Normalizing 4D6

“As the years go by, time will change and even reverse many of your present opinions.”

– Plato

I was surfing online this weekend looking for interesting dice sets, just for fun. While a majority of polyhedral roleplaying game dice I noticed contained one each of the “standard” dice (including the D% ten sider), I was surprised to see a number of them – primarily in my search for “Koplow dice” – included four six-sided dice (4D6). I’ve seen a few sets in stores that also pack 4D6. I checked the “starter” boxes I have for Dungeons & Dragons fifth edition and realized the dice set provided with the Essentials Kit also included 4D6 (the Essentials Kit offers character creation rules, while the Starter Set does not). This seems to indicate a shift over the game’s almost 50-year history from several methods of rolling character ability scores to the one most geared toward what some might call a heroic play style; one where player-characters aren’t simply grunts sent through a meat-grinder adventure to meet horrible ends, with only the most “worthy” surviving, but where they begin as heroes who all have value in the overall storyline.

Gamer’s Gambit Demonstrates Store Ideals

Everyone has their ideas about what makes a good Friendly Local Game Store (FLGS). I particularly value a friendly staff, comprehensive inventory, and plenty of play space, all of which goes a long way to cultivating a sustained and diverse play community. I’ve visited many games stores in my 35+ years in the adventure gaming hobby as a player and writer. Even where I live now, on the medieval frontier of Northern Virginia (the medieval side) I’ve discovered several game stores, some closer than others, that hit the marks quite well (though some, always the closest, seem to have a habit of closing after just more than a year in business). My family recently had an excellent experience at an FLGS, this time while on our annual pilgrimage to visit family in New England, and it reminded me what makes for a successful FLGS.

Hedging Bets against the Fog of War

The Fog of War – the random elements in games, whether simulating the variable performance of troops in wargaming battles, pieces on the board, or adversaries in roleplaying games – can foil the best strategies, constructed decks, assembled forces, or crafted character. The degree to which such uncertainties reign over the gaming table can seriously affect one’s play experience. It’s one thing to lose to a formidable opponent, but another to lose to the capricious nature of the dice.

Brave British troops doomed in the face
of hordes of Zulus and poor die rolls.

If kind readers would pardon some (hopefully) neutral political analogy, regrettably on my mind thanks to the recent mid-term elections... Take political candidates; they hedge their bets against the uncertainties of the minority of the electorate that actually gets out to vote. Some run in the right gerrymandered district (or carpet-bag their way there) and garner enough shadow-corporate sponsorship to flood the airwaves and ether with ads claiming their opponents are inspired by the devil and eat babies for breakfast (not really quite that bad, but they might as well say that to play on voters’ fears and emotions). Unlike gamers, politicians can draw upon the unlimited resources of contributions from near-anonymous special-interest donors instead of a limited pool of game elements intentionally balanced for some semblance of fair gameplay. (And no, I’m not suggesting politics should be reformed on a gameplay model.)

Even seemingly well-balanced games can subject players to the random whims of chance, no matter how much players try hedging their bets against failure. I’ve tried crafting various squadrons for the X-wing Miniatures Game, assembling combinations of elements like pilot abilities, starship stats, and different upgrades to fit within the 100-point tournament guideline in what I think might prove a winning combination. On paper they might prove quite powerful; but when I’m rolling poorly and the opponent consistently rolls well, I have little chance of success. Last year in a The Sword and the Flame convention game I lost most of four companies of British soldiers against one “horn” of a Zulu force because I kept rolling poorly: I scored minimal ranged hits, got massacred in close combat, and failed several key morale checks (nothing encourages dice to roll poorly than having the referee say, “Roll anything but a six!” Guess what that six sider is rolling...). No wonder there’s been a movement of “dice shaming” in gaming culture to highlight dice that consistently roll poorly or fail at crucial moments (all feeding the adventure gaming hobby’s dice fetishism). Even games with carefully crafted forces like Magic: The Gathering – with no random dice elements – subject players to the uncertainty of when they draw certain cards or combinations to deploy against opponents. Players understandably become frustrated when their best preparations fall victim to the capricious nature of the dice or the luck of the draw.

