Let’s start this essay with a couple of quotes from Volume 1: Men & Magic regarding ranged combat. First, from the Alternative Combat System attack matrices on page 20:

Missile hits will be scored by using the above tables at long range and decreasing Armor Class by 1 at medium and 2 at short range.

To put this rule in context for those who aren’t familiar with OD&D, allow me to explain: Both melee and long-range missile attacks use the same attack matrices. But at medium distances missiles receive a +1 bonus and at short ranges they receive a +2 bonus to hit.

Compare and contrast this with 3rd Edition. Here both melee and ranged attacks use the same Base Attack Bonus, but at medium and long ranges the missile fire suffers penalties.

One critique of 3rd Edition is that ranged combat specialists are at a significant disadvantage compared to melee combat specialists. How many of those complaints would disappear if you implemented an OD&D-style system of giving bonuses for close range missile attacks instead of penalties for distant missile attacks?

(And how many more would disappear if you took the equally radical step of giving ranged attacks a Dex-based bonus to damage like the Strength-based bonus that melee attacks receive? All of them. But I digress.)

(EDIT: It has been pointed out that the word “decrease” might actually mean that Armor Class is improved against missile attacks at medium and close ranges. I hadn’t really considered that possibility because it seems natural to me that the closer something is, the easier it is to hit with a missile weapon, but it’s certainly true. This, by the way, is why I don’t miss the “lower AC is better” days in the least. Is that +2 a bonus or a penalty? Only her stylist knows for sure.)

And here’s another quote from “Men & Magic”, this one from the “Bonuses and Penalties to Advancement due to Abilities” table (which, like many things in OD&D, is only partly about what it says it’s about):

To understand the importance of these entries, you first have to understand one other thing: There are no equivalent bonuses (or penalties) for melee attacks.

So, once again, we see OD&D giving a significant advantage to ranged combatants compared to their melee brethren. In doing so it stands in contrast with 3rd Edition (where ranged combatants require special equipment, class abilities, and/or feats to even begin equalizing with melee combatants).

It stands in even starker contrast with 4th Edition, where ranged combat has been completely nerfed for the convenience of the miniatures game. And this is slightly ironic because I suspect one of the reasons that OD&D is so friendly to ranged combat is because of its roots in the Chainmail wargame: Chainmail needed to cope with the reality that charging ranged attackers Agincourt-style is, historically speaking, a really dreadful idea. One that people have been willing to repeat time and time again throughout history (World War I, I’m looking at you), but a really dreadful idea nonetheless.

PALIMPSEST INVERSION

Of course, all of this goes out the window if you interpret the OD&D rules slightly different. Here’s a quote from Volume 2: Monsters & Treasure:

Attack/Defense capabilities versus normal men are simply a matter of allowing one roll as a man-type for every hit die, with any bonuses being given to only one of the attacks, i.e. a Troll would attack six times, once with a +3 added to the die roll. (Combat is detailed in Vol. III.)

This little paragraph is incredibly confusing for many reasons: First, the basic combat system is largely detailed in Volume 1. It is not meaningfully discussed in Volume 3 (only Aerial Combat and Naval Combat are given any substantive treatment there).

Second, based on its formatting and context the passage appears to be referring to an “Attack/Defense” entry on the table immediately preceding this text… but no such entry is to be found. It’s actually referring to Hit Dice. (A troll has 6 + 3 HD, hence the +3 bonus it receives.)

Third, the most literal interpretation of the paragraph is “monsters attack like men once for every HD they have”. There are two problems with this: First, the Alternative Combat System has separate attack matrices for men and monsters — so if monsters end up attacking “as a man-type”, what’s the point of the attack matrix for monsters? Second, the text only refers to monsters… which means that monsters get 1 attack per HD, but the PCs don’t. I don’t really see any way for that to be viable, do you?

For the most part, as far as I can tell, this passage is almost universally ignored. Or used only when the Chainmail rules are used for mass combat.

