Let’s talk about gods.

The history and treatment of religion in D&D is fascinating, and it’s had an enduring impact on the treatment of religion not only in roleplaying games in general, but in the fantasy genre as a whole.

Religion, of course, has always been a central part of the game. In the original 1974 edition of D&D, clerics were one of just three character classes (the other two being fighting-men and magic-users). But what, exactly, were these clerics and who/what did they worship? Gods are never explicitly mentioned and religion is only barely hinted at. In the rulebooks there are basically only two points of data.

First, the description of the cleric class, which is almost entirely dedicated to building strongholds at higher levels. Relevant quotes (with my comments in brackets):

• ‘When Clerics reach the top level (Patriarch) they may opt to build their own stronghold, and when doing so receive help from “above”. Thus, if they spend 100,000 Gold Pieces in castle construction, they may build a fortress of double that cost.’ [I don’t believe the intention is literally that the “above” will deliver cash money for the endeavor, but it could certainly be interpreted that way.]
• ‘Finally, “faithful” men will come to such a castle, being fanatically loyal, and they will serve at no cost.’ [Specific breakdowns of troop types are then given.]
• ‘Note that Clerics of 7^th level and greater are either “Law” or “Chaos”, and there is a sharp distinction between them. If a Patriarch receiving the above benefits changes sides, all the benefits will be immediately removed!’

A quick contextual note here: Arneson’s original Blackmoor campaign featured a Good vs. Evil dynamic in which those were literally teams: There was Team Good and Team Evil, with PCs belonging to one or the other. Gygax, heavily influenced by Michael Moorcock and Poul Anderson, changed that to Law vs. Chaos, but with the same broad idea that these were more or less ideological alliances. (Which is why the early editions of the game had actual alignment languages.)

The interesting implication here is that the cleric’s alliance to a particular god is irrelevant, only their loyalty to the metaphysical alliance is significant. Furthermore, this alliance only becomes significant when a cleric achieves the rank of Patriarch. And even then, it’s not relevant to their supernatural abilities – which they keep even if they “change sides” – only to the loyalty of the men who have flocked to their service.

Which, if you’ve read Moorcock’s Elric stories, probably also makes sense: Elric had a specific patron of Chaos, but in general people served the Chaos Lords or the Lords of Law or were neutral in their strife. (Note that there are no neutral Patriarchs, strongly implying that there are no Neutral gods/lords.)

The only other source of information on religion in the original edition of the game are the level titles for Clerics, which were (in order):

• Acolyte
• Adept
• Village Priest
• Vicar
• Curate
• Bishop
• Lama
• Patriarch
• Patriarch, 9^th Level
• Patriarch, 10^th Level

You could hypothetically try to intuit some form of religious institution from this, but the reality is that Gygax — as he often did — simply cracked open a thesaurus and wrote down random entries with little care or concern. The list is clearly influenced by a Christian hierarchy, although whether that’s primarily due to the linguistic bias inherent in an English thesaurus’ selection of words or Gygax’s bias as a Jehovah’s Witness is debatable, but it’s probably the former since the list is pure nonsense. (A curate, for example, is subordinate to a vicar. And then, of course, there’s the abrupt shift to Buddhism before jumping to Eastern Orthodoxy for the ultimate rank of Patriarch.)

TANGENT: THAT OLD SCHOOL RELIGION

But, just for fun, let’s do it. Acolytes and adepts are basically apprentices who are dabbling in the arts of Law and Chaos.

Then you have village priests, vicars, and curates. These are clearly the local or lowest level of religious hierarchy. For the sake of argument:

• Priests are recognized with doctrinal and institutional authority. In a village, there may only be one such priest who oversees the local temple or shrine. (Some villages will be dedicated to Chaos; others to Law. Some might have competing shrines with separate priests dedicated to each. But we might also imagine some local priests who are better thought of as the ambassador between the community and both Law and Chaos; it is less that they “serve” the Lords, and instead that they are diplomatically engaged with them.)
• Vicars are still in charge of larger temples, overseeing at least one priest.
• Curates oversee multiple temples. (This might either be in a larger community that can support multiple shrines, or country curates that oversee temples across a small region.)

Now, in Christian churches a Bishop is someone in a position of authority over a large swath of territory. That’s not compatible with the D&D stronghold rules, though, so let’s instead extrapolate from their claim of apostolic succession (a direct lineage to the original Twelve Apostles): A bishop is someone who, like Elric, has a face-to-face relationship with the Lords of Law and/or Chaos.

(This is arguably not consistent with the mechanics: A 6^th level Bishop does not yet have access to the commune spell. But I think a distinction can be drawn between someone who has become of sufficient interest that a Chaos Lord might appear to them for a chat and someone who has gained the puissance to contact the Chaos Lord for themselves – i.e., cast a commune spell.)

Here’s the key to understanding our old school religion, though: At the top of our hierarchy is the Patriarch, which literally means the head of the church. (Etymologically, the Patriarch is the one who rules the ‘family’ of the church.) We know mechanically that when someone becomes a Patriarch they “have control of a territory similar to the ‘Barony’ of fighters.” And we know that the Barony of the fighter is a territory containing 2-8 villages of from 100-400 inhabitants each.