Games by their very nature represent a contest between players; so naturally one expects to encounter some feelings of frustration while trying to win against adversaries. When games offer players a means to hedge their bets against the whims of chance they offer a sometimes false sense of control over their gaming fate. A good game combines the uncertain elements of chance, a player’s ability to plan broad strategies, and the opportunity to react as tactical opportunities develop through gameplay. Certainly gamers like a bit of tension in their games – it’s no fun when you’re certain you’ll always win or when you know you’ve already lost but the game’s still not over – but there’s a fine line between tension and futile frustration. It proves a good test of players’ sportsmanship. I’ve played in games where, through poor luck of the dice, I knew I was beaten and was just playing out turns until the game ended. I’ve felt unworthy winning games by sheer luck of the dice, especially when my opponent fielded formidable forces or played exceptionally well (and was, himself, foiled by poor dice rolls).

I’ve been rebuked before for framing issues in terms of a “spectrum,” but this aspect of the Fog of War element actually falls along a spectrum. At one end stand games dominated by random elements such as War (if one could call that a “game,” a subject I’ve discussed before), Yatzee, Monopoly, even such Euro-game fare as Carcassonne; these often rely on providing a random situation or set of elements players must try to use to their advantage. At the other end stand games with no randomized elements like chess, Diplomacy, and Stratego where the Fog of War concept exists as uncertainty wholly generated by the players in terms of deployment and strategy, with clear-cut conflict resolution. (I’m sure such generalizations will spawn some contentious if civilized debate; I don’t pretend to approach issues presented in this blog in a comprehensively scholarly manner nor with particularly exacting attention to semantics in the diverse and often subjective English language.) Many games fall somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, offering the illusion that players can somehow exert control over their success by crafting a good deck, squadron, force, character, or strategy that’s still subject to random elements like dice or the luck of the draw.

Is on end of the spectrum better than the other? Of course not. Each extreme challenges players in different ways. At one end players receive randomized elements they must use to their best advantage in the situation. In the other they carefully arrange their resources and maneuver them knowing their strong points. Those in between can offer a false sense of control by juxtaposing random elements against prepared strategies. But good games maintain the tension until the very end, balancing uncertainty over success or failure.

Comments....

Want to offer feedback? Start a civilized discussion? Share a link to this blog entry on Google+ and tag me (+Peter Schweighofer) to comment.

Gaming Artifacts: Earliest Dice & Felt Bag

Polyhedral dice have a particular allure in roleplaying games, a subject I’ve explored before. So I’m particularly grateful I still possess my original polyhedral dice from my earliest roleplaying game boxed sets. I received the light-red dice with my Moldvay-edition Dungeons & Dragons Basic set – an Easter present from my parents in 1982 – with the yellow ones from the Expert set a few months later. Like most dice included in these boxed sets they feel unusually light, yet the edges wore down easily with only moderate play...and these dice saw lots of use.

That first summer playing Dungeons & Dragons we loved rolling the dice, hovering over them to squint at the results and interpret how they’d affect the fate of our characters. The cheap crayons that came in each boxed set remained a mystery to me and those in our small neighborhood gaming circle. At the time I was terribly clueless about all the esoteric rituals roleplaying gamers in-the-know seemed to keep among themselves and scoff at outsiders trying to figure things out. Thus for a year or two we used dice without the numbers “inked in” with crayons or grease pencils...which actually enshrouded reading and interpreting the rolls that much more mystery.

After a while my brother and I found some nice “crystal” dice sets at the local hobby shop – I bought a set of “gemstone green” dice and he got some “caramel brown” dice – though I’m not sure their seemingly precision edges indicates they were the famous Gamescience dice (I wouldn’t have known about the distinction at the time). Unfortunately these slick-looking dice have since become dispersed among several dice-storage containers (some might even have been lost!) and hence do not reside within the hallowed dice bag of my youth.

I don’t know where I picked up on the idea of having a bag for one’s dice, but I understood that particular piece of gamer lore early on. Maybe I picked up that various illustrated characters in the Basic and Expert D&D rulebooks used such pouches to carry their coinage and thus it seemed to make sense to use an appropriately medieval accoutrement for toting dice. I fashioned my own bag from brown felt scraps and yarn; it withstood years of active use and years in storage with a little wear and tear. These days I use a variety of containers to hold dice for various games, including fantastic dice bags my wife occasionally makes.