But one way in which it has been interpreted is that everyone (monsters and men alike) get 1 attack per round per HD.

However, by combining that with certain rules from Chainmail, another interpretation also arose: Everyone (monsters and men alke) get 1 attack per round per HD… but only when engaged in melee.

Which, of course, immediately shifts the pendulum of power away from ranged combat and places it rather firmly and definitely in favor of melee combat.

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS

In lump sum, therefore, OD&D serves — in its many-faced way — as excellent fodder for a discussion of how ranged and melee combat should relate to each other.

But this also speaks to one of the broader themes in these reactions to OD&D: There are many who like to talk about “old school” gaming as if it was some sort of unified style of play, but could there be any larger bifurcation of play styles than those created by the disparate interpretations of the mechanics we’ve seen here?

In one set of mechanics, ranged combat has a distinct edge. Smart use of a sling or bow is strongly advantageous, leading to combats being conducted from the maximum possible distance. (And even when the combat tightens up, there’s still every reason to continue using your ranged weapon if you can.)

But in the other set of mechanics, the melee fighters grind up the battlefield — completely outclassing the damage-dealing capabilities of the ranged combatants through their sheer number of attacks per round.

Back to Reactions to OD&D

I had someone drop me an e-mail requesting a quick overview of the various editions of D&D. In the context of the Reactions to OD&D essays, I thought it might be a useful reference for people who are a little less familiar with the history of the game.

If you want more details on the history of D&D, the “Editions of Dungeons & Dragons” article at Wikipedia is a pretty solid resource. If you want an exhaustive detailing of every single change made between each printing of the early rulebooks, then the Acaeum is an excellent resource.

The only important thing you need to remember here is that D&D split into two separate games in 1977: Advanced Dungeons & Dragons and Dungeons & Dragons (with the latter often being referred to as Basic D&D or BD&D).

The terms used below are not official, but they are the most commonly used nomenclature in the fan community.

DUNGEONS & DRAGONS

With the exception of the Rules Cyclopedia, all of these games were sold as boxed sets.

OD&D (Original Dungeons & Dragons, White Box): The original edition of the game designed by Dave Arneson and Gary Gygax, first published in 1974 as a boxed set comprising three volumes — Men & Magic, Monsters & Treasure, and Underworld & Wilderness Adventures. These books would receive various errata in subsequent printings (with the most notable change being the purging of references to Tolkien’s works following a lawsuit from the Tolkien Estate), but remained substantially unaltered.

Holmes Edition (1977): Published as the Basic Set in 1977. Eric Holmes is credited as having “edited” the book, but it’s actually a complete re-design and re-edit of the original game.

Moldvay Edition (1981): A completely revised Basic Rulebook and a brand new Expert Rulebook published in 1981. Tom Moldvay is credited for “editing” the Basic Set. David Cook and Steven Marsh are credited for “editing” the Expert Set. (I’m not clear on why Tom Moldvay is usually the only guy who gets credit for this version of the game. But he is.)

BECMI (1983 – 1985): Comprising the Basic Rules, Expert Rules Companion Rules, Master Rules, and Immortal Rules. (With the exception of the Expert Rules, these boxed sets each contained two volumes — one for players and one for the DM. The first two sets are, once again, completely revised.) These sets are variously credited as being “edited”, “compiled”, or simply “by” Frank Mentzer.

Rules Cyclopedia (1991): A single-volume hardback which collected the BECMI rules with minimal alteration (basically just applying errata). However, the Rules Cyclopedia lacked the rules for Immortals (which were published separately as the Wrath of the Immortals ruleset).

In addition to these rules, a total of five different Basic Sets were produced between 1991 and 1999 under the names The Dungeons & Dragons Game or The Classic Dungeons & Dragons Game. These all differed from each other in various ways, but all of them were designed to serve as “teasers” or “primers” for the Rules Cyclopedia edition of the game. So if you’re considering distinct iterations of the rules, they can be ignored.