What this means is that religion (or, at least, religious organization) is intensely local. There are no huge religious organizations with a central authority overseeing vast swaths of territory. (Or, if there are, they aren’t the religions that the PCs are part of.) Religion is still a patchwork of very small organizations (that almost certainly have some territorial overlap).

This brings us to the curiosity of the Lama, the stage through which a Bishop (who has opened some kind of personal relationship with a Lord or Lords) must pass in order to become a Patriarch. We also know that this is the point at which the cleric MUST choose to become loyal to either Chaos or Law exclusively.

The title of “Lama” comes from Tibetan Buddhism, but its use is thoroughly confused in English by inconsistent translation and mystic Orientalism. Broadly speaking, though, a lama can be thought of us the spiritual leader of a specific school of spiritual thought. We could therefore think of this progression as such:

• The cleric begins making personal contact with Lords of Chaos and/or Law.
• As they gain the ability to directly commune with these entities, they begin formalizing these relationships. This might be a spiritual synthesis of their religious belief or it might be a more realpolitik negotiated alliance with specific Lord(s).
• In this process, they have effectively created their own religious organization, culminating with the foundation of a religious center or stronghold: The appeal of their teaching, the strength of their spiritual power, and/or the support of the Lord itself causes followers to flock to them.

They have, thus, become a Patriarch — of which, as we’ve established, there are many, all struggling with each other.

One would not necessarily expect this state of affairs to persist: Periods of similarly turbulent religious revivalism in our own history have universally collapsed into one or two successful organizations that subsume or overwhelm the rest. So this might just be the short term reality of the world as it currently exists (perhaps because these Lords of Law and Chaos have only recently made contact with this plane of reality? or because the cosmos is in a liminal period of transition between Law and Chaos?) or it might only be true on the outskirts of civilization (where, conveniently, classic D&D-style adventures typically take place).

It might also reflect the internecine and tumultuous conflict of the Lords of Law and Chaos themselves. The ever-unsettled nature of the Lords reflects itself into the ebb and flow of earthly religions.

SO WHAT IS A CLERIC?

But I digress.

As I noted before, these level titles — and anything of interest we might intuit from them — are not really representative of anything meaningful in the actual worldbuilding of Arneson or Gygax.

So what was a cleric? What was religion at the dawn of D&D?

It’s Van Helsing.

Specifically, Van Helsing from the Hammer Horror Dracula films.

This is pretty well documented: One of the PCs in Dave Arneson’s Blackmoor game was turned into a vampire and became an NPC antagonist. He was so incredibly dangerous that Mike Carr, one of Arneson’s players and later a TSR editor and designer, proposed the idea of creating a vampire hunter.

The primary focus of the OD&D cleric can actually be seen rather clearly in the fact that although they receive no spells at 1^st level, they do receive the Turn Undead ability.

So although we may now think of a cleric primarily as worshippers and could scarcely imagine creating a cleric without picking a specific god for them to worship, the reality is that the original clerics were primarily hunters of the undead drenched in Christian imagery (there are no holy symbols in OD&D, only wooden and silver crosses) who didn’t actually need to make a decision about their religious affiliation until 8^th level (which was more or less the endgame of D&D at that point).

RELIGION THEREAFTER

Supplement I: Greyhawk is the first time D&D mentions specific gods. Specifically, magic-users get access to the 9^th level gate spell: “Employment of this spell opens a cosmic portal and allows an ultra-powerful being (such as Odin, Crom, Set, Cthulhu, the Shining One, a demi-god, or whatever) to come to this plane.”

Note: Although the Shining One here is sometimes identified as Pelor, I’m near certain that it’s actually Satan/Lucifer. There are some semi-convoluted Biblical debates about this, but the key thing is that this title is endorsed in a number of Jehovah’s Witness commentaries on the Bible… and Gygax was a Jehovah’s Witness who led Bible study classes. By contrast, I’m not 100% sure when Pelor gained “the Shining One” as one of his apellatives, but I don’t think it’s until the ‘90s.

Edit: Geoffrey McKinney, in the comments below, identifies the source of the Shining One as A. Meritt’s The Moon Pool. That is almost certainly correct. Note that The Moon Pool appears in AD&D’s Appendix N.

The other thing that happens in Supplement I: Greyhawk is the arrival of paladins as a sub-class of fighting-men. This further strengthens the Christian basis of religious character classes in D&D, because paladins are just straight-up Charlemagnic holy knights.

Supplement II: Blackmoor briefly discusses a “great struggle of the gods to control the planet,” including the fact that “mermen were created by the Great Gods of Neutrality and Law while the Gods of Chaos bent their will to create the Sahuagin.” (This material would have likely been written by Steve Marsh, or possibly by Tim Kask based on material from Steve Marsh.)