I’ve continued collecting dice throughout my gaming career, though perhaps not as addictively as other gamers. Since most of my gaming has been with various d6-dependent systems, I have an uncountable host of six-sided dice. My favorite ones include some deep bluish-green ones with an Egyptian-style scarab for the “one” face; some tan Flames of War dice from Battlefront with the Africa Corps logo on either the “one” face or the “six” face (always have to check); the round six-sider with a hollow cube interior and a weighted ball so the die lands with one result facing up on its spherical surface (a small gift from science-fiction author friend Timothy Zahn); a hefty handful of Fudge dice an old friend gave me which I infrequently (yet recently) use; a brass die that sits on my desk as a paperweight and rarely sees any gameplay; a set of “Pizza Dice!” Flying Buffalo offered long ago (and might still sell) to properly randomize topping choices; and the red-with-gold-specs I ordered a few years ago with the Griffon Publishing Studio name and logo on the “one” face. Oddly enough during gameplay I prefer using solid-color sets of dice: usually red with white pips for basic rolls, with some smaller sets of dice to keep track number of opponents, hits, rounds, or other quantities during the game.

Since I don’t play too many D&D-style games much anymore I don’t have many favorite polyhedral dice sets. I’ve kept several I acquired over the years, many as swag or trades during my years with West End Games when I had some professional acceptance from other publishers, manufacturers, and game designers. I recently (in the past three years) picked up a cobalt blue polyhedral dice set with gold-inked numbers I find particularly striking. One of these days I might give a D&D-style game another go given the current preponderance of D&D Next/Fifth Edition, Pathfinder, and Old School Renaissance material.

I always marvel at dice dealers at conventions, their vast displays of every size, color, design, and shape, and the inevitable bins from which gamers can scoop mug- or pitcher-fulls of dice for what seems like a bargain. Despite my frugal nature regarding purchasing excess dice – “excess” since I seem to have some many already – I inevitably buy a few at each convention, either to add some remarkable new find to my collection, give a novel gift to gamer friends, or replenish ones that go missing (one of my favorite scarab dice seem to disappear occasionally).

Dice dealer displays always amaze me with the seemingly infinite multitude of different symbols one can put on dice – states, animals, dinosaurs – plus the different kinds for determining hit locations, direction, and even random dungeon geomorphs (which I haven’t seen in person but would love to get my hands on). If I weren’t so frugal with what little discretionary gaming cash I have, I’d probably buy more dice that appealed to my personal tastes and gaming preferences. I’ll admit recent buzz about WizDice online (as featured by Tim Shorts and Dyson Logos) has me interested; 100 dice for $20 sounds like a fantastic deal, considering folks generally receive several full sets of matching polyhedral dice. It seems like a very fun idea for gamers, so I went ahead and put it on my wish list. Who knows, it might get me playing more fantasy roleplaying games.

So many games use dice it’s only natural for gamers to spend so much attention – and money – on one component that reflects their personal tastes. Some brag about the quantities, others showcase particularly nifty looking dice, and everyone seems to have a favorite dice-related story to share around the gaming table.

Comments....

What are your favorite dice and why? Want to offer feedback? Start a civilized discussion? Share a link to this blog entry on Google+ and tag me (+Peter Schweighofer) to comment.

Six Pilgrims

I’ve diverted slightly from some of my projects at the start of the new year to pursue a quick exercise channeling some recent inspiration into a personal challenge. The inspiration came from my recent admiration of the interesting “randomizers as pieces” element of CoinAge and an urge to explore the issue of whether mechanics or theme came first in designing a game (a topic I’d like to address in a future Game Design Journal entry). The result is a quick, abstract game with a medieval theme called Six Pilgrims. I apologize in advance...this is one of those posts where I ramble through my creative process, so please bear with me.

One of the elements I liked about Coin Age was how each player’s casting of the coins served both to randomly determine what action they could take in a turn and also define the available pieces to deploy on the map. Once placed the pieced didn’t move, but played a role in the territory control aspect of the game. Using randomizers as pieces appealed to me as a concept, though I wasn’t quite sure where I’d go with that.

I wanted to experiment with an idea of using six-sided dice as both randomizers and pieces in an abstract game I could lightly overlay with some basic theme elements. I decided to use a simple gridded playing surface like a chess board, though I chose to narrow that down to six dice on a six-by-six square grid; this would accommodate my intention to use a seventh die to randomly affect dice during play. I also imposed upon myself the condition that the game rules serve both a solitaire player as well as two players head-to-head (each using six dice on the board and a seventh one on the side). For my “randomizers as pieces” element I determined that during set-up players would roll each playing-piece die and deploy it on the resulting space within a column; for instance, rolling a “4” would place that die in the fourth square up from the player’s side of the board. In this way one die would occupy each column at a variable “height.” I wanted to use a roll of the seventh die at the beginning of each turn to randomly determine one column whose die would “drop” one space, possibly even moving it off the bottom edge of the board and out of play.