ADVANCED DUNGEONS & DRAGONS

All of these editions were published as three separate core rulebooks: A Player’s Handbook, a Dungeon Master’s Guide, and a Monster Manual (the last of these under various titles, as described below).

AD&D 1st Edition (1977 – 1979): Designed by Gary Gygax. The original Monster Manual was published in 1977, followed by the Player’s Handbook in 1978 and the Dungeon Master’s Guide in 1979. These books were re-issued with new covers in 1983 (which are easily recognizable due to their orange spines), but were not revised. Also referred to as AD&D1.

Unearthed Arcana (1985): TSR officially identified Unearthed Arcana as a core rulebook. Since it included not only expansions but also alterations in the game, it is sometimes referred to as the Edition 1.5.

AD&D 2nd Edition (1989): The 2nd Edition was published in 1989 as the Player’s Handbook, Dungeon Master’s Guide, and Monstrous Compendium. The re-design is primarily credited to David “Zeb” Cook. In 1993 the Monstrous Compendium was replaced with the Monstrous Manual. In 1995, these books were re-issued with new covers and a new layout (but no meaningful change to the rules). Also referred to as AD&D2.

Player’s Options (1995): Also referred to as Edition 2.5. Three optional core rulebooks known as the Player’s Options released in 1995: Combat & Tactics, Skills & Powers, and Spells & Magic. There was also the DM’s Option: High Level Campaigns.

D&D 3rd Edition (2000): Released as the Player’s Handbook, Dungeon Master’s Guide, and Monster Manual. This edition was designed by Monte Cook, Jonathan Tweet, and Skip Williams. Also referred to as D&D3 or 3rd Edition.

D&D 3.5 (2003): Revised versions of the 3rd Edition core rulebooks. The revision team was Rich Baker, Andy Collins, David Noonan, Rich Redman, and Skip Williams.

SUMMARY

So, if you count the Unearthed Arcana and Player’s Options as distinct edition, then there have been 10 editions of D&D:

OD&D (1974)
Holmes D&D (1977)
Moldvay D&D (1981)
BECMI / Rules Cyclopedia (1983)
AD&D 1st Edition (1977)
AD&D 1st Edition + Unearthed Arcana (1985)
AD&D 2nd Edition (1989)
AD&D 2nd Edition + Player’s Options (1995)
D&D 3rd Edition (2000)
D&D 3.5 (2003)

And then, of course, 4th Edition in 2008.

I’ve talked before about the peculiar penchant for 4th Edition’s designers to “fix” a “problem” by either (a) making it worse or (b) not fixing it at all. Mike Mearls is talking about a similar “solution” that didn’t actually get implemented for 4th Edition, but demonstrates the same inability to solve a problem even when you’re explicitly trying to solve it: I Hate Resistances.

You can click through and read his entire blog entry, but allow me to sum up. Mearls has two problems with resistances, both of which stem from the fact that you’re better off NOT dealing cold damage to a creature with resistance to cold damage:

(1) It creates a value disparity between energy types if the DM predominantly uses creatures with one particular resistance type. (For example, if there are lots of creatures with resistance to cold damage, then cold-based spells are devalued compared to other energy types.)

(2) It means that if you’re a in a cold-dominated setting (with lots of cold-based creatures with resistance to cold damage), then you’re better off NOT playing an ice mage (since you’ll have a bunch of cold-based spells). Mearls finds this thematically inconsistent because he wants his Frozen North populated with ice mages and his Sultry South populated with fire mages.

These are both absolutely true. (Although I’ll delve into the aesthetic sense of the latter a little later.)

Mearls then proposes two “solutions”:

(1) Instead of resistances, creatures would get abilities that would allow them to negate damage from energy attacks of a particular type. Basically these are still resistances, but you can only use them against X number of attacks per encounter or per day.