Note: Marsh has cited the inspiration of the sahuagin as being “an old Justice League of America animated show.” I’ve seen people point to “The Invasion of the Hydronoids,” a season two episode of The All-New Super Friends as Marsh’s inspiration, but the date is wrong. (The episode premiered in 1977, after Supplement II was published.) I’m guessing it was actually “The Watermen,” a season 1 episode from the original Superfriends series that would have aired in 1973.

Supplement III: Eldritch Wizardry introduces the Orcus, the Demon Prince. Also notable for our discussion because his rod “causes death (or annihilation) to any creature, save those of like status (other Princes, High Devils, Saints, Godlings, etc.).” There is also the Throne of the Gods, “crafted by an ancient race in honor of their gods.”

In these references we can begin seeing more influence seeping into the game from sword-and-sorcery authors like Robert E. Howard and Fritz Leiber, where a patchwork panoply of mythological and fictional deities are sort of bouncing around.

What’s interesting to me is how the overwhelming Christian influence of both the player-facing character classes and, of course, the players themselves collide with this vaguely invoked pagan pantheism. You can see a rather clear example of the weird gestalt that results a couple years later in T1 The Village of Hommlet. The village church — the Church of St. Cuthbert — is straight-up Christian in its conception and organization: It’s shaped like a cross and named after an actual Christian saint (or possibly a lesser god who is named after a Christian saint).

This is basically not atypical of how D&D religions tend to work by default down unto today: Churches and religions following Christian models (cross-shaped cathedrals filled with priests and bishops), but with a non-Christian god slotted in for Jesus.

SUPPLEMENT IV

Obviously our discussion of religion in OD&D cannot be complete without talking about the elephant in the room — Supplement IV: Gods, Demi-Gods & Heroes by Robert Kuntz & James Ward.

This is a really odd book. It consists almost entirely of stat blocks and short descriptions for a panoply of real and fictional pantheons, fleshed out with a few mythological artifacts and a handful of mortal heroes. There’s no real explanation of what you’re supposed to actually do with any of this stuff. It just kind of… exists.

In the foreword to the book, there are three things that Tim Kask, TSR’s Publications Editor, want you to know:

1. He loathed working on Supplement II: Blackmoor. (I cannot express how bizarre it is that the first paragraph of this book is literally dedicated to trashing another book that the company had published the year before.)
2. This is the last D&D supplement that will ever be published. “Well, here it is: the last D&D supplement. (…) We’ve told you just about everything we can. From now on, when circumstances aren’t covered somewhere in the books, wing it as best you can.” He later returns to this theme at the end of the foreword to say that everyone should buy TSR’s magazines. “Just don’t wait with baited breath for another supplement after this one. May you always make your saving throw.”
3. “This volume is something else, also: our last attempt to reach the ‘Monty Hall’ DM’s. Perhaps now some of the ‘giveaway’ campaigns will look as foolish as they truly are. This is our last attempt to delineate the absurdity of 40+ level characters. When Odin, the All-Father has only(?) 300 hit points, who can take a 44^th level Lord seriously?”

Of course, after reading this imprecation against overpowered characters, you will immediately turn the page to a book dedicated almost entirely to giving you combat stats for gods so that you can kill them.

Four years later when this concept was revisited for the hardcover Deities & Demigods supplement, editor Lawrence Schick was quick to say that the obvious purpose of these stat blocks was NOT in fact the purpose of these stat blocks:

But what exactly is it? Let’s see, it has a nice cover — open it up, inside there are lots of pictures next to sets of stacked statistics… it must be just like the MONSTER MANUAL! There, that was easy. Now that we know what it is, we know what to do with it, right?

Wrong.

DDG (for short) may resemble MONSTER MANUAL, and in fact does include some monsters. However, the purpose of this book is not to provide adversaries for players’ characters. The information listed herein is primarily for the Dungeon Master’s use in creating, intensifying or expanding his or her campaign.

Of course, the “Explanatory Notes” on the exact same page tell you that the gods’ Armor Classes are “a measure of how difficult it is to hit” them and their Hit Points “indicate the amount of damage a creature can withstand before being killed.” So… take it with a grain of salt.

Gary Gygax, in his foreword to the book, is more explicit about what the book is for:

In general, deities are presented in pantheons. You can select which ones, combinations, or parts of pantheons best suit your campaign. Players knowing which gods are “real” in the campaign world are able to intelligently choose to serve one (or more) suitable to the character’s alignment, profession, and even goals.

In this, Gygax makes explicit something that was only implicit in the organization of Supplement IV: That gods organize themselves into pantheons. This might initially seem like a, “No kidding,” statement, but it’s rather likely you’re only thinking that because D&D so heavily popularized this concept.

In sword & sorcery fiction like Howard and Leiber, various cultures — just like in our own world’s history — had collections of gods that they worshipped. But these associations were usually implied to be the result of the people worshipping them rather than because the gods themselves had stratified social circles. And, as a result, gods might be found in several different “pantheons” (i.e., worshipped in various locations that had overlapping sets of gods that they worshipped).

There were certainly exceptions to this: The handling of the Asgardian gods in Kirby’s Thor comics, for example. Or the divisive war between Moorcock’s Chaos Lords and Lords of Law. It just wasn’t the presumed default.

