DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 33E: Maggots & Ratsbane

Someone threw themselves against the door Dominic and Tor were propping themselves against. It barely budged. They glanced at each and made a quick, unspoken decision. Dominic stepped away and Tor, timing things perfectly, yanked the door open at precisely the right moment.

A young elf woman – ebon-skinned like Shilukar – came stumbling through, thrown off-balance by the sudden disappearance of the door she had been planning to throw herself against.

Dominic and Tor were quick to take advantage – the former’s mace crushing her upper arm and Tor’s sword cutting deep into her thigh. She stumbled further down the hall, shouting over her shoulder. “Theral! There are six of them! Grealdan’s dead!”

Dominic looked through the open door and spotted Theral – the Brother of Venom that Tee had seen discovering Reggaloch’s body – beginning to cast a spell. He promptly slammed the door shut.

Back in Session 13B: The Tragedy at the Door, the PCs lost control of a doorway and nearly paid the ultimate price. In this session you can see them take control of a doorway and repeatedly use it to their advantage during the fight.

I often see doors getting ignored during fights. I think part of that is tied into some of the issues I discussed in Dungeon as a Theater of Operations: We have a tendency to get strongly locked into the idea that there’s a “fight keyed to Area 5” and, therefore, the fight takes place in Area 5 (and nowhere else). This, of course, frequently eliminates the door leading into Area 5 as being irrelevant.

I’m uncertain how much the proliferation of VTTs may be affecting this (since they often persistently feature the entire map of the dungeon), but “put the PCs in the room and then start the fight” is an attitude that you can even find infecting published adventures.

But just look at what a door can do for you! (Or to you.)

They’re natural chokepoints, allowing small groups (like PCs) to control their front line against much larger groups.

They can be used to control line of sight (and also effect), as seen here with Dominic using a readied action to slam the door shut and negate an enemy spellcaster’s entire action.

They can be used to separate groups, tactically isolating them and allowing them to be defeated in detail. (This is similar to attacking an enemy force when they’re halfway across the river.)

Conversely, if you move through a door and engage an enemy on the opposite side, then the doorway becomes your means of retreat. If you lose control of the doorway or are otherwise cut off from the doorway, then you’ll become trapped.

If someone is holding a door and using it against you, then you need to develop some method for breaching the door. (Or, alternatively, creating an alternative method of egress — using a window, teleporting, blasting a hole in the wall, turning ethereal, etc.)

In practice, of course, all of these myriad tactical considerations will be swirling around each other in the chaos of battle.

And we haven’t even started looking at doors with special features!

• How can a trapped door be used to your advantage during a fight? (Particularly if the trap resets whenever the door is shut.)
• What about doors that have magical effects attached to them? (Like magic portals!)
• You can get similar effects with non-magical portals, too! (For example, you might have a portcullis that’s rigged to come crashing down when someone pulls a lever.)

Some of these will create unique tactical opportunities. Others will simply complicate the ones we’ve already discussed!

Campaign Journal: Session 34A – Running the Campaign: A Confusion of Names
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 33D: The Hell Hound at the Door

At the far end of the room there was a small wooden bookshelf containing a dozen assorted volumes. These, of course, caught the particular attention Ranthir, who was also delighted to discover that one of them was a thick tome of spells.

Ranthir was not able to study the spellbook completely, but the illustrations of eyes being burnt away with acid were enough to leave him concerned.

NPC spellbooks are a huge pain in the ass to prep.

I’ve previously shared a tip for improvising NPC spell lists, but when it comes to their spellbooks, there is no shuffling: You mostly just need to commit yourself to the rote task of writing down lists of spells for each level.

I guess there is one potential cheat: Just replicate the caster’s prepared spell list and call it “good enough” for the spellbook, but I generally try to include at least two or three “extra” spells per level. (Partly for the sake of verisimilitude. Partly because it gives me some stuff to play with if the spellcaster should become a recurring characters. See, also, The Principles of RPG Villainy.)

