UPDATE: This page is out of date and no longer maintained. I’m leaving it up to keep the comments archived, but for a complete index of all articles related to node-based scenario design, check Part 1 of the series.

Here’s a convenient index of Node-Based Scenario Design for easy access, easy reading, and easy linking.

Part 1: The Plotted Approach
Part 2: Choose Your Own Adventure
Part 3: Inverting the Three Clue Rule
Part 4: Sample Scenario – Las Vegas CTU
Part 5: Plot vs. Node
Part 6: Alternative Node Design
Part 7: More Alternative Node Designs
Part 8: Freeform Design in the Cloud
Part 9: Types of Nodes

The essays on the Three Clue Rule and scenario-based design make for good supplementary reading if you haven’t seen them already.

UPDATE: A a sequel or supplement for Node-Based Scenario Design has been written under the mind-numbingly clever title Advanced Node-Based Design.

Werewolves suck.

I know what you’re thinking: “Justin, you’re obviously confused. Vampires suck. Werewolves bite.”

But lycanthropes seriously suck in 3rd Edition.

I’m not one of those who generally subscribes to the theory that 3rd Edition stat blocks are horrendous. (Although I did revise them to improve the usability of the actual block itself.) Prepping stat blocks usually represents only about 5% of the time that I spend prepping for a game.

But lycanthropes? I hate the little bastards.

I can generally whip out even the most complex stat blocks with templates and class levels and fancy equipment in 15 minutes or so. But I just spent more than two hours prepping the stat block for a single wererat, and I’m still pretty sure that I’ve screwed up the math somewhere. Probably a minor screw-up (the sort of thing that wouldn’t bother me in a private campaign); but since this is for a professional project it’s driving me insane.

It’s not the multiple stat blocks that bug me. I don’t actually have any problems using a lycanthrope straight out of the book. And I’ll frequently whip up multiple stat blocks for the same NPC in order to facilitate temporary effects (different equipment, rage, buffs, etc.).

The problem is that the rules for creating lycanthropes require you to create all three stat blocks sort of simultaneously while pulling information from both the base creature and the animal form. So you end up juggling five different stat blocks, and if you discover that you need to make an adjustment on any one of them you have to backtrack the change through all the other stat blocks.

On the one hand, I’m kind of looking at the rules for werewolves in 2nd Edition and 4th Edition and wondering if there’s any reason we can’t adopt that simplicity into 3rd Edition: Just give me one stat block and let me apply a simple template (“add bite attack”) when the were-creature enters hybrid form.

On the other hand, having gotten the rant out of my system, I’m beginning to suspect that the real problem isn’t necessarily the rules, but rather the organization of the rules. It seems like what the system needs is a clear order of progression:

(1) Create base creature.

(2) Apply lycanthrope template to create humanoid form.

(3) Apply hybrid template to the humanoid form create hybrid form.

(4) Apply animal form template to the humanoid form to create animal form.

And while it’s nice to have the generic “use any animal” guidelines, it would probably be easier in practice to have separate templates for each of the established types of were-creatures. Here’s a stab at what the wererat templates would look like:

WERERAT TEMPLATE
Apply this template to the base creature to create the wererat’s humanoid form. This template can be added to any humanoid or giant.

Size and Type: Creature gains the “shapechanger” subtype.
Hit Dice and Hit Points: Add 1d8 hit die to the base creature.
Armor Class: +2 bonus to natural armor.

Special Qualities: alternate form, lycanthropic empathy, low-light vision, scent

Base Save Bonuses: Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +2
Abilities: Wis +2, may gain an ability score increase due to additional hit dice
Skills: +8 racial bonus on Climb and Swim checks. Gains (2 + Int modifier) skill points, treating Climb, Hide, Listen, Move Silently, Spot and Swim as class skills.
Feats: Alertness, Iron Will, Weapon Finesse

Challenge Rating: +2

WERERAT HYBRID TEMPLATE
Apply this template to the wererat’s humanoid form to create the stat block for its hybrid form.

Size and Type: Small or the size of the base creature, whichever is larger.
Armor Class: +1 bonus to natural armor (if better than the base creature’s natural armor bonus)
Attacks: Gains 2 claw attacks and 1 bite as a secondary attack (-5 penalty).

