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In Phase 2 of Storm King’s Thunder, the PCs travel to one of three cities: Bryn Shander, Goldenfields, or Triboar. Each of these cities will be attacked by giants shortly after the PCs arrive, and in each of these cities there are six “Special NPCs” that the DM is supposed to give to the players to play during the attack:

In this chapter, each player runs not only a player character but also an NPC who has ties to the settlement that the characters are defending. Once you’ve determined where the adventure begins, make photocopies of the six NPCs corresponding to the location you’ve chosen.

(…)

Each NPC comes with a brief description, personality traits (a bond, an ideal, and a flaw), and a stat block. When the giant attack begins, give one NPC to each player and tell the player where the NPC is at the start of the encounter, as noted in the encounter description.

The structural concept here is that each Special NPC who survives the giant attack will deliver a Special Quest. The DM is supposed to spell this out to the players, by reading the following boxed text aloud:

In addition to your character, each of you has received a special nonplayer character with ties to the location where the adventure begins. Take a moment to review your NPC’s personality traits and statistics. One of your goals in this part of the adventure is to keep your special NPC alive. For each of these NPCs that survives, your party will receive a special quest that yields a reward upon its successful completion. The details of these special quests won’t be revealed until the end of this part of the adventure.

These Special Quests are the scenario hooks that propel the PCs from Phase 2 into Phase 3 of the campaign. The point, obviously, is for the PCs to exit Phase 2 of the campaign with a fistful of scenario hooks pointing in a whole bunch of different directions. In Bryn Shander, for example, you can get hooks pointing to:

• Ironmaster
• Waterdeep (x2)
• Hundelstone
• Neverwinter
• deeper into Icewind Dale

Looking at this section of the campaign, I really like the Special NPC dossiers and the gimmick of taking on these additional roles during the giant attack can be quite effective in lending an epic scope to these events.

What I DON’T like is that “explicitly explain the structural conceit” thing. It pierces the veil in a way that makes the game world feel less like a real place by popping a yellow exclamation mark over the NPCs’ heads. It’s also a little awkward to hand the players brand new characters to play just as a major combat is breaking out, because the pace of events will get bogged down in the procedural aspects of passing out the dossiers, explaining what they’re doing, figuring out the stat blocks, etc.

RUNNING THE PROXIES

Instead of waiting for the giant attack, give the Special NPCs to the players as they’re approaching the city limits. For example:

You see Bryn Shander on a hill rising from the wind-swept tundra. The sun is lowering in the sky and the chill of the wind is taking on a vicious edge. Ahead you can see two 30-foot-tall cylindrical towers flanking the gate.

CUT TO: Six people living in Bryn Shander.

At this point, distribute the NPC dossiers to the players and give them a minute to look things over. Put a copy of the Bryn Shander map on the table for the players to reference. Then prompt each player to frame a simple scene:

• What is something Augrek does every day?
• Where is Sirac right now?
• Markham is in Rendaril’s Emporium. What is he looking for?
• Duvessa Shane is having an argument. Who is she arguing with?
• Beldora is following someone. Who?
• Sir Baric, give me a Perception check to see if you catch the pickpocket taking your purse.

Briefly play through these scenes. Then cut back to the PCs entering the town.

Your goal here is to very quickly make the town come to life and get the players invested in it. When the giants attack later, the players now have a reason to really care about the community AND they’re already oriented to the Special NPCs and their lives, so they can jump straight in.

BEFORE THE GIANT ATTACK

The PCs will now go about their business. (Shopping, finding lodging, following up on whatever scenario hooks brought them to this city in the first place.) As they’re doing this, reincorporate the NPCs whenever you can:

• The PCs meet Sirac when they look for someone to give them directions.
• Markham is, conveniently, who they’re looking for.
• Duvessa comes in while they’re talking to Markham. She wants to talk to him about the argument she just had.
• As they head to the general store for supplies, they run into Sir Baric who is just finishing that pickpocketing scene.
• At the store, they meet Beldora.

And so forth. Whatever feels right for your group, based on how those first scenes played out.

The PCs don’t need to coincidentally meet every Special NPC. (No reason to force it.) But if that happens naturally… great!

Then, suddenly, in the middle of one of these scenes: GIANTS ATTACK!

AFTER THE GIANT ATTACK

In addition to the NPC dossiers, you’ll also want to have prepped a short handout for each scenario hook they can offer to the PCs. After the giant attack is complete, hand these to the appropriate players and let them frame up the scenes where they give the hooks to the PCs.