I played around with a game objective motivating players to manipulate the dice on the board. Moving off the top of the board seemed diametrically opposed to the “downward” movement randomly determined at the beginning of each turn; so I settled on lateral movement, making the random “drop” each turn a nuisance and a means of eliminating pieces that might score at the game’s end. I decided a die could move off the right edge of the board only if all the dice lined up on the same row; for extra depth I allowed other dice of the departing die’s value to leave as well...so if a die valued at “5” departed the right edge of the board, all the other dice in the line showing “5” leave, too. This led to a short list of player actions each turn: move one die up or down one space; move one die to the right one space into an unoccupied column (possible only after dice start moving off the board); change the value of one die by one pip (to increase scoring or enable multiple, similar dice to move off the board). No action could affect the single die “dropped” by the random roll at the beginning of that turn. After outlining these rules in a far more clearly organized manner – and determining how conflicting dice would work with two opposing players – I ran a few solitaire games for myself to iron out the kinks and adjust the rules to those hastily explained above.

When creating games I generally tend to focus on a theme first – one that engages a personal interest – then develop mechanics based on a fulfilling game experience keyed to that theme. This exercise in employing a “randomizers as pieces” element proved quite the opposite of how I normally go about conceiving of and developing a game. I now had a set of mechanics I liked, but no theme to add some flavor (or even an interesting title) to an abstract set of rules.

Two generalized themes became apparent in the rules as I’d envisioned them: falling down and off the bottom of the board; and bringing the dice into alignment to “escape” off the right side of the board. I was immediately reminded of and inspired by a review of the Titanic SOS game (which fired my subsequent search for material about that game). I also thought about other themes involving evacuation or escape in my general field of interests such as history, science fiction, and fantasy, like abandoning a damaged spacecraft or leaving a doomed planet. Meh. Nothing really came together to excite me or provide some basic theme elements (like a title) to enhance the rules. I looked at the dice sitting on my chess board, thought about the medieval origins and importance of chess, and thought what general medieval setting ideas I had floating around. Then it dawned on me: it might fit the Infinite Cathedral fantasy roleplaying setting I’ve had on the back burner for a few years.

I envisioned the Infinite Cathedralas an alternate plane of existence where people were magically and inexplicably dumped from various other medieval realities, a vast expanse of mostly ruined cathedral architecture, grids of columned naves and transepts with cloisters in the spaces between them. Inhabitants (and their trapped descendents) frequently face a choice between accepting their fate and settling down in small enclaves or continuing a seemingly hopeless quest for some means of returning to their home worlds. With the religious overtones of the Infinite Cathedral and a built-in escape motif I found a thematic means of framing my abstract rules. The dice represent six pilgrims seeking to escape or “ascend” from the infinite bounds of the cathedral, with the downward mechanic symbolizing the pull of despair threatening to deter them from their quest. For one to “ascend” they must all align geographically and philosophically.

To complete this exercise I need to revise my draft rules, include a few diagrams and examples, work up a print-and-play board, and send it off to my usual keen playtesters; but overall I’m pleased with this simple diversion.

As always, I encourage constructive feedback and civilized discussion. Share a link to this blog entry on Google+ and tag me (+Peter Schweighofer) to comment.

Revisiting the Random Dungeon with Themes

Several weeks ago I explored issues in random dungeons based on my own experience with the original Gygaxian method from the AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide and John Yorio’s No Budget No Frills Pencil and Paper Dungeon Generator, Ver. 3.0 over at the Tabletop Diversions blog. After my admittedly limited initial experiences I set off to devise a slightly more focused “random” dungeon experience incorporating an overarching theme for the delve and table results skewed to allow for some escalation from basic encounters to more challenging ones.

I wanted to structure a blank form outline with tables for determining corridors and chambers, traps, treasures, and encounters, with most of the die types and ranges left blank for users to fill in with their own preferences. For instance, choosing a 1D6 roll for determining corridors or chambers might allow one on a roll of 1-2 and the other on 3-6, skewing the results to favor a preferred structure. They could populate a trap table with theme-appropriate devices. Treasures could reflect the theme as well. But the most integral of all is the encounters table, where users “seed” the delve with themed encounters rather than relying on random monster tables by dungeon level. An escalation mechanic -- in the form of a bonus to the table roll equal to the number of previous encounters -- skews results to the higher and more challenging encounters, culminating in a showdown with an appropriately powerful “boss” monster.