Special Attacks: curse of lycanthropy (Fort DC 15); cannot cast spells with verbal components
Special Qualities: DR 5/silver for afflicted lycanthropes; DR 10/silver for natural lycanthropes

Abilities: Dex +6, Con +2

WERERAT ANIMAL FORM TEMPLATE
Apply this template to the wererat’s humanoid form to create the stat block for its animal form.

Size and Type: Small
Speed: 40 ft., climb 20 ft.
Armor Class: +1 natural armor (if better than the base creature’s natural armor)
Attacks: Replace all attacks with a bite attack (1d4 plus disease).

Special Attacks: curse of lycanthropy (Fort DC 15); cannot cast spells with verbal, somatic, or material components
Special Qualities: DR 5/silver for afflicted lycanthropes; DR 10/silver for natural lycanthropes

Abilities: Dex +6, Con +2
Skills: Can choose to take 10 on Climb checks even if rushed or threatened. Can use their Dex modifier for Climb and Swim checks.

I think that should produce 100% rules-accurate stat blocks with less hassle.

(Pardon me for a moment while I wander away from my HTML editor…)

And the proof is in the pudding: Despite forgetting to apply the old age template to my base creature’s stats (so that I had to start over while I was half-way through the hybrid stat block) and taking extra time to design a custom magic item from scratch, it only took me half an hour to put together three wererat stat blocks for a 4th-level orc barbarian. And I’m far more confident of the result than I was of the mess I managed to generate after 2+ hours of struggle this morning.

(This, of course, is the point where one of you will point out some egregiously idiotic mistake I made in those templates and send me crying back to my drafting table.)

LYCANTHROPE WEEK
Wererats
Werewolves
Dire Werewolves

Unknown Armies is a great little RPG. As I once wrote in a review, “UA is, I’ll be the first to admit, possessed of some flaws — but it bubbles with such creativity, originality, potential, and brilliance that it overwhelms those flaws.” Unfortunately, it never caught on in the way it probably deserved to. (And it probably never will: Too many other games have stepped in and stolen its stuff over the past decade.)

One of the (many) great things about Unknown Armies, however, was the “What You Hear” section. In the world of Unknown Armies all the half-crazed conspiracies and crack-pot theories and urban legends you’ve ever heard are true at one level or another, but in a way completely alien to anything you might have expected. “What You Hear” was basically a rapid-fire conglomeration of one- or two-sentence rumors that peeled back the mundanities of the world and revealed them to be something horribly different. They were a distorted lens through which the world could be viewed and used.

The great thing about them was that they could be used in any number of ways: Disinformation. Intriguing background detail. Full-fledged adventure seed. Idle chit-chat from a nervous underworld contact. All kinds of stuff. And all of it mysterious and enigmatic and awesome.

Circa 2004, a guy named RemyBuron started a thread on RPGNet for people to post UA-style rumors. Here a couple examples:

There is no state of Wyoming. I mean, have you ever met anyone from there?

If you had been crucified would you ever want to see a cross ever again? The common symbol of a crucifix actually wards off the power of Christ rather than invoking it. That most people believe differently is one of Satan’s greatest successes, just above killing a carpenter by nailing him to a wooden structure.

A few months later I started a thread for UA-Style Rumors: Dungeons & Dragons. Recent free-associating resulted in memories of the thread surfacing out of the deep murk of my brain, and I thought it would be fun to track the thread down and loot the stuff I had posted in it. When I did, I was pleasantly pleased to discover that the thread has been periodically revived over the past several years — with the most recent spurt of activity coming just a few weeks ago (and including someone describing it as the “best thread ever“).

Without further ado, here are my UA-style rumors for D&D (including a couple of new ones that never appeared in the thread). Check out the original thread for lots of good stuff from other people.

Mages were all born centuries ago. In fact, they’re not even human. No, seriously, think about it: Have you ever known a kid who grew up to be a mage? Nope. All the mages you’ve ever known are already adults, and most of them are old. Apprentices? Most of them are duped slaves. The few who can actually cast spells are actually archmages. They’re just putting on an act to keep up appearances.

Dragons aren’t really that impressive. In fact, even the biggest of ’em don’t grow any bigger than a large dog. The rest are just bullshit spun by would-be heroes trying to look important.

Why are there are only nine towns in Ten Towns?