(You can give these out over time instead of all at once if that feels more appropriate. The pacing here is more art than science.)

The text from Storm King’s Thunder can serve as a good base for these briefing sheets, but you may want to tweak them a bit. For example, Beldora’s reads:

Beldora urges the characters to head southwest and take Ten Trail through the mountains to the mining settlement of Hundelstone. She suggests they make contact with a gnome named Thwip Ironbottom, who lives there year-round. If one or more of the party members are Harpers, she tells them that Thwip serves as the organization’s eyes and ears in Hundelstone. Beldora uses her sending stone to inform Thwip that the characters are coming.

This is very scripted and will likely feel awkward to the player. Shift the phrasing to give the player more leeway in playing the scene:

Beldora is impressed by the actions of the party and would like to recruit them as Harpers. If they’re interested, she’ll direct them to make contact with Thwip Ironbottom in the mining settlement of Hundelstone (which lies to the southwest and can be reached by following the Ten Trail through the mountains).

It’s a small shift, but hopefully the effect is fairly clear.

EXTENDING THE GIMMICK

In the Storm King’s Remix, you’ll repeat this same structure three times. This is good: Each time you do it, the players will feel more comfortable with what they’re expected to do, and the results will grow stronger as a result. You might worry that it will become repetitive, but in practice this won’t happen because the NPCs are unique and the circumstances distinct. The result will play out very differently each time.

Having done so, you might think about how this gimmick could be extended. (Particularly if it seems to be well-received by the players.) There are several ways to do this:

• When the PCs return to one of the three cities, take the time to once again frame up day-in-the-life scenes with the Special NPCs.
• Even if the PCs don’t return to one of the cities, perhaps one or more of the Special NPCs could be encountered elsewhere. (Beldora, for example, might be reassigned by the Harpers.)
• If the players seem really attached to their Special NPCs, you might use some light bluebooking to allow them to stay connected to the characters and follow up on what’s happening with them. (You could also use this as a vector for establishing the scope of the crisis affecting Faerûn; you might even have these NPCs maintain some form of correspondence with the PCs, allowing them to be conduits for additional information or scenario hooks as the campaign continues.)

You might also consider keeping an eye out for opportunities to use a similar technique in other locations during the campaign. (You would, of course, have to write up the appropriate NPC dossiers.) For example, what if the players took on the roles of various giants in Maelstrom when visiting the storm giant court for the first time?

Go to Storm King’s Remix

In its most basic form, of course, the hexcrawl is a collection of hexes. Each hex contains some form of keyed content, and the PCs move from one hex to the next, encountering whatever each hex happens to contain.

Insofar as it goes, this basic functionality is just fine. Essential, really. It’s what makes the hexcrawl a fundamentally robust structure in which the players can never truly become stuck, because they can always just choose another hex to explore.

But if this basic functionality is the only thing a hexcrawl has to offer, then the hexcrawl becomes like a game of Memory with no matching tiles: You just select a tile at random, flip it up, and collect it. In order for a game of Memory to become interesting, there has to be a connection between the tiles (i.e., the pairs you’re trying to match). By learning these connections, the choice of tile in Memory becomes meaningful.

Similarly, for a hexcrawl to truly come to life at the gaming table, the players need to be able to learn meaningful information about the hexes and use that information to guide their exploration of the hexmap.

• “Those bandits told us their main camp was located in a cave three miles west of the waterfall. Let’s head there and shut them down for good.”
• “Do you want to go back and check out that weird tower with the bleeding walls we saw sticking out of the Sepulchral Holt?”
• “I don’t know where this map leads, but there must have been a reason that demon was carrying it.”

As the PCs gain information like this, they transcend random wandering and are able to set goals. Aimless curiosity is transformed into purposeful searching and true exploration is achieved.

There are a number of ways that the PCs can get this information. Rumors, for example, can either be freely distributed or gleaned from urban locations. Tracks can turn almost any random encounter into an information source. (“We can follow these goblin raiders back to their village.”)

But one of the most powerful technique is to connect your hexes: By exploring one hex, the PCs gain information that leads them to another hex. In this way, the random hexes of aimless curiosity are transmuted into purpose, and that purpose becomes self-perpetuating as each additional hex the PCs explore teaches them more and more about the area they’re exploring.

