IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

Session 1A: Investigating the Past

In which our heroes meet for the first time, resulting in confusion, loose tongues, startling revelations of a largely temporal nature, and a moment of abject panic…

When my players realized that they had been subjected to time-skipping amnesia, the response of Agnarr’s player was pretty straight-forward: “You son of a bitch!”

Starting a campaign with amnesia, of course, is something of a cliche. The video game industry, in particular, is completely infatuated with it because it allows the player to completely equate themselves with the character (both are ignorant of themselves and the world around them).

The conceit of “missing time”, on the other hand, offers a slightly different dynamic. Having taken the time to work up detailed character backgrounds in collaboration with each player, I was effectively stealing something from them. (And this was particularly felt by those who participated in the preludes.) The resulting sense of combined outrage and mystery serves as a great motivator and spring-board: It binds the PCs to a common purpose; gives them something to immediately pursue; and strongly motivates them to achieve it.

More generally, these kinds of “metaplot mysteries” can serve as strong backbones that can hold entire campaigns together.

At this point of course, as a GM, you need to be able to actually deliver on those promises. Unlike Chris Carter or J.J. Abrams, it will behoove you to actually put together an outline of your metaplot mystery. So channel your inner-Straczynski and get to work: You don’t have to be exhaustively detailed in this effort; you just need to provide a roadmap that will keep you on track as you and your players explore the mystery.

(In the case of the “missing memories”, I prepped a 4 page outline detailing the true history of what had happened to each of them between their last conscious memory and awaking in Ptolus. This outline is general in parts, but gets more specific regarding the last few days before they awoke.)

Next, you’ll want to start presenting the clues the PCs will need to start piecing together the metaplot mystery. For this, of course, you’ll want to observe the Three Clue Rule. Taking Node-Based Scenario Design into account probably isn’t a bad idea, either, but you’ll probably want to consider some of the lessons I talk about in “The Two Prongs of Mystery Design“.

Specifically, the clues of a metaplot mystery are usually delivered tangentially through other scenarios. From time to time, of course, you may have “metaplot scenarios” — but the whole point of a metaplot is that it isn’t the plot. (In this sense, Buffy the Vampire Slayer often had a metaplot. 24 never had a metaplot; it just had season-long plots.)

Presenting a metaplot mystery can often be a tightrope-walk: On the one hand, there’s a strong temptation to blow your load. The metaplot is, after all, really cool — and you want to awe and amaze your players with the really cool stuff. But if you reveal too much too quickly, you can’t put the rabbit back in the hat.

On the other hand, you can’t be so stingy with the details of the metaplot mystery that it withers and dies from lack of interest and attention.

In the specific case of these missing memories, I broadly prepped several “layers” of clues: Stuff they were likely to find out immediately (by investigating their rooms and personal possessions); stuff they could find out fairly quickly (by following up those leads and/or digging deeply); and then additional leads that would come to them over the course of the campaign (or crop up in later scenarios). I also prepped several flashbacks with various trigger conditions (which would give them immediate glimpses of their lost past).

(There are also a couple of additional layers beyond that; but they constitute spoilers. So, like my players, you’ll just have to wait and see.)

Basically, the idea is that I’m treating the metaplot mystery as its own, independent scenario — or meta-scenario — that I plan out completely ahead of time and then lay over the top of the rest of the campaign as it develops.

(Actually, “meta-scenario” is probably the best way to think of this. I’m going to change the title of this post.)

Of course, your meta-scenario won’t really be completely divorced from the rest of the campaign. If you’re doing things properly, there will be a feedback loop between the meta-scenario and the specific scenarios that develop through play. Once again, it’s important to see the meta-scenario as a roadmap — not necessarily the road itself. (If that makes sense.)

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.