(2) Instead of resistant damage, creatures would get bonus abilities when hit with sympathetic energy types. For example, a cold-based creature hit with cold damage might get an extra breath weapon attack or a bonus to AC.

The problem? Neither of these does anything to solve the problems Mearls claims to be solving.

WHAT PART OF THE WORD “FIX” DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?

Here’s the root of the issue: The problems Mearls cites are emergent behaviors based on the fact that a cold-based creature benefits from being targeted by cold-based damage (even if that benefit is nothing more than “I take less damage than if you’d hit me with something else”). Because the cold-based creature benefits from cold-based damage, you’re making it advantageous to use non-cold-based damage on them.

Mearls’ “solutions”, of course, still benefit cold-based creatures targeted by cold-based attacks. And, as a result, the exact same emergent behavior results: You’re better off using non-cold-based damage against cold-based creatures.

However, with that being said, I will point out that both of the mechanics Mearls proposes are, in fact, interesting mechanics. I can imagine a lot of interesting uses for them: A membraneous horror that reflects sonic attacks. A fire-infused demon that absorbs ambient flame, concentrates it in their translucent-skinned stomach, and belches it forth. A frost-born behemoth that armors itself with living ice.

They just don’t do what Mearls claims they do.

ICE MAGES IN THE FROZEN NORTH

I can also understand the thematic interest Mearls has in having ice mages rearing crystalline towers in the Frozen North and fire mages dancing on volcano rims in the Sultry South.

But if that’s your goal, then you need to explain why wizards in the Frozen North would tend to prefer ice-based magic. I would suggest creating a system where extreme environmental conditions encourage the use of sympathetic magic types. (In other words, if you’re on a glacier it’s either easier to use your ice magic or your ice magic is more powerful or both. Similarly, volcanoes are great places for fire magic. And you can strengthen this association if you impose penalties at the opposite extreme — casting ice-based magic is more difficult near volcanoes; casting fire-based magic is more difficult on a glacier.)

Without that kind of sympathetic encouragement, it will never make much sense for wizards in the Frozen North to specialize in ice magic — for much the same reason that it doesn’t make much sense to turn your air conditioner on in the middle of winter.

Go to Part 1

Reeva woke up before dawn with a stiff and scabrous back. The rest of the night passed quietly and, in the morning, they headed back down the stairs.

Two more guards had been placed at the far end of the rope bridge. But Thalmain and Trust kept them harried with missile fire while the rest of the party rushed across the bridge and engaged them. In short order they were dead.

It turned out that the guards had been standing duty outside of two large wooden doors.  Jorgen grabbed his 10-foot pole and jammed it through the handles of the doors, barring them shut… And just in time, too, as someone tried to open them from within.

“Dmitri! What is it? Are you all right?”

Jorgen tried to bluff them: “Everything’s fine!”

It didn’t work. Everything within fell quiet… too quiet.

Jorgen grabbed one of the broadswords the guards had carried and jammed it through the handles, taking back his 10-foot pole. Then they kicked the guards’ bodies over the edge of the chasm (they head a splash and a sickening crunch from below).

They headed off in a different direction, crossing over another rope bridge through a chasm where they were harried by giant bats. They eventually reached a chapel guarded by more of the ebon-eyed guards.

These guards they killed, but not before Jorgen, son of Karl, son of Nichol was brutally cut down. (And with a Constitution of 5, he wasn’t getting back up.)

Proceeding into the chapel they found a sacrificial altar hidden behind some black drapes. Bound to the altar and gagged was a prisoner: Herbert the Elf!

THAT’S ALL FOLKS!

And that’s where we ended the session. It was a weeknight and people were beginning to wear out. We’d gamed for about 4 hours (including the 45 minutes or so spent on going over the rules and creating characters at the beginning of the night).

Opinions of the evening were split.