CLUES & LEADS

At a basic level, you’re including leads in your hex key that point to other hexes.

• The goblins are working for the necromancer, so if you raid their village you might maps or correspondence with the necromancer; or you might interrogate them or follow their tracks to the necromancer’s tower in the Sepulchral Holt.
• Conversely, if you go to the Sepulchral Holt you’ll find goblins from the village serving there (offering any number of opportunities for planting leads). Also, the necromancer is trying to help the goblins wipe out the bandits in the area (to eliminate the competition), so there’s a map indicating the location of the cave where they make their lair.

And so forth.

Since we’re talking about clues and leads, your thoughts might naturally lead you towards the Three Clue Rule:

For any conclusion you want the PCs to make, include at least three clues.

When it comes to hex connections, however, this is not strictly necessary. Remember that the hexcrawl structure itself provides a default method for discovering keyed content, so it’s okay if the clues for a location “fail.” So it’s fine if you only have two or one or even zero clues pointing to a location. (For the same reason that you don’t need three clues pointing to every room in a dungeon.)

Nevertheless, in keying your hexmap, you might want to keep a revelation list of your hexes to track how the various locations are being connected to each other. This may be particularly useful if you haven’t designed a hexcrawl before and want to make establishing hex connections a point of emphasis.

As a rule of thumb for your first hex key, for example, you might just make sure that every keyed location has at least one clue pointing to another location. That will likely result in some locations have lots of clues pointing to them and other locations not having any clues pointing to them, but it does make sure that the PCs are likely to quickly find specific information they can pursue if they’re currently without a specific goal.

TREASURE MAPS & RANDOM GENERATION

An interesting feature of the original 1974 edition of D&D is that its random treasure tables featured treasure maps. Lots of treasure maps. (25% of all “magic item” results, for example, would actually result in a map.)

This is a very interesting mechanic, because it systematizes the injection of hex connections (or to similar effect in a megadungeon). Rolling to generate a monster’s treasure would periodically prompt the DM to provide a clear-cut (and very tantalizing!) lead to another location.

(A similar system was that monster treasure was, by default, only found in the monster’s lair. So if you encountered a monster as a random encounter, you would need to track them back to their lair — which would likely have other encounters in it — in order to get your pay day.)

These systems were removed from the game, most likely because being randomly prompted to provide a full-blown treasure map to your players was daunting for many DMs, but I take a couple of lessons from this.

First, literal treasure maps are awesome. Include them in myriad forms. (Tattered parchment. Scrawled in charcoal on a ruined wall. A small blue orb that vibrates when you head in a particular direction.)

Second, some degree of randomization can be an excellent prompt to challenge ourselves and seek creative solutions that might otherwise have never occurred to us.

You can play around with this in all kinds of ways. For example, a fun exercise might be:

• Roll 1d6-2 for each keyed location to determine how many leads should be there pointing to other locations.
• For each lead, randomize the hex that the clue points to.

Trying to figure out how/why these connections exist will likely enrich your game world in fascinating ways.

(And if not, just ignore it. It’s a fun prompt, not the dice gestapo.)

VISIBLE LANDMARKS

As a final note, I’ll point out a form of hex connection that might not occur to you even though it’s in plain sight. Literally.

Landmarks which can be seen from a great distance — i.e., in another hex — are technically connected to all of those hexes from which they can be seen. (In a very literal, but nonetheless significant, way.)

Conversely, a high vantage point that allows you to spot is also a form of hex connection, allowing PCs to learn information that they can use to guide their navigation and exploration of the wilderness.

Back to 5E Hexcrawls

JRL writes:

Are lulls in the game — people pulling up phones, dozing off — acceptable in sessions? Or should it be avoided at all costs?

In diagnosing this, I think you have to distinguish between two groups:

• People who are in the current scene.
• People who are NOT in the current scene.

One of the best things you can have is a group that’s an enthusiastic audience: Even if they’re not the current focus of attention, these players will be completely engaged because they’re entertained and interested in what’s happening within the totality of the campaign. But even in these groups, there’ll be times when people not in the current scene will be tuning out. And that’s probably fine, as long as their activities aren’t distracting or detracting from the current spotlight.

(It’s one thing if they’re checking their e-mail. It’s another if they’re playing videos or pulling other players into chit-chat about a TV series they’ve been watching.)