I heartily recommend prepping these spellbooks as handouts. You don’t have to get fancy or anything: But a prepared piece of paper with all the spells listed on it that you can hand to the player at the table is just a great way of making the spellbook a concrete and persistent resource.

Way back in Session 3, we actually saw Ranthir loot Collus’ spellbook:

COLLUS’ SPELLBOOK

0 – acid splash, arcane mark, dancing lights, daze, detect magic, detect poison, disrupt undead, flare, ghost sound, light, mage hand, mending, message, open/close, prestidigitation, ray of frost, read magic, resistance, touch of fatigue

1^st – animate rope, burning hands, comprehend languages, detect undead, feather fall, floating disk, shield

For a low-level wizard, this was a treasure trove of new spells. Deciphering and copying this spellbook became a significant, long-term project for Ranthir. In every spare moment he could afford— and Ptolus certainly makes it difficult to find a spare moment! — Ranthir bunkered down and studied. You can find references to this in Session 7 of the campaign journal, but it was actually happening quite regularly:

Dominic expended himself in channeling the holy energy of Athor to heal as many of their wounds as he could. Elestra’s battered body was restored entirely and Ranthir was left with only a weariness from the blood he had lost. But the painful wounds to either side of Agnarr’s neck refused to close and, after inspecting them, Dominic concluded that Agnarr would need a full day of rest under his ministrations.

So Dominic settled into Agnarr’s room, praying occasionally and generally tending to his wounds. Ranthir retired to his own bed and set to work copying an additional spell from Collus’ spellbook into his own that would allow him to detect the presence of the undead – he wasn’t sure why, but he had a sneaking suspicion it might come in handy.

Magic being as powerful and versatile as it is, of course, the power unlocked by virtue of an NPC’s spellbook can often be the greatest and most valuable of treasures. In Session 12, for example, there was a direct pay-off for all of Ranthir’s hard work:

Tee led them to the river’s edge and then glowered down at it. Seeing the noxious water again – the edges of the cavern floor corroded and blackened where it met the river – did nothing to distill her fears. She had no interest in trying to wade these waters, no matter how calm the current might be.

Ranthir, however, was able to tentatively offer a possible solution. He had never stopped using the few spare moments in his day to study the spellbook they had wrested from the body of Collus (Toridan Cran’s arcanist), and one of the spells he had deciphered from its contents would allow him to conjure forth a floating disc of pure energy. It was a small disc and would only carry one of them at a time – but it should be a relatively trivial matter for him to ferry them across the river and, when the time came, to ferry them back again.

With the spellbook as a tangible prop (tucked away with the PC’s character sheet) and its study as a project, an NPC’s spellbook becomes a lovely and persistent reminder of everything that the PCs have accomplished — their history made manifest in the present.

I also love to use NPC spellbooks as a delivery mechanism for non-core spells. This might be a spell of my own creation, but more often than not I’m just culling awesome stuff from a variety of supplements. Perusing Vocaetun’s spellbook, for example, gave Ranthir access to a couple new spells:

VOCAETUN’S SPELLBOOK

0—acid splash, arcane mark, assess creature, dancing lights, daze, detect magic, detect poison, disrupt undead, flare, ghost sound, light, mage hand, mending, message, open/close, ray of frost, read magic, resistance, touch of fatigue

1st—acidic curse, color spray, comprehend languages, endure elements, protection from chaos, protection from law, ray of enfeeblement, reduce person, shield, silent image

2nd—invisibility, minor image, mirror image, obscure object

3rd—displacement, fly.

Assess Creature
Divination
Level: Brd 1, Clr 0, Drd 0, Rng 1, Pal 1, Sor/Wiz 0
Components: S
Casting Time: One standard action
Range: Close (25 feet + 5 feet/two levels)
Target: One creature
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will negates
Spell Resistance: Yes

With a wave of your hand, you determine the Hit Dice of one creature. This spell is foiled by any type of magical disguise, polymorph or shapechange.

