppression fields prevented them from creating a zone of magical silence to cover for him. Therefore, in an effort to maintain the element of their surprise, they positioned themselves in such a way that Tee could open the door; Agnarr could see her opening the door; and the others could see Agnarr (but not Tee). This kept Tor’s clanking as far as possible from the scene of stealth.

Tee unlocked the door and swung it open. Beyond was a large, roughly-spherical room of angular depressions and vaulting roofs. Strange, yet comfortable-looking cushions and pieces of furniture were scattered across the chamber at multiple levels.

And rising from one of these was the bulbous body of Mahdoth.

“Zairic! What is all of that racket out—“

Tee shot an arrow at him, but it went wide. Mahdoth’s eyestalks swung around and beams of energy lanced out – Tee was knocked unconscious and then levitated into the air. She was slowly being tugged through the door and wholly into Mahdoth’s chamber.

Agnarr, seeing her go, roared in rage and rushed forward. As he came through the door he was struck by another beam of energy… and suddenly thought of Mahdoth as his best friend in the entire world.

“Why don’t we all calm down, my friend?” Mahdoth said with a smile. Agnarr felt his rage oozing away.

The others were caught slightly off-guard by Agnarr’s precipitous (and unexplained) charge. Tor was the first to rush forward. Entering the room he saw Agnarr smiling up at Mahdoth while Tee’s limp body was slowly lowered into a divan with an oddly-shaped divot in the middle of it.

Tor circled quickly but warily around Mahdoth, looking to distance himself from Agnarr (who he was afraid might turn on him under Mahdoth’s influence) while still putting himself in a position to strike.

But Mahdoth, mindful of losing his influence over Agnarr, floated between the two of them… thus blocking Agnarr’s view of him blasting Tor with a beam of energy.

Which also turned Tor into Mahdoth’s best friend.

Agnarr, meanwhile, was rushing to Tee’s side as she was lowered into the divan. He was anxious to see if she was all right. His jostling woke her up as Agnarr turned a worried eye to Mahdoth, “Is she going to be all right?”

Mahdoth seized the opportunity. “You’re right to be concerned, my friend. Give me some room to pass a healing beam over her.”

And so Mahdoth charmed Tee, too.

The others entered the room… and were befuddled by the sudden love-in.

Mahdoth recycled his “healing beam” explanation and hit Ranthir with the same effect. Ranthir resisted it, but realizing it for what it was he chose to bluff his way through it. Elestra and Nasira, meanwhile, nervously hung back by the door.

Tee, in her charmed state, felt compelled to burble out a confession to Mahdoth: She had killed Zairic! She couldn’t imagine now why she had done anything like that, but she thought he ought to know.

Mahdoth turned suddenly cold. “Why have you done this?”

Tee babbled something about a letter and the shipment that Wuntad was delivering to Mahdoth. “And since Wuntad is a bad man, we just assumed that you must be—“

“Who the devil is Wuntad?”

“You don’t know who he is?” Tee, in her charmed state, was honestly befuddled. But those in their right wits were beginning to figure it out.

“Let me see this letter,” Mahdoth demanded.

Tee dug it out of her bag of holding. Mahdoth grabbed it with his telekinetic eyestalk and perused it with half a dozen eyes at once.

“Where is that traitorous halfling?”

Sheepishly Tee pulled Zairic’s corpse out of her bag of holding. Mahdoth quickly inspected it. “You’ve cast speak with dead on it?”

At this point, Agnarr felt compelled (quite literally) to mention that Mahdoth’s second servant had also been killed.

“Urak? Excellent,” Mahdoth said. “Follow me.”

Nasira and Ranthir were, at this point, tentatively committed to coming along. (Although Ranthir made a point of “playing with his magic dagger” in Mahdoth’s anti-magic zone just to give him an excuse to get a knife close to the beholder.) Elestra was still bitterly paranoid, but in lieu of a non-suicidal option, tagged along for the moment.

On the way out of his room, Mahdoth’s telekinetic eye opened a drawer on a nearby cabinet, took out a ring, and lowered it onto another of his eyestalks.

“What’s that?” Tee asked.

“I want to have a few words with my late servant.”

“A ring of speak with dead?!” Ranthir mouthed to Nasira. He was impressed. And perhaps a little covetous.

As they headed down the stairs, Tee broached a subject within the reach of her friendly compulsion. “Can you tell us about the Pactlords of the Quaan?”

Mahdoth turned cold again. “I haven’t crossed their path in many years. It is a chapter of my life that I do not open.”

A nervous tension filled the air for a moment, but then they arrived at Urak’s corpse. Floating to the corpse’s side, Mahdoth activated his ring and Urak’s body jerked into the air as if suspended by invisible strings.

“Who suborned you?”

Urak’s voice rattled through the chamber. “Zairic. His employers pay me well.” He finished with a hideous, cackling laugh.

“What was your plan for tonight?”

“I was to watch the stairs. Zairic would bring them down to the western cells. The others would arrive from the caverns. Then Zairic would cast a scroll to breach the wall into the sewers.”

“How many are coming?”

“Usually a dozen of the cultists. I don’t know how many of the Children of Mrathrach.”

There was a final, cackling laugh and then the body collapsed in a broken heap on the floor.

The unanswered question that flitted across all their minds was simple: Who were the Children of Mrathrach?

Running the Campaign: False Assumptions – Campaign Journal: Session 47B
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

An excellent module haunted by some unfortunate flaws.