The final PC death tally stood at 7. (It would have been 9 without the Constitution-based survival checks I was making.) After the TPK one of the players very visibly checked out of the game — it seemed like they just couldn’t be bothered to care any more. The player of Nichol/Karl/Jorgen/Herbert — while providing some of the best entertainment of the evening with her spontaneous explanation of dwarven mating habits — was becoming visibly pissed off by the end of it.

(As she later put it, “An entire dwarven family was destroyed tonight.”)

Another player later summed up their impression by saying, “OD&D = Death + Math.”

Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves. At least one of the players seemed eager to continue playing through the scenario. (Given the mixed reactions from the others, I doubt that will happen. But we’ll see.)

From my perspective, I would have liked to see the Caverns of Thracia get a little more thoroughly explored. But on the flip-side, there was something extremely rewarding about watching the dungeon slowly assume that old school aura of terror/respect.

The players were also slowly learning (or re-learning) classic dungeoncrawling skills. They went from more-or-less barging straight ahead to taking a gradually more cautious and clever approach.

I’d also like to take the opportunity to say that the spontaneous coining of the name “anubis” for the dog-faced humanoid they confronted was probably the highlight of the evening for me. It just felt like the perfect Old School moment — like the first time someone referred to an illithid as a “mind flayer” and the name stuck or something — and I could easily see myself statting up a race of dog-faced anubians for a Monster Manual.

Rules mastery also plays a role in the success of a session. I was certainly struggling in several places trying to figure out how to handle certain things. (And the poor organization, layout, and wording of the rulebooks certainly didn’t help matters.) I was beginning to find my groove towards the end and I wouldn’t mind running a few more sessions in the Caverns just to get a feel for what it’s like to run OD&D from a position of having really internalized the system (however kooky it may be).

I have to, once again, beat down the temptation of trying to rewrite, codify, and re-organize the rules into something more useful. It would certainly make the game (much) easier to run, but it would also kill something vital. Decoding the rulebook is part of the experience here.

If I want to play a cleaned up version of this game, I’ve got 3rd Edition. (4th Edition, of course, is a completely different roleplaying game with no clear lineage to OD&D except its trademark.)

On the other hand, it might be interesting at some point to take the OD&D rulebooks and deliberately explore the path that wasn’t taken: Whenever a rule leaves itself open to interpretation or whenever Arneson and Gygax explicitly give us more than one option, take the path that subsequent editions of D&D didn’t take. See what sort of game you end up with and then refine it from there. Call it the D&D Apocrypha if you like.

Well, maybe some day. I’ve already got one game burning a hole in my pocket.

UPDATE: Continued…

Go to Part 1

When Nichol didn’t return to civilization, his explorer’s journal was sent to his son and heir, Karl. Karl hired a group of mercenaries and treasure hunters to accompany him into the jungle, hoping to discover the fate of his father. (This was my way of avoiding the need to generate fresh rumours on the Rumour Table.)

Karl was accompanied by the witches Reeva and Trust, a halfling fighter named Thalmain, and Fientar the Cleric. (The witches were just magic-users. Reeva, as you may already suspect, was run by the same player as Veera. It should be noted that, with this second group, a huge premium was placed on getting the best armor possible. Getting hit was directly equated to being dead, so heavy emphasis was immediately placed on not getting hit.)

This time the random 1d8 roll determined that they would be approaching the ruins from the southwest. As a result, they ended up practically stumbling over a short, squat building of gray-black stone that was hidden within a small copse of trees. A rusty gate on one side of the building led to a narrow flight of stairs that plunged down into darkness.

(I kinda regretted that they stumbled over this second entrance to the dungeons. It would have been nice for them to return to the first building they had explored, since (a) I’m sadistic and (b) the minotaur had ordered that the heads of the previous PCs be placed on spikes in the clearing in front of the building as a warning to others.)

