Over on Hack & Slash, -C has written an interesting trio of posts on the matter of the Quantum Ogre:

On Quantum Ogres

On Slaying Quantum Ogres

On Resurrecting Quantum Ogre

If you enjoy some of the theoretical stuff I post around this neck of the woods, you’ll probably enjoy this stuff, too.

With that being said, however, I pretty strongly disagree with some of his advice. An addendum I’d like to point out: Players making a choice without having relevant information is only a problem if they don’t have the ability to gain that information. The choice to not get that information is a meaningful choice. (Or the failure to do so is a meaningful consequence.)

So any time he recommends giving players access to information that their characters don’t actually have access to, you can just imagine me shaking my head sadly. That technique is killing player agency just as dead as the quantum ogre is.

In Ptolus, the House of the Sacred Heat believes in the divine healing power of fire. They are not priests and they do not have truly holy magic, but their techniques “serve the needs of Ptolusites who cannot afford to pay a temple hundreds of gold coins to heal a wound or deal with an illness.”

This concept of fantastical healing lying somewhere between the naturalistic limits of the Heal skill and the magical extremes of divine magic has always been very appealing to me. Unfortunately, the purview of the sacred heat wasn’t given any mechanical definition. Without that mechanical definition, there’s no compelling reason for the PCs to ever interact with the Healers of the Sacred Heat. As a result, in a setting already teeming with activity, the Sacred Heat is a non-entity.

Reading through Reign t’other day, however, I found the esoteric discipline of Truil Bodywork. Greg Stolze describes this discipline, in part, by writing: “Some Truils argue, quite seriously, that bodywork functions by compressing a month’s suffering into ten or fifteen minutes. The bodyworkers themselves just roll their eyes at the jibe.”

Reign is built on the One-Roll Engine (ORE), so the pain-for-gain mechanics of Truil Bodywork don’t directly translate. But the basic concept was inspiring. Here’s the Healer of the Sacred Heat feat:

HEALER OF THE SACRED HEAT

Prerequisite: Heal 5 ranks

Benefit: The character gains access to the Healing Arts of the Sacred Heat. As long as they have access to an open flame, they gain a +2 circumstance bonus to Heal checks and they can also use any of the following abilities.

Burning Out the Poison: By using flame and heat applied to specific locations on the body, a Healer of the Sacred Heat can attempt to burn a poison out of a patient’s body. (Some ingested poisons will also require the patient to swallow specially prepared coals.) This treatments takes 1 round and deals 1d6 points of nonlethal damage to the patient, but if the healer succeeds on a Heal check with a DC equal to that of the original poison + 5 the patient is completely cured. (They suffer no additional effects from the poison and any temporary effects are ended. However, the treatment does not reverse instantaneous effects such as hit point damage, temporary ability damage, and the like.)

Cooling the Disease: By using strategically placed flames or heat sources around a patient’s body, a Healer of the Sacred Heat can create a biorhythmic vortex which will draw heat out of the body. As the heat departs the body, it draws non-magical diseases with it. The treatment takes 10 minutes and deals 1d6 points of nonlethal damage to the patient due to the sudden chilling of their body, but if the healer succeeds on a Heal check with a DC equal to that of the original disease +5 the patient will automatically succeed on their next saving throw against the disease.

Cauterizing the Wound: With 10 minutes of work and a successful Heal check (DC 15), a Healer of the Sacred Heat can convert lethal damage to nonlethal damage equal to their margin of success. A patient receiving this treatment also suffers 1d6 points of additional nonlethal damage due to the strain placed on their body by the technique.

DESIGN NOTES

I’m tempted to add a “once per day per patient” limitation to Cauterizing the Wound, but I’m  not sure it’s actually necessary. What do y’all think?

This material is covered by the Open Game License.

Last month in his “Legends & Lore” column, Mike Mearls discussed a skill system he and Monte Cook had schemed up in which DCs would be replaced with a descriptive tier of difficulties: Novice/Journeyman/Expert/Master/Grandmaster/Impossible. I wasn’t a fan of this system because it mostly obfuscated simpler mechanics and added complexity without actually giving much (if anything) back.

When Monte Cook revisited the topic this week, however, it made me realize they might be onto something — although I don’t think they’ve quite realized it yet. (Cook’s proposal is still over-baking mechanical complexity without actually accomplishing anything more than the current system.)

But if they can completely jettison the concept of skill ranks, I think they might have a winner.