This de facto introduction of the pantheon more or less completes the weirdly incoherent metaphysics of D&D religion, in which:

• Gods are arranged into pantheons, a word literally derived from the Greek word for a temple which worshipped all gods, and yet…
• People (including the clergy) almost universally choose just ONE god to worship because…
• Every civilized god gets slotted into a church based on monotheistic Christian rites, architecture, and organization. (“Evil” gods are slightly more likely to get primitive fanes and the like.)

Back to Reactions to OD&D

(click for PDF)

I usually prep these cheat sheets for RPGs that I play or run, and I’ve shared many of them here on the Alexandrian in the past. This one is for a game that I was the Project Developer and co-designer for: The second edition of Magical Kitties Save the Day!

In Magical Kitties Save the Day, you are a magical kitty who owns a human. (Some humans believe that they own the kitties… This is clearly ridiculous.) Your human has a Problem, and you need to use your magical powers to solve their Problems and save the day! This system cheat sheet, like the others I’ve posted here at the Alexandrian, neatly summarizes all of the rules from the game — from basic action resolution to the mechanics for foes and disasters. It won’t teach you how to create a character, but it’s a great way to get a grip on a new system and, of course, extremely valuable during actual play for introducing new players to the game.

Another cool thing about the game which is not touched on in these cheat sheets are the tools we developed for prepping adventures. If you like the adventure design advice and scenario structures I talk about here on the Alexandrian, I think you’ll find this stuff right up your alley: The core structure is that, in addition to their humans having Problems, the hometowns where kitties live also have Problems. Take a hometown Problem and aim it at the human Problem. As the hometown Problem — things like dinosaurs and hyper-intelligent raccoons and fairy feuds — complicates the kitty’s human Problem, you’ll generate the seed for your adventure.

I then present several adventure recipes: Boss Rush, Five Scenes, A Simple Mystery, The Raid, and Rescue Operation. (In the supplements you’ll find additional adventure recipes. For example, in Magical Kitties & the Mars Colony, Clio Yun-Su Davis created the incredibly clever Double Trouble and Triple Trouble structures.) Each recipe has certain “slots” in it where you can plug in adventure “ingredients.” Simply plug ingredients into the rights lots and — presto! — you’ve got a cool new adventure. (We then present stuff like Foes, Disasters, and Locations with pre-baked ingredients, so if you’re a brand new GM you can basically just plug ‘n play elements.)

HOW I USE THEM

As I’ve described in the past, I keep a copy of the system cheat sheet behind my GM screen for quick reference and also provide copies for all of the players. Of course, I also keep at least one copy of the rulebook available, too. But my goal with the cheat sheets is to consolidate information and eliminate book look-ups: Finding something in a couple of pages is a much faster process than paging through hundreds of pages in the rulebook.

Magical Kitties is a fairly streamlined system, so the cheat sheet is just two pages long and the organization of material should (hopefully!) be pretty self-evident.

WHAT’S NOT INCLUDED

These cheat sheets are not designed to be a quick start packet: They’re designed to be a comprehensive reference for someone who has read the rulebook and will probably prove woefully inadequate if you try to learn the game from them. (On the other hand, they can definitely assist experienced players who are teaching the game to new players.)

The cheat sheets also don’t include what I refer to as “character option chunks” (for reasons discussed here). In other words, you won’t find the rules for character creation here.

MAKING A GM SCREEN

These cheat sheets can also be used in conjunction with a modular, landscape-oriented GM screen (like the ones you can buy here or here).

Personally, I use a four-panel screen. With larger cheat sheets, I’ll use reverse-duplex printing and create sheets that I can tape together and “flip up” to reveal additional information behind them. Since the Magical Kitties sheet is only two pages long, that’s not necessary: In fact, you’ll have a couple spare slots to drop in information on your hometown. (Which, if you’re using Magical Kitties in River City — the hometown I designed for the boxed set — could include a miniature version of the stunningly beautiful poster map by Jason Bradley Thompson.)

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23E: With Nought But Their Lives

“First, there is the Dreamsight. The Dreaming is the wellspring from which all reality is born and the grave to which all living memory returns. As such, those who can see the Dreaming with unclouded eyes can perceive deep truths of the world around them.

“Second, there are the Dream Pacts. The Lords of the Dreaming are powerful and fey. Those skilled enough in the dreaming arts can turn their souls into conduits through which the Spirit Lords can be made manifest in the world around us. But following such a path requires supreme self-control, for the Lords of the Dreaming are capable of reshaping your very soul.

“Finally, there is the art of Dreamspeaking. Those practiced in the dreaming arts can reshape the Dreaming around them. Those who are masters of the Dreaming, however, can reshape the world around them by reshaping the dreams from which the world is born. These arts have been perfected into the dreaming tongue – a primal language which not only describes the most fundamental aspects of reality, but can be used to transform it.”