If the players with characters in the current scene are completely disconnecting from the session, though, that’s a flashing red light that something is wrong.

(Before we go any further, though: Make sure that “check your phone” is actually tuning out. I’m frequently “on my phone” during our Grendleroot campaign, but it’s because I’m looking up my artificer’s spells.)

If spotlight players are tuning out, there are a few things to consider.

Take a break. In a four-hour session you should be taking at least one break. I recommend two or three. Breaks give everyone a chance to recharge and refocus.

Double check. Is the current scene actually interesting? Or are you grinding through empty time that you should be framing past?

Mechanically prompt the group. Calling for a group Perception check or Insight check or whatever your local gaming system’s equivalent is can be a good way to low-key refocus people.

Prompt the tuned-out player. If it’s a social scene, have the NPC turn to their PC and say something like, “What do you think, Tameric?” You can also just specifically ask the player, “What’s Tameric doing?”

If this tune-out is happening during combat, the root cause is probably that it’s taking too long for the combat round to loop back to the player. Solutions for this include:

Off-turn interactions. Some game systems will be designed to give the PCs the ability to take reactions when it’s not their turn. On the one hand this can increase how long it takes a combat round to resolve, but on the other hand it tends to keep players more engaged with what’s happening because they’ll be looking for opportunities to use their off-turn abilities.

Even in the absence of such mechanics, however, you can often proactively engage a player off-turn. Just targeting them with an attack is often enough to get their attention, but something that requires them to actually roll dice (e.g., a saving throw in D&D) or make a decision is even better.

Speeding up combat. Literally just resolving a combat round faster will also help, getting players back to their turns sooner so they have left time to tune out. There are a variety of techniques you can use here, including pre-rolling dice, rolling fistfuls of dice, and putting players on deck. (Putting players on deck is also great because it pre-engages the player with their turn before you actually get all the way back to their turn.)

Most these techniques, as noted, are about making sure that players in the current scene aren’t checking out. But when the party splits up, you don’t necessarily want to leave players unengaged for too long. There are a couple techniques that can help with this, too:

Cut mid-scene. Don’t wait for Group 1 to wrap up everything they’re doing before switching to Group 2. Instead, cut back and forth between the groups in the middle of scenes. This is described in more detail as one of the advanced techniques in The Art of Pacing, and it’s highly effective.

Cast an NPC. Consider the NPCs or monsters in the scene the player isn’t participating in. Then give one of them to the player to play. In combat you can generally just hand them the bad guy’s stat block. In a social scene, you’ll generally want to stick with simpler support roles (that don’t require a lengthy briefing), but more complex roles are possible if you’ve prepped them using something like the universal NPC roleplaying template. (Either way, I would generally suggest avoiding any NPC whose correct portrayal would rely on the player getting access to spoilers.)

IT’S NOT ME, IT’S YOU

With all of that being said, remaining engaged with the session is a two-way street. If you have a player for whom this is a habitual problem — it’s this one specific player who is constantly tuning out — then you need to talk with them about it outside of the game session.

If their tune-out isn’t disrupting the game, then you can just touch base and see how they’re doing. Are they actually disinterested in the campaign? Is there something different you could be doing to make the game better for them? In doing so, you may discover that there’s not actually a problem at all. Some players, particularly those with ADHD, will use structured “distractions” to remain mentally engaged with an activity.

If, however, the player is being disruptive — and having no idea what’s going on because they weren’t paying attention counts as disruptive! — then you need to have a frank discussion with them and figure out a solution. That might even include agreeing that this just isn’t the right game for them (although obviously that would not be the first go-to).

Either way, getting on the same page with your players will make things better for everyone in the long run.

On that note, I will say that you may tempted to implement a table rule like “no using cellphones.” That may work, but in my experience you’re far more likely to be treating the symptom than the disease.

Go to Ask the Alexandrian #9

Want to create an entire world?

Sounds intimidating, doesn’t it? Particularly if you look at published campaign settings: Hundreds, often thousands, of pages dedicated to describing a fictional reality. Your first session is on Saturday! You don’t have time for all that!

Of course, you don’t need to do all of that to start gaming in your own setting. A detailed breakdown of the dialects spoken on the Triskan sub-continent might be really fun to explore, but are probably not strictly necessary for a new campaign taking place in the Sasharran archipelago.

But what’s the minimum amount of stuff you’ll need before the game begins?

In my experience, three to six pages.

Let’s break down what those look like.