Thalmain made some efforts to get the rusty door to open quietly. When that didn’t work he started trying to remove the hinges, but at that point Karl (like his father before him) got impatient and yanked the gate open with a hideous screeching noise.

They lit a lantern and headed down. The stairs bottomed out at a deep chasm. A rope bridge extended across the chasm. Karl inspected the bridge closely — ascertaining that it was of recent construction and in good repair — before starting to walk across.

Half-way across the bridge, a spear came flying out of the darkness. It impaled Karl through the chest. He collapsed.

(Nichol had a Constitution of 9 and survived his first brush with mortality. His son Karl, on the other hand, only had a Constitution of 6 and died instantly.)

Thalmain and Trust fired blindly (and ineffectively) into the darkness. Thalmain then got the idea to light one of his arrows on fire so that they could see what was on the other side of the bridge. The arrow soared over the head of a broadsword-wielding guard dressed in plate armor who was charging towards the bridge. Eerily, the guard’s eyes were solid black.

(The black eyes were my reaction to this passage from the rules (“Monsters & Treasure”, pg. 5):

…it is generally true that any monster or man can see in total darkness as far as the dungeons are concerned except player characters.

I thought this was rather silly. I felt there needed to be some explanation of this discrepancy. And thus the followers of Thanatos were given their ebon-eyed visage.)

Reeva tried to use her dagger to hack through the ropes holding up the bridge, but she was too slow. The ebon-eyed guard sliced open her back as he ran past her off the bridge. She collapsed in a pool of her own blood.

The others rallied, however, and quickly killed the guard without suffering any additional injuries. Worried about possible reinforcements, they grabbed all of the bodies (the guard, Reeva, and Karl) and dragged them back up the stairs and into the jungle. There they stripped the plate armor off the guard, discovered that Karl was dead, and dressed Reeva’s wound.

… AND BACK FOR MORE!

They heard someone approaching through the thick foliage of the jungle. Drawing their weapons they waited anxiously.

A dwarf walked out of the trees.

This was Jorgen, son of Karl, son of Nichol. He had been sent by his grandmother to find his father.

“Okay, we have some bad news for you…”

THE THIRD CHARACTER

Jorgen, of course, was the third PC of the night for the player of Nichol and Karl. His ability scores were absolutely abominable: 9 Strength, 8 Intelligence, 4 Wisdom, 14 Dexterity, 5 Constitution, and 7 Charisma.

While she was waiting for Jorgen to be introduced, the player asked for another character sheet so that she could roll up her next character and “speed things up a bit”. She was clearly embracing the lethality of old school play.

She was less than happy, however, to discover that her next character (Herbert the Elf) would have had the best ability scores of the night: 13 Strength, 15 Intelligence, 17 Wisdom, 9 Dexterity, 12 Constitution, and 10 Charisma. He also ended up with 7 hit points (the maximum possible).

And thus the joking began: Dwarves, it was theorized, were cursed. That explained all the bad ability score rolls for Nichol, Karl, and Jorgen.

More importantly, how had Jorgen even found them with an Intelligence of 8 and Wisdom of 4?

“You hear noises approaching through the wood.”

“Okay, quick. Kill him now before you see him, then I can just switch over to Herbert.”

But no, Jorgen would live and Herbert would (for the nonce, anyway) be shelved.

Jorgen, however, quickly earned the nickname of “Wheezy” — his low Constitution leaving him with a horrible case of asthma and a slightly arhythmic heart. It turned out that Jorgen, son of Karl, son of Nichol was — like all dwarves — the result of horrible inbreeding. Dwarves, it turned out, bred in their underground warrens like rabbits. The tunnels were packed full of them. Which is probably why Jorgen was pushed out the front door and sent on his way. (“Go find your father!” “Didn’t he just leave like an hour ago? For god’s sake woman!” Cough. Cough. Wheeze.)

…

Okay, you probably had to be there. But by the end of it, we were all nearly dead from laughter. I could scarcely breathe.

Continued…