If you want to check out the mechanics for the Dreaming Arts that Tithenmamiwen is preparing to study, you can find them here on the Alexandrian. (Well, Dreamsight and Dream Pacts, anyway. Tee hasn’t chosen to study Dreamspeaking yet, so I haven’t finished putting flesh on those bones.)

Specialized sub-systems and mechanical options are, of course, quite common in roleplaying games, whether you’re homebrewing them or grabbing some cool new sourcebook. And when you’re playing a popular, crunchy game with lots supplements (like D&D or Shsdowrun or Ars Magica), you have to consider how you want to handle adding this type of material to your game: Do you use all of them? None of them? Some of them? Which ones?

Figuring that out could probably be a whole discussion itself. (And a fairly idiosyncratic one.) For the moment, though, let’s assume that:

1. You and your players have learned the “core” rules of them (however you choose to define that); and
2. You now have a new chunk of mechanics that you want to make part of your game.

How do you actually go about doing that?

Well, it turns out that this is ALSO a pretty big topic that can depend a lot on the dynamics and interests of your group. For example, you might have player(s) at your table who are not particularly interested in all the mechanical gewgaws of the game – they just want to be told what dice to roll. How you approach new mechanics for them is going to differ from how you’ll handle it if one of your players is really interested in exploring mechanical options and is actually the one advocating for a new sub-system to become part of your game. (And what if you have both types of players at the same table?)

There’s also the differences between player-facing, GM-facing, and dual-facing mechanics. Also, mechanics that are going to be used for one scenario vs. those that are going to be permanent additions. We could also look at the difference between modular components being bolted onto sub-systems already in play (like new maneuvers for a combat system) vs. completely new sub-systems (“We’re piloting mecha now!”).

These discussions, however, almost always deal with the metagame dynamic between you and your players. Which makes sense, of course, because the mechanics of a roleplaying game are inherently abstracted and metagamed – they are a thing you and your players interact with, not your characters.

But what I want to point out in today’s session of In the Shadow of the Spire is that you CAN introduce mechanics diegetically – as part of the game world and from an in-character perspective. This also makes sense because, even though they’re abstracted and metagamed, roleplaying mechanics are also inherently associated with the game world: They’re connected to what’s happening in that world and the choices your characters are making.

This connection can flow both ways: By adding mechanics we often add elements to the campaign for our PCs to experience, but by attempting new activities or acquiring new resources, the PCs can also create the need for new mechanics to handle those new aspects of their lives.

If you, as the GM, want to add some new mechanical element to your game – realms management, rigging, mercantile trading, pacts with Lords of the Dreaming – it can similarly be more effective to diegetically offer (or even require) those mechanics than it would be to simply, for example, drop a new sourcebook on the table and then wonder why nobody is using it.

To some extent, this is about how mechanics without a game/scenario structure to serve tend to wither and die, but it’s more than that. If you approach new mechanics diegetically, it gives you a whole bunch of new tools for pitching those mechanics to your group and getting them excited about it.

For example, you can offer the mechanics as a reward. Players love rewards. (Who doesn’t?) “Here’s your new ship!” you say, opening the door to those mercantile and crew management sub-systems you’ve been interested in exploring.

You can also nest new mechanics inside meaningful choices. You can see this with Tee’s dreaming lesson in the current session: The player is empowered to choose which sub-system she wants to introduce into play, which immediately invests her in that choice and makes her eager to read through twenty or thirty pages of custom house rules.

In this way, diegetic mechanics can also be connected to the themes of the campaign and/or the objectives of the PCs. (This also applies to Tee, obviously, who has been obsessed with learning the Dreaming Arts since the campaign began.) The mechanics aren’t just a generically cool new thing that you hope the players will be interested in; in a very real way they are the thing that the players already care about, just manifested in a different way.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23F – Running the Campaign: Detritus of the Dungeon
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 23E: WITH NOUGHT BUT THEIR LIVES

June 7th, 2008
The 11th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

BATTLE OF THE MINOTAURS

Tee gathered up the items, put them into her bag of holding, and then headed back towards the underwater tunnel.

“Wait,” Elestra said. “What about they key we came for?”

Tee looked at her quizzically. “I think it was the key from the chest.”

“The one that hurt you? But that doesn’t make any sense. And we’ve found lots of keys here. Maybe there’s another one. Why would we want a key that hurts you to use it?”

“We don’t know why we wanted the key,” Tee said. “We don’t know what it’s for.”

“We should open the door,” Elestra said. “See if there’s another key back there.”

“The door the minotaurs were afraid of?” Tee said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Maybe they were just pretending to be afraid.”

The argument continued for several minutes, but eventually it was decided that they would at least look through the door. Tee picked the lock and edged the door open, peeking through it.

There was another icy cavern, this one larger than the rest. A multi-headed construct of frost-rimed brass and levianthan proportions lay in a heap in the center of the floor. But even as Tee’s eye fell upon it, the construct stirred – one of its heads slowly rearing up with the rasping sound of metal upon metal.

Tee slammed the door shut.

“We need to go. Now.”

WHAM!

The cavern rocked with the bone-shaking impact of the construct on the far side of the door.