The result is a PDF document with forms to fill out and then “save as” or print to create a one-page set of tables for a “themed dungeon” with randomized elements skewed toward a particular experience.

Here’s a look at the rationale I followed:

Intent: Since this serves as a side-project for me -- a quick jaunt exploring an interesting idea and game-design exercise -- I imposed a few restrictions on development. I wanted to keep the tables to one page with adequate room for users to customize the material with their own ideas. My urge to keep things relatively straightforward influenced me to leave out several traditional elements and interesting concepts; in some cases I’ve marginalized them from their more prominent places in previous random dungeon generators.

Secret Doors: Most random dungeon generators include some means of noting secret doors in passages and chambers. I overlooked this element in the interest of simplicity, though also partly to make sure the tables had more space for encounters, special treasures, and traps. I’m considering (and may have already implemented) a section on the “Chamber” table to account for the possibility of secret doors.

No Exits: A keen playtester noted the current “1D4-1” roll to determine the number of exits from a chamber could result in a complete dead-end in the very first chamber. I’ll alter the wording to eliminate that “-1” modifier until after explorers have visited four or six rooms.

Special Corridors & Chambers: I’d originally hoped to include results and additional tables for creating special corridor elements (stairs up and down, exits and entrances) and chambers (pillared halls, chasms with bridges) users could customize to the theme. At this point I’m considering including a “special” result on the corridor table with parenthetical suggestions for such remarkable features beyond the basic passageways.

Empty Room Table: The gamer community occasionally vents on the subject of empty rooms in dungeons, a result of random tables I personally found frustrating in my own solitaire delves. Unfortunately space considerations forced me to omit a table on which users could roll to generate some themed setting descriptions for trappings within empty rooms: abandoned shrines, barracks, common areas, or even caves with partially collapsed ceilings.

Take a look at Schweig’s Themed Dungeon Generatorand see how the system flows. I’ve included the blank, fillable form on one page and a sample dungeon on the second page to demonstrate how it might work. The document is still in flux, though I intend to revise it with an eye toward publishing it through my e-storefront at DriveThruRPG.com as a free/pay what you want product. For now it remains accessible from this blog post, though in the future the link will migrate to the e-storefront.

As always, I encourage constructive feedback and civilized discussion. Share a link to this blog entry on Google+ and tag me (+Peter Schweighofer) to comment.

Thoughts on the Random Dungeon

I’m returning to my Oracle System-driven roleplaying game design for Basic Fantasy Heroes as an occasional break from work on the miniature wargame rules for Panzer Kids. The rules went through several rounds of playtesting earlier this year, with solid input and good insights on fine-tuning the system and improving the presentation. But aside from running a few test encounters myself to see how combat worked out within the overall Oracle System, I’d not have a chance to run a small band of heroes through a scenario. So I turned to a solitaire alternative using a random dungeon system to generate an adventure in which I, as player, truly could not anticipate what the characters would face from one room to the next. Beyond offering a taste of the Basic Fantasy Heroes game system mechanics in an actual play setting (albeit solitaire), the experience helped me come to some conclusions about what I expect in random dungeon solo play.

Rationale

I wanted to adhere to certain conditions in undertaking this foray into solitaire random dungeon adventuring, primarily to provide a realistic experience using the character and combat rules I’d developed in a fully unexpected setting. To this end I created three beginning characters using my Basic Fantasy Heroes rules: a priest, elf, and dwarf, each with their own specialties that would affect gameplay (primarily combat).

My main concern was generating a dungeon layout with interesting results for solo gameplay. I’m no expert on the various options available today for solitaire dungeon generation. Giving in to my nostalgia, I initially turned to the original material created on this subject, the Gygaxian system in “Appendix A. Random Dungeon Generation” of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Dungeon Masters Guide.

To vary my approach I also polled some folks on Google+. Several offered good suggestions on alternate, more recently developed random dungeon generation systems available. Thanks to John Fiore, host extraordinaire of the Solo Nexus blog, I picked up the No Budget No Frills Pencil and Paper Dungeon Generator, Ver. 3.0 by John Yorio over at the Tabletop Diversions blog. (Though I’m also interested in eventually picking up the geomorph Dungeon Dice Clayton Rider suggested.) The discussion also covered TSR’s Cardmaster Adventure Design Deck, which I own but declined to use in this particular exercise.