THE MINIMAL PREP PACKET

Start with 1-2 pages of broad detail about the world. The goal of this high-level summary is to provide context for whatever local scene your campaign will end up starting in. The exact nature of what this overview looks like will vary based on the setting, your preferences, and probably the campaign you’re planning.

For my first D&D 3^rd Edition campaign, for example, I wrote one page summarizing the five major empires of the Western Lands (one paragraph per empire). Then I wrote a one page timeline of the setting’s history.

For an urban fantasy campaign, on the other hand, you might do one page on the true nature of magic and another page on the major fey factions.

Whatever this content ends up needing to be for your campaign, though, keep it to no more than two pages.

Tip: Make sure to include a calendar, if the setting needs that sort of thing. You’ll want to be able to talk about the passage of time in concrete ways.

Next, what do the players need for character creation? In D&D, for example, this includes the gods (because clerics need to pick their deity) and languages (because everyone needs to pick those). So do another 1-2 pages on that.

Finally, we’re going to aggressively zoom in and focus on the local setting. Obviously, you’ll need to start by deciding where the first adventure of the campaign is going to be set.

• A major fantasy metropolis?
• A village on the edge of civilization?
• A lunar space station?
• A lich-infested Rome?

Exactly what you’ll be prepping here will depend on the exact nature of the setting, but once again your goal is 1-2 pages of broad context that will give you a foundation for developing and improvising as needed.

Some things that are often relevant:

• Enough detail to describe local navigation. For a city, this might be a breakdown of neighborhoods. For a village, it might be the local roads (where do they go?) and terrain features (the Old Forest, the Trollfens, etc.).
• Who is politically in charge? Whether that’s a local authority (e.g., the mayor) or a distant one (e.g., Tsarist border patrols periodically pass through the region).
• What are the local factions? These might be businesses, criminal organizations, social organizations, ethnic groups, civic institutions, etc.

Your goal here is not to be comprehensively encyclopedic. It’s okay to say “there’s a city council,” for example, without specifying every individual councilor. Or to name one or two councilors while leaving the rest as a tabula rasa for later development.

Check to make sure that you’ve provided common resources that the PCs will go looking for. In D&D, for example, that would typically include:

• The local store(s) where they’ll be able to buy supplies;
• An inn or other place for them to stay; and
• A tavern, as a default social destination and/or rumor distribution center. (PCs just love going to taverns.)

A quick way to make your setting feel unique is to look at the essential functions being provided here and, instead of using the generic solution (general store, inn, tavern), coming up with creative and unusual solutions. For example:

• There is a strange, steampunk machine in the middle of the village. Insert gems or precious metals and it will deliver, within 2d12 hours, the items you request.
• The village doesn’t have an inn, but the PCs can find beds in the abandoned — and very, very haunted — military barracks on Blood Hill.
• The locals socialize in a dreamhouse or nobhill, gathering at night in their dreams while they sleep.

With these three parts in place, you’ll have your 3-6 pages of prep. From this point forward, the setting will continue to expand as:

• The players create characters and you/they need to start answering specific questions about where they’re from, etc.
• When you create your first adventure.
• When you create your second adventure.

And so on.

MAPS

While working on this initial material, you may find it useful to do some maps. To keep things brief, I have a couple of tips for this.

First, if you can get away with NOT doing a map, skip doing the map for now.

Second, if you’re doing a map, keep it sketchy and try to keep it at roughly the same level of detail as your minimal prep packet.

For example, when I did the first map for my Western Lands campaign I sketched a coastline, a couple mountain ranges, and the borders of the Five Empires. I eventually added regional maps with more detail, but I was still using that original map with very few additions more than ten years later.

You need less than you think.

THE PLAYER PACKET

The other thing to note is that the 3-6 pages you’ve written up can almost certainly, with perhaps just a teensy bit of editing, double as the players’ briefing pack for the setting.

Not only does it cover everything they need to know, it’s conveniently almost the exact length (5 pages) that I generally find to be the maximum amount of extracurricular reading I can rightfully hope that players might be willing to do before our first session. (Or, failing that, it’s short enough for them to parse at the table.)

THE FIRST ADVENTURE

An important thing to understand is that none of the material I’ve talked about here is part of your first adventure. What you need for that first scenario is separate from this foundational setting material.