“What is it?”

WHAM!

“Go! Now!”

They fled back through the underwater tunnel and up through the fleshy membrane… and found the minotaurs waiting for them.

“Segginal tells us that Wuntad sent you on a mission. Give us the weapons of chaos.”

Tee was bleary-eyed and exhausted, still suffering from the ill effects of using the key. She didn’t want to do it, but they didn’t seem to have any other choice. With a heavy sigh she reached into her bag, pulled out the spear, and handed it to the nearest minotaur.

Agnarr attacked.

“Agnarr! No!” Tee was perhaps even more surprised than the minotaurs. Her hand was still half in her bag of holding, reaching for the next item. She quickly changed her aim and withdrew the modified dragon rifle. But she was too weak to fight, and simply stumbled back towards the nearest corner.

The minotaurs roared. The claws of one smashed into Agnarr’s side, sending him spinning towards the other who caught him with a similarly devastating blow. Agnarr dropped to one knee. He swung his sword feebly towards them, but then a third blow crashed down on his head and he slumped into unconsciousness.

Tor hesitated, his sword half-drawn from its sheath, waiting to see what would happen. With Agnarr down, would Tee begin negotiating again?

Perhaps she might have, but even as Agnarr thudded heavily to the ground, Dominic extended his hand and murmured a prayer. A bolt of silvery energy emerged from his fingertips and struck one of the minotaurs. The energy flowed about the creature as if it were liquid mercury, and the motions of the minotaur slowed… and stopped. It had become frozen in time.

Tor finished drawing his sword and charged the other minotaur. He nimbly weaved his way through the flurrying claws of the creature, turning the closer blows with his shield. His sword, crackling with electricity, struck here and there – opening painful wounds in the creature’s thick hide.

As Tor kept the creature occupied, Elestra and Dominic darted forward and laid their hands on Agnarr. Their joint strength flowed into the barbarian, healing his wounds.

As Agnarr groggily regained his consciousness he quickly focused on the battle being waged almost directly above him between Tor and minotaur. He grabbed up his sword and stabbed up… straight through the minotaur’s groin. The creature gave a bellowing roar of unimaginable pain and collapsed in a pool of its own blood and viscera.

As Agnarr stood up, shaking off some of that same blood and viscera, Tee weakly stepped forward, lowered the modified dragon rifle, and immolated the surviving minotaur (who was still trapped by Dominic’s spell).

LEAVING WITH THEIR LIVES

“Wuntad is very angry with you.”

It was the voice of Segginal – the statue-bound chaos spirit.

“I don’t care, Segginal.” Tee shouted. “Open up!”

After a moment, the statue above them slid aside. They climbed up and then moved away from the statue before discussing their options.

“We could still try to escape,” Agnarr said.

Tee shook her head. “We couldn’t beat them before and now I’m less than useless in a fight.”

“They might have left.”

“I doubt it,” Tee said. “But we can check.

They climbed up to the second floor, hoping to look down through one of the tower windows. As they reached the tower, Elestra asked the question that was weighing on everyone’s mind: “Do you think the Segginal guy is telling Wuntad where we are?”

Tee looked out through the window. “Yeah… I think he is.”

Wuntad was standing on the path before the gate, staring straight up at her. He was now accompanied by more than a dozen of the cultists. Now he shouted, his voice loud enough to be heard through the lead-framed window.

“The minotaurs don’t matter to me! They were foul, primitive creatures. Unworthy servants. All I want are the weapons! Give them to me and you can still leave here with your lives!”

“Damn it.” Tee sighed heavily and turned away from the window.

“We’re not going to give them to him, are we?” Elestra asked.

Tee looked at her. “I’ll say it again: Do we have any other choice?”

“But we can’t! We don’t know what he’ll do with them if he gets them!”

“But we do know what he’ll do if he doesn’t get them.”

“We could always try going out the back way,” Dominic suggested.

“With Segginal telling him everything we’re doing?” Tee said.

“If we do give them to him,” Tor said. “I don’t want to go out there. I’m sure he’ll betray us.”

“Maybe we could get the Cobbledman to give him the items? I don’t think he can actually come into the keep. Otherwise he would have just killed us and gotten the weapons himself. Or done it years ago.”

A shadow fell across them. Wuntad had flown up to the window and was looking in at them. “This is your last chance.”

“Will you agree to free the Cobbledman?” Tee asked.

Wuntad’s eyes narrowed. “He lives?”

“He does. And he misses you.”

Wuntad seemed to mull it over for a moment. “Very well. If you give me the weapons, I will free the Cobbledman.”

“Fine,” Tee said. “We’ll have him bring the items to you.”

They found the Cobbledman, once again, sleeping in his tower. Tee carefully woke him.

“Cobbledman? Wuntad is here.”

“Wuntad’s here?”

“He is. He’d like to see you. He wants to free you. But I need to ask you a favor.” Tee quickly explained what they needed the Cobbledman to do.