You ever notice how the king is never seen without the queen? That’s because he’s really a living mannequin. The real king died years ago. If you watch closely, you can see the queen’s fingers twitching the invisible strings.

Underdark? There’s no such thing. The dark elves just live on the other side of the planet. (Although it’s true that you can get there through the dungeons — some of them go deep enough, although you have to watch out for the gravity shift.) And they’re not evil. That’s just racist elven propaganda. They don’t like anybody without pointy ears and alabaster skin. They think we’re all orcs.

All those monsters who prowl the wilderness? They were put there by the king. The court wizard makes ’em, and most of them are mutated from prisoners. You can see the lights in the wizard’s tower every night from the rituals. Why does he do it? To keep us commonfolk stuck in the cities and the villages. If we were able to travel safely and talk to each other we’d be free of him soon enough.

The gods are a sham. A couple hundred years ago some powerful elven spellcasters set themselves up as “gods”. Now the elves effectively rule the world, and their duped priests don’t even know they’re doing it. The dragons know the truth. That’s why they’re hunted.

Somewhere in the Duchy of Colbane there’s a village. Everybody there is a mind-slave controlled completely by a lich. Everybody.

Bags of Devouring don’t actually destroy anything. They just transport it to another bag. The most powerful person in the whole multiverse is the guy who owns the bag all the Bags of Devouring empty into. I only know this because a friend of mine told me. I’ve never seen him again.

Look, you’ve gotta stop casting fireballs. They’re dangerous. No, seriously, stop laughing. I mean they’re dangerous. There’s this dungeon you can’t go to any more. It’s full of fire. All the time. Some wizard cast three fireballs in quick succession and they all kind of… collapsed into each other. Ripped open a vortice to the Plane of Fire. I used to go delving with a wizard who was scrying on them at the time. He told me that if it had happened on the surface it would have wiped out the whole world. Seriously.

Liches? Not really undead. In fact, most of them aren’t even that powerful. They’re posers. I heard that a bunch of apprentices who couldn’t master more than basic weavings cooked up the whole “lich” thing as a secret society. They used a couple of simple illusion spells to wow a couple of hick villages and build a rep. Some adventurers managed to take out a couple and, hyped up on their own egos, built up the rep of the Liches even more. But now things are changing: The group is attracting more powerful members. And my friend Jacob heard some nasty rumors about that coup in Covartain last year. Something about “lich-ghouls”…

Have you ever noticed how there are always exactly 6 members in every adventuring party? That’s the number of the Beast. Think about it.

Tell me about it. My friend got hooked on those things. This would have been back before I lost my eye. It got to the point where he couldn’t get through a day without drinking one. Then it got worse. He had to use more and more powerful cure wounds potions to get the same kick. He was downing two or three potions every hour. And then they stopped working altogether. That’s when he switched to inflict wounds. Gods, that’s an ugly way to die…

I find designing these rumors for D&D particularly interesting: With UA you can just look a the world around you and add a spice of oddness or magic. But D&D is innately strange and magical. You can’t just say, “There’s a dungeon with weird stuff in it.” Dungeons are supposed to be filled with weird stuff. Shapeshifters and covens and illusions are all part of the package. In order to get that full UA-style punch, therefore, you need to look a the typical expectations of a D&D campaign and then deliberately invert those expectations. Force ’em to look twice and re-evaluate their preconceptions.

Got an idea for your own UA-style rumor? Hit the comment button.

I was running an OD&D version of Keep on the Shadowfell on Thursday night and discovered that I made a mistake while compiling the PDF cheat sheet for the adventure. Specifically, two relatively important paragraphs got dropped:

The kobold tribe is known as the Clan of the Withered Arm. Once in every generation a child of the clan is born with a withered arm, marking them as the future leader of the clan. The clan’s history in the area around Winterhaven actually dates back more than 25 years to a time period when they were driven from their ancestral lands by Necross the Black Mage. The villagers in Winterhaven, however, were largely unaware of their presence: They survived by hunting wild game and generally shunned contact with the civilized races (who they had learned to fear).

Kalarel’s arrival in the area changed all that. He sent one of his goblin lackeys — a brutish oaf named Irontooth — with a band of thugs to take control of the kobolds. They took the kobolds by surprise, overpowered their leader (a kobold named Issitik), and chopped off his arm. Irontooth now wears the withered arm on a chain about his neck.