Acidic Curse
Evocation [Acid]
Level: Sor/Wiz1
Components: V, S, M
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Range: Close (25 feet + 5 feet/two levels)
Target: One creature with eyes
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: Fortitude negates
Spell Resistance: Yes

You cause a victim’s eyes to fill with acid, inflicting 1d6 points of acid damage and blinding the target for 1d4 rounds. Creatures who suffer no damage from the acid (due to a successful saving throw, an immunity, or a spell granting resistance) are not blind.

Material Component: A bit of ragweed.

Open Game License

Using loot as a vector for delivering original spell content was once quite common in the earliest days of the game, when the core rulebooks featured only a paucity of spells that were “commonly” known. Then, as now, when your players learn the benefits of getting their claws on a spellbook, an encounter with an NPC throwing around strange eldritch arts becomes not only terrifying, but also exciting — redolent with the promise that they’ll soon have the opportunity to loot and learn those arts for themselves.

Campaign Journal: Session 33E – Running the Campaign: Battles at the Door
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 33C: Secret Doors & Sentries

But Agnarr was already scrambling back to his feet and racing down the hallways. He passed Tee easily, despite her considerable head start, and then slid down the last ten feet of the passage – right past the ratman who had scarcely finished turning to run. Before the  ratman could scamper down the hall, draw a weapon, or even turn back to face him, Agnarr had decapitated him.

The other ratman squeaked and retreated back towards a dead end. Tee rounded the corner and put an arrow through his eye.

Tee has been shooting bad guys through the eye since the first session of the campaign. Her first victim was a giant centipede, but that was quickly followed by kobolds, goblins, cultists, ratmen, demons, and all manner of beasties.

I’ve previously described this as a running gag (due to the comedic component it has for our group), but it’s also an example of an action schtick. These are themes or motifs that repeat again and again, usually in combat scenes. They may attach to specific characters in the form of a signature move (Chow Yun  Fat dual-wielding pistols, Trinity’s floating kick, etc.), but they can also have broader application. (For example, the way that John Woo used white doves as a recurring motif in his fight scenes.)

These schticks are not, it should be noted, mechanical. They might be tied to a particular ability, but even then they aren’t something that necessarily happens every single time the character uses that ability. Schticks are a little more ephemeral than that; a little more of an artistic flourish; a spice best used in moderation.

Personally, I usually let action schticks develop naturally during play. (I described Tee shooting the giant centipede through the eye, that got a big reaction, and then she kept doing it.) But you can also deliberately design them and use them for specific effect.

Action schticks can stick around for the length of an entire campaign (like Tee’s eye-shooting schtick), but they can also be a great shortcut for creating a memorable scenario or encounter: For example, the giants for Durbolg Peak wield huge warhammers. When they miss, the hammers often crash down, smashing craters into the ground.

The fact that you can prep action schticks can also make them a great crutch to fall back on if you’re struggling with effective and evocative descriptions of combat: Schticks can, to at least some extent, be plug-and-play, so if you give yourself the gift of a few schticks to play around with, you can get a lot of mileage by just dropping one or two of them into each fight. (Although you’ll want to be careful not to burn them out from overuse.)

Campaign Journal: Session 33D – Running the Campaign: NPC Spellbooks
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 33B: The Interrogation of Arveth

The man laughed. “It’s a fiction. A front for the Brotherhood of Venom.”

“Which you belong to.”

“That’s right.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Being questioned by amateurs.”

Tee wasn’t amused. She signaled Agnarr, who lowered him and began swinging the top of his head through the sewer sludge.

It’s a classic scene: Our hero has been taken prisoner by the villain. An interrogation ensues, with an exchange of witty banter. But who’s learning more? The hero or the villain? And then the denoument: “No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die!” Almost certainly most famous from Goldfinger, the trope extends back to the first James Bond movie and beyond. (You can find it in everything from Prisoner of Zenda to Shakespeare’s Hamlet to John Wick.)