They went down to the courtyard. Wuntad and the cultists were waiting just outside the gate. Tee loaded the Cobbledman’s arms full with the various weapons… but she deliberately held back three items: The journal, the ironwood box inscribed with Lithuin runes (and the crystals it held), and the golden key. She hoped that Wuntad might not notice the missing items, and if he did then—

“Where is the box of ironwood?” There was great anger in Wuntad’s voice.

“It’s right here,” Tee said, pulling it from her bag. “But his arms were full. Send him back and he can bring it out to you.”

And, as she had hoped, Wuntad had noticed the missing item most precious to him… but not the key. Nor did he open the ironwood box and notice that the journal was missing.

“Cobbledman,” Wuntad said. “You are free to leave Pythoness House.”

Wuntad then turned to them. “I am glad that you saw… reason. But pray that our paths do not cross again.”

The cultists turned and left. The Cobbledman came back towards them, a wide grin on his kind face. “Did you hear?”

“We did,” Tee smiled. “I’m very happy for you.”

“Do you have any more food?”

Ranthir laughed and handed him another bar of rations. The Cobbledman, munching contentedly, headed back towards his tower.

“We should do something for him,” Tor said. “He shouldn’t have to stay here.”

“What about those people that Urlenius was talking about?” Tee suggested.

“The Brotherhood of Redemption?” Dominic said.

“Right. They might be willing to help him.” She looked around. The cultists were gone. “Well, shall we go?”

“Not yet,” Agnarr said. “There’s one more thing I want to do.”

Agnarr returned to the statue of Segginal… and smashed it to pieces. As the last of his destructive work was done, a mournful wind howled through the keep and, with a malevolent laugh, Segginal’s voice echoed through the halls: “You will bear my curse forever.”

Agnarr grunted. “Nice guy.”

A PEACEFUL AFTERNOON

As they emerged from Pythoness House, the aeroship of House Shever passed above them – heading out towards the Southern Sea. They followed in its wake, heading down into Midtown and returning to the Ghostly Minstrel.

Tee had an appointment to keep, so she only stopped in long enough to drop off her bag of holding (with its tainted items and, most importantly, the soul draining key) and then left again.

Tor, too, only went to his room long enough to pick up a fresh set of clothes before heading over to the bathhouse on Tavern Row. (Where he sat quietly in a corner, speaking to no one.)

Agnarr headed to the common room and ordered a meal of feast-like proportions.

Elestra and Dominic, meanwhile, talked things over and decided to spend the afternoon trying to find help for the Cobbledman. Elestra knew that the Brotherhood of Redemption maintained a small chapterhouse in the Guildsman District (although there were rumors that they also maintained a large underground fortress somewhere beneath the city).

As Elestra and Dominic headed back out through the front hall, however, a cry came from the common room. “Mistress Elestra! Mistress Elestra!”

Before she even turned to look, Elestra knew that it was Iltumar. She suppressed a groan.

Iltumar was sitting at a table with an elven woman with dark brown hair. The glint of mithril chain could be seen under the woman’s clothes.

“Elestra, this is Lavis,” Iltumar said. “I’ve solved Tee’s riddle! The answer is ‘t’! T for Tee!”

“Very good, Iltumar!” Elestra smiled, exchanging a look with Dominic.

“I’ve got a new one for you, too: ‘My house is not quiet, but I am not loud. I am the swifter, at times the stronger. My house more enduring, longer to last. At times I will rest, but my house rushes on. Within it I lodge as long as I live. Should we two be severed, my death becomes sure.’”

Elestra leaned over towards Dominic. “Do you think it’s a snail? I think it might be a snail.”

Dominic shrugged.

“Do you want to join us for a drink?” Iltumar asked eagerly.

Elestra turned back to him. “I’m sorry, Iltumar. But Dominic and I have something we need to do. In fact, we were just heading out.”

Iltumar’s smile fell away.

“But I’ll let Tee know about your new riddle. I know she’ll be excited to hear it.”

“It’s okay,” Iltumar said. “I know you probably have much more important people to see.”

Elestra awkwardly tried to figure out how to make her farewells. Lavis exchanged a sympathetic look with her. But, at that moment, Ranthir was passing by on his way to fetch his customary bowl of soup for the evening. Overhearing her distress, he tapped Iltumar on the shoulder.

“Iltumar, I have some studies to attend to this evening. Would you, perchance, be interested in assisting me?”

Iltumar’s smile returned, even larger than before. “Really?”

“Yes,” Ranthir smiled. “I have to fetch some food, but then we could begin immediately… if you like.”

FOURTH LESSON OF THE DREAMING

Tee – weakened by the draining effects of the golden key and distracted by the myriad thoughts racing through her mind – had difficulty focusing upon her training. She had difficulty even achieving the dreaming trance, and could do little of consequence.

When the frustrating trance work was completed, Tee began gathering up her things to leave. But Doraedian stopped her.

“The dreaming trance requires a difficult art of balance. It shall never be without effort, although you will find that it becomes easier in time. However, there is another matter that we must discuss today. There are many paths through the arts of the Dreaming, and from this day forward your training will be of your choosing.”