(1) Set the target number for all tasks to 15. (Or whatever number makes sense; I haven’t actually run any math on this.)

(2) Define each task as Skilled/Expert/Master and give it a level. (For example, a Level 10 Expert task.)

(3) If you meet the minimum requirements for the task, you automatically succeed. (If you’re a Level 10 Expert, you succeed at any Skilled or Expert task of Level 10 or lower automatically without making a check.)

(4) If you’re missing one of the requirements, you have to make an ability check. This check is modified by the difference in level between you and the task. You also gain a +5 or -5 modifier for each difference in skill level.

For example, if you’re a 10th-level Skilled Typographer and you’re attempting a Level 8 Expert typography task, you would make a Intelligence check with a -3 modifier (+2 for being two levels higher than the task; -5 for being Skilled instead of an Expert in the skill).

Similarly, if you’re a 6th-level character who doesn’t have the Decipher Script skill and you’re attempting to decrypt a Level 10 Master code, you would make an Intelligence check with a -19 penalty (-4 for being four levels lower than the task; -15 for being three skill levels lower than Master).

What’s the point? The point is that you’ve eliminated a Page 42 table look-up for skill DCs. And you’ve automated the equivalent of the Take 10 mechanic so that it doesn’t require any calculation at all.

You’ve also effectively eliminated skill checks entirely and focused things back onto ability checks as a core mechanic. This is mostly a sleight of hand, but it can provide one meaningful advantage: You can casually re-key a skill to a different ability score without needing to recalculate a skill bonus (since the check is just an ability check). (One thing I’ve always loved about dice pool systems is the ease with which you could do this, but it’s always been too much of a pain in the ass for D20. It’s not really meaningful for most skills, of course, but it can really crank up the versatility of a system.)

One potential problem with this system is that there’s no clear way to do opposed checks in a completely satisfactory fashion. But you can resolve this by setting which skill sets the task and which skill resolves the task. (For example, if Stealth sets the task then a character’s skill level sets the difficulty of the Perception task. A 10th-level character with an Expert ranking in Stealth, for example, requires a Level 10 Expert Perception task.) Or, alternatively, by always using player-faced mechanics. (If a PC is sneaking past an NPC, the NPC’s Perception skill sets the difficulty of the Stealth task. If the PC is trying to spot an NPC, the NPC’s Stealth skill sets the difficulty of the Perception task.)

Another potential problem is that you have done a pretty good job of obfuscating probabilities. If I’m a 10th-level expert, what’s the difference between a Level 12 Skilled task and a Level 7 Master task? You can work out the math, but it’s not as self-evident as pure numbers would be. On the other hand, in terms of actual play, is that significant?

Bartosz Kielar has translated my essay “D&D: Calibrating Your Expectations” into Polish. You can check it out here.

I don’t have anything particularly witty to say on this occasion. But I’m still at the “tickled pink that somebody translated something I wrote” stage of life, so I thought I’d share.

An open table is not the only way to play a roleplaying game, but over the past year and a half I’ve become increasingly convinced of two things:

First, the move away from the open  table as the default mode of gameplay in RPGs has played a huge role in RPGs becoming an increasingly niche hobby: Without an open table, RPGs are more difficult to GM (reducing the total number of tables) and it’s more difficult to invite new players to try out the game (reducing the influx of new players). The latter problem is further exacerbated by the fact that GMs running closed tables are able to support fewer total players in their campaigns, which further depresses the number of players that can be supported with the current population of GMs. (And since most GMs start as players, the reduction in the total number of players means fewer people becoming GMs… Rinse. Wash. Repeat.)

Second, if you love playing RPGs then you owe it to yourself to have an open table in your back pocket: When playing an RPG is as easy as playing a board game or a card game, you’ll be able to play a lot more.  Plus, in my experience, your open table (and the large network of players you’ll be able to recruit using it) will give your closed tables a lot more stability and endurance (because it provides a recruiting pool for your closed games).

And if you’re going to have an open table in your back pocket, then you need to breathe life into your wandering monsters.

PROCEDURAL CONTENT GENERATION

As I discussed in “(Re-)Running the Megadungeon“, one of the most important elements in running an open table is minimizing the GM’s prep work by maximizing the utility of your core content: If you need to spend 2-3 hours (or more) prepping fresh content for every session, then the game isn’t as easily accessible. Instead, you want to be able to refresh the same material so that it can be used over and over again without becoming repetitive or boring.