This was included in the original posts on the website. It just got dropped from the compilation.

You can download the corrected PDF here.

Go to Part 1

Up to this point I’ve been fairly vague about exactly what I mean by a “node”. This is largely because there isn’t really a hard-and-fast definition of the term.

In generic terms, you can think of each node as a “point of interest”. It’s the place (either literally or metaphorically) where something interesting can happen and (in most cases) information about other interesting things can be found.

In my experience, nodes are most useful when they’re modular and self-contained. I think of each node as a tool that I can pick up and use to solve a problem. Sometimes the appropriate node is self-evident. (“The PCs are canvassing for information on recent gang activity. And I have a Gather Information table about recent gang activity. Done.”) Sometimes a choice of tool needs to be made. (“The PCs have pissed off Mr. Tyrell. Does he send a goon squad or an assassin?”) But when I look at an adventure, I tend to break it down into discrete, useful chunks.

Chunks that become too large or complex are generally more useful if broken into several smaller nodes. Chunks that are too small or fiddly are generally more useful if grouped together into larger nodes. The “sweet spot” is about identifying the most utilitarian middle-ground.

(To take an extreme example: “All the forestland in the Kingdom of Numbia” is probably too large for a single node. On the other hand, 86,213 separate nodes each labeled “a tree in the Forest of Arden” are almost certainly too fiddly. Is the appropriate node the “Forest of Arden”? Or is it twelve different nodes each depicting a different location in the Forest of Arden? I don’t know. It depends on how you’re using the Forest of Arden.)

Let’s get more specific. Here are the sorts of things I think of as “nodes”:

LOCATIONS: A place that the PCs can physically go. If you think of a clue as being anything that “tells you where to go next”, telling the PCs about a specific place that they’re supposed to go is the most literal interpretation of the concept. Once PCs arrive at the location, they’ll generally find more clues by searching the place.

PEOPLE: A specific individual that the PCs should pay attention to. It may be someone they’ve already met or it may be someone they’ll have to track down. PCs will generally get clues from people by either observing them or interrogating them.

ORGANIZATIONS: Organizations can often be thought of as a collection of locations and people (see Nodes Within Nodes, below), but it’s not unusual for a particular organization to come collectively within the PCs’ sights. Organizations can be both formal and informal; acknowledged and unacknowledged.

EVENTS: Something that happens at a specific time and (generally) a specific place. Although PCs will often be tasked with preventing a particular event from happening, when events are used as nodes (i.e., something from which clues can be gathered), it’s actually more typical for the PCs to actually attend the event. (On the other hand, learning about the plans for an event may lead the PCs to the location it’s supposed to be held; the organization responsible for holding it; or the people attending it.)

ACTIVITY: Something that the PCs are supposed to do. If the PCs are supposed to learn about a cult’s plan to perform a binding ritual, that’s an event. But if the PCs are supposed to perform a magical binding ritual, then that’s an activity. The clues pointing to an activity may tell the PCs exactly what they’re supposed to be doing; or they may tell the PCs that they need to do something; or both.

NODES WITHIN NODES

In other words, at its most basic level a node is a person, a place, or a thing.

As suggested above, however, nodes can actually be fairly complex in their own right. For example, the entire Temple of Elemental Evil (with hundreds of keyed locations) could be thought of as a single node: Clues from the village of Hommlet and the surrounding countryside lead the PCs there, and then they’re free to explore that node/dungeon in any way that they wish.

Similarly, once the PCs start looking at the Tyrell Corporation they might become aware of CEO James Tyrell, the corporate headquarters, their shipping facility, the server farm they rent, and the annual Christmas party being thrown at Tyrell’s house — all of which can be thought of as “sub-nodes”. Whether all of these “sub-nodes” are immediately apparent to anyone looking at the Tyrell Corporation or if they have to be discovered through their own sub-network of clues is largely a question of design.

In short, you can have nodes within nodes. You can plan your campaign at a macro-level (Tyrell Corporation, Project MK-ALTER, the Chicago Sub-City, and the Kronos Detective Agency), look at how those macro-nodes relate to each other, and then develop each node as a separate node-based structure in its own right. Spread a few clues leading to other macro-nodes within each network of sub-nodes and you can achieve highly complex intrigues from simple, easy-to-use building blocks.

Advanced Node-Based Design