Across a multitude of groups — home games, convention games, open tables, etc. — however, I have rarely seen this dynamic emerge at the gaming table. In fact, exactly the opposite seems far more common: The PCs will have taken someone prisoner and, as in the current session, be the ones coming up with Rube Goldbergian interrogation techniques.

(And, as often as not, just like a Bond villain, the PCs end up giving away more information than they gain. They’ll also do this in another Bond-ian scene which is more common at the game table: As guests at the bad guy’s big social event.)

This might just be a me thing. Maybe PCs in your campaigns are constantly getting captured and interrogated. But I think there are a few factors that cause this to happen:

First, RPGs largely default to the PCs being masters of their domain, by which I mean that they are almost always expected to physically trounce any opposition put in their way. This is in sharp contrast to the protagonists in most action movies, for example, who are almost always completely outgunned. In fact, it’s quite common for the plot of an action movie to be entire about the hero desperately running away (until, of course, the final act when they turn it all around).

Second, unlike Bond, players will generally resist being captured unto their last bloody breath. Many players have had bad experiences with GMs stripping them of their agency, and so they’d literally rather die than endure that again. Game design also factors in here, with the typical RPG providing concrete structures in which the players can influence the outcome of events (or, at least, feel as if they can continue influencing events) as long as they keep fighting, but no such structures for sustaining their agency in a Bond-like fashion if they allow themselves to be captured.

Third, there’s the distinct difference between the group dynamics of the typical PC group in an RPG and the dynamic of the lone protagonist in other media. Most stories in other media protagonize a single character, even if that character is operating in a group. In the comparatively rare stories where there are a gaggle of main characters (e.g., Ocean’s Eleven or Stranger Things), it’s still virtually unheard of for them to always travel together in one big pack.

(Consider the group dynamics of the The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship is quite large, but during the period where the whole group is together, the story remains pretty firmly fixed on Frodo as the main character. It’s only when the Fellowship splits up that other characters start acting as protagonists.)

Even more unusual (again, compared to other media) is the penchant for most RPG groups to almost never frame scenes around a PC vs. PC conflict. (Not necessarily in the sense of a physical confrontation; in the sense of conflicting agendas.) Usually when you have a large, central cast of characters in other media, most of the storytelling is about the relationships and conflicts between those characters, but not so in most RPG groups.

Better RPG groups will, in fact, rise above this. But it’s pervasive largely because it arises naturally from the expected dynamic of “the GM preps material for the players to experience.” This inclines the GM towards presenting their prep and causes the players to slide into a weird midpoint between passive audience and hive-mind protagonists.

Anyway, the point is that PCs often interrogate NPCs as if they were Bond villains.

Weird, huh?

Campaign Journal: Session 33C – Running the Campaign: Action Schticks
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 33A: Down the Sewer Hole

They collected their two cultist prisoners (replacing the manacles with knotted ropes firmly tied by Tor) and dragged them over to the hole in the back corner of the first floor. Climbing down the rope ladder they found themselves, as they had predicted, in the sewers. Tee came last, dragging a rug over the hole behind her to help conceal its presence, cutting the rope ladder, and then floating down using her boots of levitation.

They were standing at the intersection of four major sewer passages. Narrow walkways of beslimed stone ran along a wide, slowly flowing channel of raw sewage. Agnarr examined the ground and determined that the walkways to the north and west had recently seen a great deal of traffic. They suspected that was the direction the cultists would come…

You’ll often read that the large, walkable sewer tunnels that we see in movies, TV shows, and our D&D campaigns are complete nonsense and have no basis in reality.

But this is not entirely accurate.

It’s true that sewer systems (both today and historically) were mostly made up of pipes too small for humans to traverse. (The drain in your sink does not drop directly into a tunnel.) It’s also true that medieval European cities mostly lacked sewer systems of any kind. (Paris, for example, didn’t have an underground sewer until 1730.)