“Choosing?” Tee said.

“Yes, while your lessons with me will continue, you will also be trained in one of three specialties.

“First, there is the Dreamsight. The Dreaming is the wellspring from which all reality is born and the grave to which all living memory returns. As such, those who can see the Dreaming with unclouded eyes can perceive deep truths of the world around them.

“Second, there are the Dream Pacts. The Lords of the Dreaming are powerful and fey. Those skilled enough in the dreaming arts can turn their souls into conduits through which the Spirit Lords can be made manifest in the world around us. But following such a path requires supreme self-control, for the Lords of the Dreaming are capable of reshaping your very soul.

“Finally, there is the art of Dreamspeaking. Those practiced in the dreaming arts can reshape the Dreaming around them. Those who are masters of the Dreaming, however, can reshape the world around them by reshaping the dreams from which the world is born. These arts have been perfected into the dreaming tongue – a primal language which not only describes the most fundamental aspects of reality, but can be used to transform it.”

“I’m not sure what I want to do.”

“It is not a decision to be rushed. Take your time. Explore your thoughts. Write me by letter before your next lesson on the 18^th and let me know your choice.”

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: Diegetic Mechanics – Campaign Journal: Session 23F
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

On Friday I looked at how, with a minimal application of system mastery by the DM, a completely new player who had never even played a roleplaying game before could create a character in just five sentences.

Magical Kitties Save the Day is the newest RPG from Atlas Games: You are a magical kitty. You have a human. Your human has a Problem. You need you use your magical powers to solve their Problems and save the day! The trick is that the Hometown where you live also has Problems, and when those Problems – witches, aliens, hyperintelligent raccoons – are aimed at your human’s Problems, they make those Problems so much worse!

Created by Matthew J. Hanson, the first edition was a PDF-only rulebook designed to be enjoyed by all ages. At Atlas, we believed we could take this hidden gem and bring it to the masses: After an extremely successful Kickstarter last year, we’ve created a boxed set that is chock full of material not only to make the game the perfect introduction for young new players – making it ideal for parents wanting to roleplay with their kids, for example – but also to teach new GMs of any age how to master the game.

That’s why, for example, the first thing you’ll find in the game is Magical Kitties & the Big Adventure: A choose-your-path graphic novel adventure, so that new players can get a taste of how the game is played within seconds of opening the box.

It’s also why, as I looked to develop and expand the 2^nd Edition of the game, that I focused very carefully on character creation with an eye on the principles of fast, accessible character creation I had learned from years of experimenting with open tables. Not because Magical Kitties Save the Day is necessarily designed for open table play (although it can very easily be adapted for it), but because those same principles apply to any game that you want to be friendly for brand new players:

• You want them to be able to start playing quickly, particularly if they’re young players who may have a shorter attention span.
• You want the decisions to be comprehensible without any system mastery, because not only will these players not have mastery of the specific mechanics of Magical Kitties; they may not even have an understanding of how any roleplaying game is played.

(As an unexpected benefit, simple and clear choices also allowed me to repackage character creation into the graphic novel experience, when it otherwise would have proven difficult.)

The first edition of Magical Kitties was already really good at this. So my design focus was on targeting the handful of steps in character creation that still had any lingering friction and figuring out how to ruthlessly restructure them or supplement them in order to eliminate that friction.

The result was the seven sentences of Magical Kitties character creation:

1. You have two Kitty Treats and an Owie Limit of 2.
2. Roll 1d6 to determine your Cute, Cunning, and Fierce attributes. (Table on p. 10.)
3. Roll 2d6 and read them as a two-digit number to generate your Talent (p. 13).
4. Roll 2d6 to generate your Flaw (p. 14).
5. Roll 2d6 to generate your Magical Power (p. 15).
6. What does your kitty look like and what is their name?
7. Determine your human’s Problem by rolling a Problem Source and an Emotion associated with that problem (p. 12), then name and describe your human.

This character creation is lightning fast. I can actually run 20-30 minute micro-scenarios of Magical Kitties (as convention demos, for younger kids, or as quick pick-up games) in which new players can learn the rules, create their characters, and complete the adventure.

…AND NOW FOR THE BUILD

In looking at our seven sentences for Magical Kitties, you might notice how many of those involving dice to randomly generate the character. This, of course, is intentional: In our discussion of OD&D, you may recall, I mentioned how players new RPGs associate “rolling dice” with “playing the game,” and that having them roll dice during character creation makes them feel as if they’re already playing the game (instead of still waiting for it to start). It headlines the fun, and this is even more true for young players.

(Everyone loves rolling dice. Kids just love rolling dice more.)

But you may also recall that random generation is a trade-off: You’re trading speed for the appeal of a carefully crafted character that you can fine tune to be exactly what you imagined playing.

Magical Kitties Save the Day, though, is also designed to be a game that can grow and mature with new players over time. Which is why every single one of those steps in which we use random generation – attributes, talents, flaws, magical powers, your human’s Problem – is designed so that an experienced player can swap it out: They can skip the random generation and instead have complete control over the creation of their character.