In both cases I decided to create my own first-level dungeon monster encounter table based on the low-level creatures I’d devised for Basic Fantasy Heroes -- not all the creatures I’ve developed have corollaries in the AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide monster tables, and I didn’t want to outright translate that game directly to mine -- but they still ran the range from bandits and goblins to giant centipedes and slime. The presence of traps in both dungeon generation rules revealed to me that I’d not considered rules for traps in Basic Fantasy Heroes; so I quickly drafted some functional notes on how certain iconic traps worked within the Oracle System framework with an eye to developing them more fully later.

I intended to try two strategies in recording my solo dungeon-delving experience: creating an annotated map (somewhat of a necessity in these exercises) and writing an in-character chronicle describing events, encounters, and reactions (an idea John Fiore has featured over at Solo Nexus, though he recommends not writing in a player character’s voice). Experience with both random dungeon generating systems showed the map an obvious requirement and the primary focus of the game. In the course of rolling, mapping, and handling combat encounters, however, I regret the adventure diary chronicle fell by the wayside; I liked the character narrator, but it seemed a strain to catalog encounters in an engaging style, even in the most general sense (though I was quite happy with my introduction).

The Gygaxian Labyrinth

At first glance the byzantine tables in the Dungeon Masters Guide appendix seemed to lead one down the path to revealing a dungeon with all the complexities one expects: traps, monsters, treasure, secret doors. Slightly weighted tables favored some results over others, but not by much. The system seemed more attuned to taking into account every possibility within the dungeon layout and offering an unbiased result, giving almost every option the same chance of occurrence.

Amid all the twisting corridors and intersections my intrepid heroes came upon seven rooms, four empty ones and three containing monsters. For the solitaire play -- and in chronicling the adventure writing as one of the heroes -- empty rooms proved extremely boring. I found myself wishing I had some means of determining any descriptive features about the chambers just to liven things up and give some clue about their past use and the dungeon’s origins. Despite the tables for traps and treasure, the heroes didn’t encounter any. The random monsters they confronted had no theme to them other than “Level 1” and, typical for this kind of exercise, there seemed no rationale for them being there other than excuses I created for the adventure diary chronicle: obviously bandits were probably looting the dungeon like the heroes and the cave mantids made a nest in one of the chambers, but why kobolds were hiding behind an illusionary wall in one room is beyond me.

What also occurred to me as I tired of this exercise was the lack of any meaningful conclusion. My heroes simply reached a point where they’d had enough and back-tracked their way to the dungeon entrance. Assuming they returned to the nearest town to tend their wounds and cash in their treasure, they had little compelling reason to return to their subterranean explorations other than the promise of haphazard carnage and loot.

No-Frills Simplicity

The no-frills dungeon generator promised a far more simplified method than the Gygaxian model: roll 1d12 and consult the table. The 12 possible results included an even distribution for various corridor types and three kinds of rooms, those with monsters, traps, and the infamous ones with nothing at all. Asterisked notes included intuitive methods for determining corridor length, chamber size, and the number of doors in a room (though I modified these from 1d10 rolls to 1d6 rolls). .

My heroes began their delve and started exploring the catacombs with far more ease than navigating the numerous Gygaxian dungeon-generation tables. The results seemed more interesting, too; of four rooms they discovered, two held monsters and two traps…no empty rooms in this dungeon. That’s as far as they got because the presence of more traps wore down the party. Traps appear in locations (rooms or corridors) one time in six, with monsters appearing one time in twelve. The dungeon also remained void of any kind of thematic rationale aside from the fact that the bandits were probably looting the place, too, and the giant centipedes had nested in another chamber.

Between the two random dungeon generation systems, though, I liked the no-frills one over the more complex and time-consuming Gygaxian method. The no-frills system benefitted from both brevity and a better presentation, with each result illustrated by a mini-map geomorph depicting the dungeon feature. But it highlighted the need for separate tables for corridors and rooms as well as the variability of having even slightly weighted tables. Both systems -- one possibly the first in the adventure gaming hobby, the other a recent refinement -- left me feeling somewhat unsatisfied. Yes, they both certainly challenged me as a player to use character resources and specialties to overcome adversaries and survive traps, but they lacked even the most basic contextual story elements.