If you’re a first time GM trying to figure out what your scenario should be, you might want to check out:

• Prep Tips for the Beginning DM
• Prep Tips for the Beginning GM: Cyberpunk
• How to Prep a Module

There are a wide variety of scenarios you might choose to launch the campaign with. Regardless of what type of scenario it is, though, it’s virtually certain that it will add more detail to your setting. For example, if it’s a murder investigation involving the Hephaestus Corporation… well, you’ll be adding a lot more detail about Hephaestus to your faction notes.

This is good! As I mentioned above, your homebrew setting will naturally expand through the scenarios you run in it. This is, in fact, the most efficient and arguably the best way to build a setting.

Of course, the amount of setting material you’ll need to prep for this initial scenario (and later scenarios) can vary quite a bit. For example, if you’re setting up a hexcrawl for an open table campaign, then you’ll prepping A LOT more setting material before the first session. If it’s a simple 5-room dungeon, then you might be adding very little.

Either way, you’ll have taken your first steps into a brand new world.

Your world.

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 28C: Into the Banewarrens

Elestra, thinking quickly, fished a flask of oil out of her pack and threw it at the vermin-thing Tor was fighting. Agnarr stepped back, pivoted, and landed a blow with his flaming sword. The oil ignited and the vermin-thing was immolated by the wave of flames.

Tee stepped back and, drawing her own flask of oil, hurled it at the one Agnarr had just turned his back on. Agnarr whirled and a moment later there was nothing left of the creatures but two inky patches of burning grease.

The history of burning oil in D&D is something I find really interesting.

If you look back at the 1974 edition of D&D, there are two references to oil. First, you can buy a “flask of oil” for 2 gp. (Most obviously intended to fuel the lantern, which appears immediately above it in the equipment list.) Second, you can use it as part of the Flight/Pursuit mechanics:

“Burning oil will deter many monsters from continuing pursuit.”

Okay, but what should happen if someone — whether monster or PC — should end up in the burning oil? The rulebooks are silent on this issue, but it seems likely that many GMs followed the same train of logic I did when making a ruling on this:

• How much damage should it deal? Well, all attacks deal 1d6 damage in 1974 D&D, so almost certainly 1d6.
• How large of an area does one flask of oil cover? Most of the game defaults to 10 ft. increments, so a single 10-ft. square seems likely. (Enough to block a standard dungeon corridor.)
• How long does it burn for? Hmm. Probably more than just one round, right? 1974 D&D pretty reliably reaches for a six-sided die whenever it needs a randomizer, so let’s say it burns for 1d6 rounds.

This makes burning oil quite useful: It’s an area attack available to anyone willing to pony up the cash for it, and it’s incredibly useful for taking control of a battlefield or, as provided for in the rules, escaping from a fight that’s turned against you.

(Tangentially, in one of my D&D campaigns a PC invented a flash-burn oil specialized for combat: It cost 10 gp per flask and would deal 2d6 (take highest) damage, but only burn for 2d6 (take lowest) rounds. I gave it the name dragon’s milk. But I digress.)

The potential for abuse is, it should be noted, incredibly high if you (a) don’t enforce encumbrance and (b) don’t enforce any other consequences for hauling around huge quantities of highly flammable liquid. People will just throw oil all day with nary a care in the world.

It’s perhaps unsurprising to learn, given the efficacy and, frankly, importance of burning oil in D&D, that AD&D 1^st Edition spends much more time focusing on it. In fact, although the price of a flask of oil has dropped to just 1 gp, burning oil literally becomes a controlled substance on the Armor and Weapons Permitted table:

A number of protections against burning oil (like the resist fire spell) are also explicitly introduced.

And, of course, guidelines are given for many practical aspects of using burning oil:

• If you throw a burning flask of oil, it affects a 3’ diameter area, dealing 1d3 damage to everyone in the area (save vs. poison to negate). If you hurl a lantern, it only affects a 2’ diameter area.
• If it strikes someone directly, it deals 2d6 damage + 1d6 damage on the second round (and then burns out).
• Walking through or standing in an area of burning oil deals 1d6 damage per round and requires a saving throw to avoid being lit on fire.
• A lighted torch can be thrown to light an oil covered area (with guidelines for determining where it goes if you miss).

As with so many things in 1^st Edition, it’s an odd bag of contradictory details. (If you hit someone with oil, it burns out after 2 rounds. Should that rule also apply to “puddles” of oil that are lit? Is the 1d3 splash damage in addition to the 1d6 damage for standing in the burning pool? Or does a thrown flask of oil not create a pool and only creates splash?)