Review Originally Published May 22nd, 2001

The Forge of Fury is the second in WotC’s Adventure Path series of modules for D&D – designed to take the beginning party all the way to 20th level, while still having each module function as an autonomous whole. (In other words, you don’t need to have played The Sunless Citadel – the first module in the series – in order to play The Forge of Fury. There is, literally, no direct connection between the two.)

Like The Sunless Citadel before it, The Forge of Fury demonstrates that WotC is more than capable of competing effectively within the open market they’ve chosen to create for the D&D game: High quality maps (possibly the best on the market today), an exacting attention to detail (even small things, like having the same adventurers pictured on the cover as were pictured on the cover of The Sunless Citadel), and exceptional production values all combine to make this an extremely attractive product.

Warning: From this point forward, this review will contain spoilers for The Forge of Fury. Players who may end up playing in this module are encouraged to stop reading now. Proceed at your own risk.

The Forge of Fury is a location-based module, set within the confines of Khundrukar – a dwarven citadel which fell before an orcish invasion two hundred years ago, and which has, since, become inhabited by the denizens of evil.

Like The Sunless Citadel before it, however, The Forge of Fury is not a “one note” dungeon by any stretch of the imagination. To the contrary, Khundrukar is possessed of a rich, detailed, dynamic history (involving dwarves, orcs, troglodytes, demons, duergar, magic, and a black dragon). Combined with a complex dungeon geography (involving a complicated, but logical, arrangement of five interconnected dungeon sections, ranging from natural caverns to dwarven passages) this provides a delightfully evocative, believable, and entertaining gaming environment.

There are four major sections to Khundrukar (along with a number of minor features, which I won’t take the time to explore in detail here): The orcs who have taken up residence in the Mountain Door (the first barrier the ancient dwarves set up to repel invaders); the troglodyte warren which inhabits the Glitterhame (a network of beautiful, natural caverns); the duergar who have invaded the Foundry in an attempt to discover the ancient secrets of the dwarven forge; and the dragon which has taken up residence in the Black Lake.

It is ironic, however, that a module which draws so many strengths from its attention to detail, should also have its primary flaw be a lack of attention to such details. The most noticeable weakness of this product is the plethora of errors which wander through its pages with wild abandon: Minor map details which don’t match the text, missing italics in a section of boxed text, incorrect and contradictory information regarding the carving of the orcish tunnel on pg. 18, and so forth.

A few other minor problems are also present: I consider the boxed text to be lackluster and, in places, sub-par – needing some definite improvement upon occasion in order to provide the polish necessary to make an otherwise excellent dungeon environment really shine. Similarly, the adventure hooks designed to bring the PCs into Khundrukar are simply lacking (a problem which The Sunless Citadel also possessed). An epic setting such as this needs something with a little more kick to it than “hunt down the orcs” or “I’ll pay you a bounty for magic swords”.

Far more worrisome are the “killer monsters” which lie in wait: A roper and a succubi have both been placed within Khundrukar. Both of these are far too powerful for the 3rd to 5th level characters who are supposed to be going through this adventure, and – although the succubi is given several escape hatches – the roper is a definite problem. Cautious DMs should also be aware that the black dragon, although a reasonable challenge for the PCs, can also be extremely deadly if they encounter it while in non-peak condition.

While these problems are annoying, however, they are only minor flaws which do not serve to noticeably mar in otherwise exceptional adventure. In short: The Forge of Fury, like The Sunless Citadel before it, is a module with an epic quality to it – which will fill many nights with gaming memories which will linger for years to come. Definitely check this one out.

Style: 4
Substance: 4

Grade: A-

Authors: Richard Baker
Company: Wizards of the Coast
Line: D&D
Price: $9.95
ISBN: 0-7869-1644-3
Production Code: TSR11644
Pages: 32

“A roper and a succubi have both been placed within Khundrukar. Both of these are far too powerful for the 3rd to 5th level characters who are supposed to be going through this adventure.”

Oh no. It’s me. I’m the problem. It’s me.

This complaint (that The Forge of Fury included monsters who were “too tough” according to the CR/EL guidelines in the DMG) had quickly become part of the meme-sphere back in 2001. As a reviewer, I either felt pressured to include this “everybody knows” criticism of the module or simply bought into the meme. The only problem? It wasn’t true. First, including these encounters was actually completely in keeping with the DMG encounter guidelines. Second, the entire concept of “every encounter must be carefully tailored for the characters’ precise level” was a toxic concept. (I’ve written about this at greater length in articles like Revisiting Encounter Design. And it’s still relevant to D&D and other RPG adventure design today.)

So, important lesson to take away from my younger self: If you’re going to be a reviewer, your job is not to simply parrot the “common wisdom.” (Nor to reject it as a reactionary.) It’s to develop your own point of view, reflect on that point of view, and present it to others in a way that’s useful and insightful.

The Forge of Fury is one of those modules that’s difficult for me to accurately assess: When I ran it, I did a big expansive remix, adding a bunch of extra levels plus additional factions with conflicts and agendas that were baked into my campaign world. It also played a vital role in the development of adversary rosters. Running the adventure was one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had at the RPG table. But, perforce, it can be difficult to separate my memories of experiencing the adventure from my memories of the book itself.

What I can say, is that I honestly don’t know if I would be the GM I am today if not for this module. And I highly recommend it. It was adapted to 5th Edition in Tales of the Yawning Portal.

For an explanation of where these reviews came from and why you can no longer find them at RPGNet, click here.