Themed & Skewed

Although I actually achieved my original mission of playtesting the rules and characters in the context of a solitaire random dungeon crawl, I can’t help but consider how to craft a more fulfilling solitaire play experience in a relatively random dungeon. I think adding both a basic theme and some skewed (or escalating) results might help add more intriguing narrative elements to elevate the experience beyond a completely random hack-and-slash delve. I’m envisioning a quick setting paragraph to put the dungeon entrance and its theme in context, followed by tables to generate corridors and chambers (favoring some results over others). I’d include a monster encounter table customized to the theme (vermin, goblins, magical creatures, etc.) incorporating an escalating mechanic to push future rolls up the spectrum toward a “boss” monster. It’s something I’ll think about as a possible solitaire random dungeon generation system when I next feel the need to explore some new game design territory.

My ultimate lesson learned concerns the nature of random dungeon generation as discovered by the necessity of gradually revealed solo play. Dungeon delves -- while the primal form of adventuring in the hobby -- remain a limited form, more so in the random dungeon generation style used for solitaire play. More involved campaign play, balancing wilderness, town, and dungeon encounters, offers more possibilities for a richer solitaire experience and hence more interesting narrative possibilities for chronicles recording adventures.

Next time I need a break and feel the need to test my Basic Fantasy Heroes rules in a more varied narrative setting, I’ll grab my sets of Rory’s Story Cubes (regular and Voyages) and send my characters through the paces of John Fiore’s The 9Qs Solo RPG Engine.

As always, I encourage constructive feedback and civilized discussion. Share a link to this blog entry on Google+ and tag me (+Peter Schweighofer) to comment.

Basic & Advanced Rules

Some games offer basic rules or “quickstart” sample rules to provide a taste of the essential mechanics behind gameplay; in some cases these rules are simplified from the more advanced, “full” game, but in many they represent the essential core elements required to play a meaningful game. This approach remains a great way not only to sell games to new gamers but for those gamers to more easily introduce games to their friends through the basic rules.


My recent acquisition of yet another game including both basic and advanced rules prompted me to ponder the benefits of such presentation, particularly when introducing a game to a new audience and those not yet familiar with the adventure gaming hobby

As both a player and a game designer I’ve long admired this approach as an effective means of presenting a new game to established gamers and introducing newcomers to the adventure gaming hobby. The strategy helps newcomers overcome the often daunting feeling that they must master all the rules in a game before playing, instead offering a basic or quick-start version that overcomes that hurdle and gets them playing the game as soon as possible. It represents a thoughtful refinement of a game that its essentials can fit into a basic version and yet can provide even deeper gameplay and a more fulfilling play experience through the application of advanced rules once players have mastered the basics. The model also enables a preview marketing strategy; a publisher can offer the basic rules for free, as a teaser of the core mechanics to tempt players to purchase the more deeply developed advanced version. Even as an adult, especially one with limited time and focus, I really like having basic rules to give me a feel for the game and play it out fully; advanced rules give me tidbits to enhance the basic rules if I can easily understand them and feel they augment my gameplay.

In another online venue I mentioned several games using basic and advanced rules I liked, but I want to focus on a few I felt did that extremely well and consider why they appeal so much to me:

Wings of War: Dawn of World War II (since reincarnated as Wings of Glory WWII): I’ve talked about this game before and admire its simple mechanics of card play on the game surface to simulate World War II dogfights. The basic rules cover the bare minimum to enjoy a game: movement, shooting, and damage. Advanced rules add more technicalities, including altitude, special damage, and bombing runs. The intuitive card-based system for moving and the assumption that anything within range takes fire (though with variable damage results) makes for a fast and easy-to-learn game; the advanced rules add options any solid wargamer would expect but that aren’t integral to enjoying the basic game. The full-color rulebook also includes plenty of illustrative diagrams demonstrating the essential principles of play.

Sirocco& Red Storm Rising: A desert-warfare strategy battle game simulating the World War II conflict between Patton and Rommel in North Africa, Siroccoteaches the core concepts of movement and combat in the basic rulebook, while adding a host of optional rules for terrain, range, command, supply, and troop quality -- plus several scenarios -- in the “Masters” rulebook. Simulating a hypothetical Warsaw Pact invasion of West Germany against defending NATO forces (as depicted in the Tom Clancy novel of the same name), Red Storm Rising offers some very concise yet intuitive division-level wargame mechanics in the basic rulebook with many more complex yet realistic options to add in the advanced rules. Both games include separate booklets for the basic and expert rules and include nicely illustrated map-boards. Sirocco uses plastic pieces shaped like military units (perfect for wargaming newcomers), while Red Storm Rising uses cardboard chits in plastic stands (for the fog of war mechanic) with only one essential combat value on the piece to avoid intimidating new players. Both games come from the late 1980s when TSR released such fare in an attempt to broaden their audience with “easy to learn” wargames that could appeal to more seasoned gamers with advanced rules.