And in an effective open table, you’ll employ these techniques at every level of the game: You’ll use wandering monster tables during actual play to simulate an active, living complex; controlling the pace of the adventure and extend its useful life cycle. You’ll restock sections of your megadungeon between sessions so that players can revisit familiar terrain with new faces. You’ll intermittently restock lairs and ruins in your hexcrawl to keep them an active part of play.

The secret to all this, of course, is procedural content generation. And the great thing about it is that you’re not just “recycling material” (although that’s the most utilitarian aspect at work here). You’re specifically recycling material by keeping the world in motion: Not only does your campaign become more sustainable, it also becomes deeper and more interesting.

The term “procedural content generation” comes from the computer gaming industry: There it refers to the programmatic creation of content. For example, instead of having a human designer create the floorplans for every building in the game, the designers can instead program certain “rules” for how building floorplans are designed and then allow the program to spontaneously generate that content.

I’m using the term here in pretty much the same sense: Rather than hand-picking the contents of a treasure horde, for example, you can generate the treasure by rolling on random tables. Random encounters are another obvious example. I find these kinds of “stocking systems” most useful, but there are lots of examples: The Avernus Remix includes a procedural method for generating simple building floorplans. “Factions in the Dungeon” describes how to generate strife between your NPCs using B2 Keep on the Borderlands as a case study. And so forth.

(The tools that are most useful will depend on both your personal style and the particular scenario you’re working with.)

In computer games there are two major problems with using procedurally generated content: First, it can create logical inconsistencies. Some of these logic problems can actually render a game unplayable. (For example, if the location of a key is randomly generated behind a door that you can only open if you have the key.)

Second, it can be boring and bland. There’s a reason why we don’t use randomized madlibs to write novels, after all. Procedurally generated content is often shallow and can easily become repetitive (particularly once the player begins to recognize the underlying procedures being used).

MAKING IT WORK

In the computer games industry, overcoming these problems usually involves drastically increasing the complexity of the methods being used to perform the procedural generation. This, obviously, isn’t a viable solution for tabletop gaming (where we generally don’t have computers to do the heavy-lifting when it comes to complex or multi-step calculations).

Fortunately, it doesn’t matter.

The great thing about procedural content generation in tabletop play is that it doesn’t need to actually generate something creative or interesting: It just needs to provide the improv seed for the GM to riff off of.

To take a simple example: If you roll up 3d6 orcs and you simply default to “3d6 orcs attack”, then your game is going to become boring and bland. Roll up 3d6 orcs and decide that:

• They’re Orcus-worshippers who have all flayed the skin off their right hands, leaving a motile skeleton that’s capable of delivering an energy drain attack 1/day.
• They’re religious zealots who have been converted to the worship of Apollo and preach about the “glorious scourge of sunlight” to fellow travelers.
• 3 of the orcs are being attacked and brutalized by the others; they’ll beg the PCs for help.
• They’re mercenaries who are looking for a good paycheck. Are the PCs hiring?

And you’ve got the fodder for a good encounter.

CONTEXTUALIZING

Simply saying “Be Creative!” is all well and good, but it doesn’t give a lot of actual guidance. Recently, however, I’ve been dissecting exactly what it is I’m doing during that moment of creative genesis in which I interpret a piece of procedurally generated content and I’ve come to the conclusion that it all boils down to one core concept:

Contextualize the content.

By which I mean that you simply need to either (a) place the encounter within the context of the game world or (b) create a context that will become part of the game world.

Let’s take the specific example of a wandering monster. When you roll up a wandering monster, ask yourself four questions:

(1) What makes them unique?
(2) Where are they coming from?
(3) What are they doing?
(4) What’s their reaction to the PCs?

I’m not asking you to write an essay or anything. In fact, the answers don’t even need to be complete sentences. But asking those questions will get your creative juices flowing; and providing some quick answers will let you make the resulting encounter specific and interesting (instead of generic and boring).

Of course, if you’re still stumped you could always take a peek at What Are Those Wandering Monsters Up To? and What Are the Goblins Up To?, which are both designed to give the creative centers of your brain a little more prodding in order to break you out of the rut of “the monster is there to fight the PCs”.

(And, of course, OD&D includes a reaction table for NPCs so you can randomly generate the answer to #4, too.)

Which, of course, brings us back to the title of this piece: You shouldn’t look at a wandering monster table as a cast list of automatons. If you breathe a little life into them, they’ll pay back your creativity a hundredfold at the game table.