Regardless of the hazy parts here, it does generally appear that oil continues to be an effective method of performing an area attack. Nowhere near as powerful as a fireball, certainly, but far more accessible and flexible.

Let’s briefly detour over to the 1977 Basic Set. Here we find:

• 1 flask of oil can create a 5-foot-wide pool. It will burn for 10 rounds, dealing 2d8 damage per round.
• A creature struck directly with oil suffers 1d8 damage in the first round and 2d8 damage in the second round. (It’s then “assumed that the oil has run off, been wiped off, burned away, etc.) This is accompanied by a truly dizzying system for actually targeting the creatures. (You need to roll 11+, but then you adjust for Dexterity score, and also the height of the target.)
• You have to ignite oil AFTER throwing it. (You apparently can’t light it like a pipe bomb and then throw it.)
• Flaming oil will not harm non-corporeal monsters like wraiths and specters. It deals only half damage to skeletons, zombies, ghouls, wights, and mummies. Monsters that normally use fire weapons (e.g. red dragons, fire giants, hell hounds) are also immune.

We can see here that J. Eric Holmes did, in fact, follow a logic similar to my own (albeit with a smaller area affected and more damage afflicted). This version is more powerful than AD&D’s and would basically persist throughout the later version of Basic D&D (with the addition of a grenade-like, wick-fueled burning oil bomb to the equipment list).

LANTERN OIL DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT!

I don’t care.

Why are lanterns in D&D fueled with such an insanely flammable liquid? I don’t know. Maybe it’s harvested by alchemists from the glands of fire lizards and is absurdly cheap compared to other options, and house fires are a huge problem in this world. Or maybe the characters are carrying a bunch of different types of oil, and we just doesn’t worry about trying to figure out exactly which one is which.

The point is that D&D-style burning oil creates interesting gameplay and has strategic interest.

Although I will note that AD&D 2^nd Edition did make a point of distinguishing between “Greek fire” (10 gp per flask) and “lamp oil” (6 cp per flask; can’t be used offensively, but can sustain existing blazes).

THE BIG SHIFT

The big shift for burning oil in D&D starts with 3^rd Edition, which divided the weapon into alchemist’s fire (1d6 damage per round for two rounds, can’t be used as an area attack) and oil (5 ft. area, 1d3 damage, burns for two rounds; if thrown, only has 50% chance of igniting properly).

You can see how these rules were derived from AD&D, but the efficacy of oil as an area attack has been crippled.

4^th Edition’s treatment of oil is actually hilarious. On page 210 it says:

Here’s an overview of the contents of this chapter:

(…)

Adventuring Gear: The tools of the adventuring trade. Look in this section for everburning torches, flasks of oil, backpacks, and spellbooks.

Emphasis added. But guess what isn’t in the Adventuring Gear section of the Player’s Handbook? Guess what isn’t in the book anywhere at all?

Ah, 4th Edition. Never change.

D&D 4^th Edition Essentials did manage to remember to give a price for lantern oil, but I’m fairly certain there are still no rules for using burning oil as a weapon.

Burning oil makes a comeback in 5^th Edition, but remains quite weak:

• You have to light oil as a separate action or attack.
• It can cover a 5 ft. area, burning for two rounds.
• It deals 5 fire damage.

So… why was burning oil suddenly nerfed to, in some cases, no longer being a part of the game at all?

Partly I think it’s because of the expectation that encumbrance won’t be enforced, allowing PCs to haul around dozens of flasks of oil that can be deployed ceaselessly. Mostly, I think it’s fear of a mundane item “poaching” what spellcasters can do.

The irony is that you can look at a whole plethora of perpetual D&D design discussions:

• Non-spellcasters not being able to compete with the area attacks of spellcasters.
• PCs not being able to reliably retreat from battle, so players always fight to the death.
• A lack of dynamic control over the battlefield, resulting in boring combat.

… and burning oil is just sitting there waiting for somebody to notice it.

Honestly, I’ve had great results from just using my rulings from 1974 D&D:

• 10 ft. area.
• 1d6 damage per round.
• Burns for 1d6 rounds.

I recommend adding that and dragon’s milk to your 3^rd Edition and 5^th Edition campaigns.

Campaign Journal: Session 29A – Running the Campaign: Clever Combat
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index