Star Frontiers: The basic rulebook in the boxed set offers a stripped-down character creation process (eliminating skills and a host of other details) with the basics of task resolution, combat, vehicle chases, and equipment, all put to the test in a programmed-format solitaire tutorial adventure (a personal favorite of mine for introducing roleplaying game rules) and a more freeform group scenario using included location maps and character/creature counters. The expert booklet serves as the full rules set expanding on the introductory booklet’s rules and setting foundation. The game’s basic and expert rules booklets did a far better job of introducing roleplaying game concepts than the Basic and Expert D&D game rules, albeit the science fiction setting wasn’t as popular as dungeon delving.

[Basic & Expert Dungeons & Dragons: I’m hesitant to mention Basic/Expert D&D in this list (hence the bracketed text) because, though it employs the similar “basic” and “advanced” designation in its titles, the game remains far too complex and introduces to many concepts essential to roleplaying games to really fit my more concise ideal for a basic/advanced set-up. The advancement of the “expert” set simply reflects its expansion of the levels (and hence challenges and rewards) more experienced characters can attain; however, the games did introduce many newcomers to the fantasy roleplaying game hobby in the 1980s, arguably the “Golden Age of Roleplaying.” It offered an elegant explanation of roleplaying (which I discussed in a past Hobby Games Recce post) and thus in my view deserves some honorable mention.]

Practicalities in Projects

How does this admiration for basic and advanced rules affect my approaches to current projects? I’ve carefully balanced the urge to take this approach with the nature of each product I’m designing -- it’s not appropriate for every game -- and decided this approach might work best on two projects intended to introduce young and new gamers to aspects of the adventure gaming hobby: miniature wargames and traditional medieval fantasy roleplaying games.

The Miniatures Wargame: I’m dabbling with a simplified miniatures wargame for kids with a World War II tank warfare theme, with the intent of introducing kids to some wargaming basics without overwhelming them with the intense yet often enjoyable accuracy of other immensely popular systems like Flames of War. The essential game mechanics exist and have undergone some playtesting. I’m looking to develop a basic rulebook containing the bare-bones yet playable system followed by an advanced rules set with options kids can add to enhance their play experience to reflect more generally accepted elements of miniatures wargames, including close range bonuses, terrain and obstacles, anti-tank artillery, minefields, veteran crews, objectives, command distance. While I expect I’d present the advanced options in a standard rulebook format, I’d like to offer summaries of each option as a half- or quarter-page reference card players could put on the gaming table as a reminder of what additional rules are in play. This is clearly a case of the egotistical game designer thinking he can do better than the myriad offerings in the field ranging from homegrown rules to well-established hobby games. About the only one that adopts the basic/advanced rules presentation is the Axis & Allies Miniatures Game, which unfortunately relies on the collectable nature of the miniatures and has minimal support from manufacturer Wizards of the Coast.

The Fantasy Roleplaying Game Project: Offering a full roleplaying game in both basic and advanced rules presents some challenges on the basic end, considering all the myriad and sometimes complicated elements such a game requires. I intend to create a fantasy roleplaying game combining elements appealing to old-school-renaissance gamers as well as those seeking to introduce kids (10 and up or so) to such games (despite the recent prevalence of such products). As I began developing elements of the game to present to playtesters I found myself relying on my favorite “solitaire tutorial adventure” model: offering some flavor text to define the setting and situation followed by enough basic task/combat resolution rules to run encounters, then a “programmed” scenario demonstrating those rules. While such an adventure presentation could certainly serve as a promotional piece showcasing elements of the game, it’s far from even a “quick-start” version of the full rules. I envision most of the easy-to-play elements in the basic rules will evolve in the design, writing, and presentation of the rules themselves, keeping an eye on being clear and concise. I regret I’m falling back on the Basic/Expert D&D model where the “expert” version simply expands the character advancement opportunities (including additional powers, new monsters, and more magical items/treasure).

I’ll see how these approaches work out as both games receive more development as time allows. While the tank miniatures game percolates on the back burner of my mind (even as I write this I’m devising new ways to further streamline the mechanics), I’m actively developing and playtesting the fantasy roleplaying game. I’m hoping some early stage playtesting offers some guidance in the mechanics and presentation.