But that doesn’t mean sewer systems don’t have any walkable tunnels. (They do. Ironically, Paris now has one of the largest networks of walkable sewer tunnels.) It’s also not true that sewers are a modern invention, or that historical sewer systems lacked the larger tunnels. (As far as I can tell, they were actually more common because (a) it was more likely that humans would need access to clear out clogs and debris and (b) older sewer systems were more likely to be primarily focused on draining storm and flood water than waste disposal, and therefore needed very high capacity.)

Rome, for example, had the Cloaca Maxima, which had tunnels, walkways, the whole bit. The final act of The Third Man, Carol Reed’s classic noir film featuring Orson Welles, takes place in the sewers beneath Vienna and was filmed on location: These spacious tunnels were also constructed by the Romans in the 2^nd century. Other Roman sewers of similar design have been preserved in Herculaneum and Pompeii.

Although it appears that Romans were allowed to connect their privies to theses systems, recent archaeology suggests that they rarely did: Their toilets notably lacked traps, so nothing would stop sewer gases (and smells) from simply coming up the toilet. Animals and other pests would also use them to invade homes. (We have tales about alligators coming up from the sewers: Aelian and Pliny tell us of an octopus in Iberia that would swim up the drainage tunnels at high tide and sneak into kitchens to eat the pickled fish. On a similar note, there were Victorian tales of pigs living in the sewers of Hampstead. But I digress.)

On the gripping hand, it would nevertheless be quite unusual to find a sewer system like this–

–with twenty-foot-wide passages kept surprisingly tidy and flanked on both sides by walkways. (The entrances to weird, subterranean caverns are actually slightly more plausible: It wasn’t unusual for ancient sewer construction to piggyback or unexpectedly run into preexisting underground structures. In fact, many ancient sewers, including possibly the earliest version of the Cloaca Maxima, were just rivers that had been bricked over.)

But all of this, of course, begins to rub up against the fantastical architecture at the heart of D&D. If the cities of D&D were meant to be strictly modeled on the cities of medieval Europe, we could sagely nod our heads, stroke out chins, and pronounce that it’s just silly for them to have sewers like this.

But D&D cities aren’t medieval European cities, are they?

First, there’s no reason that a completely alternative history wouldn’t see your D&D civilizations preserve the hydrological knowledge of the Romans.

Second, as we’ve seen, some medieval cities DID have sewers like this because they preserved Roman ones. (And it’s not like D&D-land isn’t peppered with ancient civilizations.)

Third, even our declaration of “medieval European city” is pretty biased. The Byzantines were still building large waterworks during this time, as did the Ottomans after the fall of Constantinople.

Fourth, the construction capacity and resources of a typical D&D setting far outstretch those of medieval Europe due to the presence of ubiquitous magic (whether arcane or divine).

So if I want to feature something like this in a D&D campaign, instead of reaching for reasons why it can’t exist, I instead reach for the reasons that it can and then apply them.

In doing so, of course, I don’t necessarily need to achieve absolute realism — just plausibility. Because, sewers aside, fantastical construction is a concept that D&D’s worldbuilding inherently holds in tension. The entire game is fundamentally based on architecture which is simultaneously fantastical and irrational: To what possible purpose could the tunnels beneath Castle Blackmoor have been constructed?

(There’s a reason that both Gygax’s Greyhawk and Greenwood’s Undermountain are justified by the whims of a Mad Mage, Zagyg and Halaster respectively.)

We don’t want to abandon logic entirely — because then the PCs are simply trapped in a madhouse of random noise, unable to meaningfully apply thought or problem solving — but the skein of verisimilitude can be pulled very tight when it comes to D&D and a milieu which often operates only on laws of convention.

Campaign Journal: Session 33B – Running the Campaign: Bond. The Opposite of Bond.
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index