How D&D Became Boring

I've noticed a trend lately. One that was so slow it snuck up on me. Yet its a problem that persists at many game tables around the country: Dungeons & Dragons has become boring!

Low Effort Players

Many players these days, young and old, have adopted a video game mentality when approaching challenges in D&D. It's no longer about trying to solve a complex puzzle, negotiating your way out of a tense situation, or describing in detail how your character disarms a trap. Nowadays its "I made a knowledge roll", or "I want to make a perception check". Boring! How about we all get off our cellphones (I've been guilty of this myself), and pay attention?

Solution: Ask the players to write a two page biography about their characters, so that they know who they're playing, at a more than "sheet-deep" superficial level. Next, ask the players to put away their character record sheets, and truly role-play using nothing but the descriptions from the GM and their own wits.

Hand Waving Away the Minutiae

This is an epidemic everywhere. Encumbrance? Gone. Components for spells? Dead. Meticulous research of magic spells, scribing in spell books, and quests to find all-important focal items? Slashed and burned. When was the last time you tracked time? Or a torch burning out? When has your character began to starve, or develop major blisters on their feet for somehow hiking 20 miles cross-country with overburdening packs and no pony or wagon?

Nowadays, players & GMs alike have the wrong attitude. They think all of this "stuff" that makes the game is a chore, so they simply ignore it away, then wonder why the balance is out of wack.

Solution: Read the rules, follow the rules, as the author intended.

No True Challenge

In modern times, Game Masters have lost sight of the adventure because all they focus on is the campaign. Gone are the days of true excitement when you and your buddies had all Friday night, all Saturday, and some of Sunday, to overthrow the Lich Council that is pouring forth thousands of undead wizards. When the GM would pump you and your friends up with visceral descriptions of how epically awesome the weekend was going to be. Everyone ordered pizza, brought snacks, and drank entirely too much soda. No sleep was had because you and your forces marshed against a true evil that, in all likelyhood, was probably going to take over the world. You only had 24 real-world hours to save the day!

Instead, this fast burn has been replaced with a gradual warming. Your character is supposed to grow from level 1 to 20, which will take years, so slow down there partner. Don't get too excited. You've gotta grind some rats, kobolds, and street thugs down by the docks. The party pinballs from one sorta-important quest to another, with no lasting consequences whether they're successful or not.

Worse yet, the Game Master holds your hand the whole way through; dropping obvious directional markers for the players, fudging poor rolls, and padding the adventure with low-level grunts and plenty of rest time. And since resource management is gone (see above), everything has devolved into a mindless slog that makes no difference if you miss a week's session or not.

And ever since 3.X to 5E, dying isn't really a thing anymore (unless a monster gets a massive one-shot hit), thanks to plenty of potions, healing & reviving spells, healing rests, tons of HP, and several rounds of rolling dice when your down (designed to give the party time to get to the downed adventurer and save them).

Game Masters even give out XP when certain "milestones" are reached, rather than making the party earn their XP from monsters slain, hordes hauled, or secrets revealed. The players just have to show up and they get rewarded (whether or not they make any effort at the table).

Solution: If the players aren't in a dark, weird, and truly dangerous world; you're doing it wrong. Make the party fight tooth and nail, stack the deck against them, and truly try to kill them all off. The players will complain at first, but quickly understand the terms: band together and survive, or perish and let evil prevail.

Build real suspense and make lasting memories from a session that truly matters, and isn't just phoned in. Every character's strengths should be needed, and every weakness exploited.

Conclusion

Did I miss anything that, in your opinion, has made D&D a dull thrill, compared to yesteryears? Let me know in the comments below.

Making a Better Cleric

I'm not sure if anyone caught this, but I figured I'd share this little nugget about clerics in the Basic D&D booklet (red cover).

"...Clerics do not receive any spells until they reach 2nd level (and have proven their devotion to their god or goddess)." -B9

Interesting justification in parenthesis there. Clerics have to first go through some trial or test of faith before their deity endows them with a glimmer of their divine powers. We also see another idea on the same page:

"...Clerics are forbidden by their religious codes from using edged weapons, such as swords and arrows." -B9

I have little doubt that both quotes are simply excuses to justify mechanics set up in an effort to "balance" each class. After all, a fighter with magic powers is automatically more awesome than just a fighter, so the designers had to add artificial restrictions. But that doesn't mean we can't take something from this sentiment.

The big takeaway here is that:

1. Clerics must prove their devotion to their deity before recieving bonuses (or perhaps suffering a penalty)
2. Clerics are forbidden from certain actions

Next up we check out "Turn", or as it'd later be called in Rules Cyclopedia (RC) "Turning Undead".

"Clerics are very helpful when undead monsters (such as skeletons, zombies and ghouls) are encountered. When a cleric encounters an undead monster, the cleric may attempt to 'Turn' (scare) the monster instead of fighting it. If a cleric Turns an undead monster, the monster will not touch the cleric and will flee from the area if it can." -B9

Interestingly, it goes on to say "If a cleric is successful at Turning some undead monsters, the player must roll 2d6 to find how many hit dice of undead monsters are Turned." which is different than what is found in RC, which states "...the Dungeon Master (not the player) will roll 2d6 to determine the number of Hit Dice of undead monsters that turn away."

Breaking it all Down

The Cleric is a complicated class. It's a hybrid of sorts, really. It can fight similar to a fighter, but can cast magic similar to a Magic-User, though it has its own magic and has a special ability called "Turn" (or "Turning Undead" if you're reading RC).

The benefit we have is we can start with the red cover BD&D booklet and jump into the future by reading AD&D 2nd edition, Rules Cyclopedia, 3.x, 4E and 5E. We can see how the cleric began, conceptually, and how it changed and matured over time. In my opinion, it's more important we understand the "spirit" of the cleric and the intended flavor of the designers, more than the individual rules and score numbers (although you know I'm going to look at them anyway, so we might as well get started).

Exigences

In my own game, Open Adventure (OA), each Archetype has a set of "exigences", which is a fancy way of saying "requirements". These actions must be performed on a daily occurrence, lest the individual powers of an archetype begin to wane. This is the same sentiment that we see with the first quote about clerics ("proving ones devotion"), but this is also found with Magic Users (in BD&D) being required to be well-rested and spend 1 hour to memorize spells. The idea in my game is that a "disciple" (the OA equivalent of a cleric) must devote 1 hour to prayer and devotion per day.

Additionally, disciples must follow three "rites" (required rituals) and abstain from three "ascetics" (forbiddings). The specifics of the rites and ascetics are left to the Game Host, and are modeled after the individual focus, alignment and wishes of the specific deity that the cleric obeys. Lastly, because in OA alignment can change based off player character actions (or the virtues & vices they obtain), disciples must remain of the same alignment as their deity. Such rules allow for a more open, free-form alternative to the idea of clerics having religious codes that suit the desires of their deity, rather than one single rigid path (e.g. clerics are forbade from using edged weapons [as a side note, if a cleric worshiped an evil deity, wouldn't they WANT you to use edged weapons to kill your enemies faster?]).

If a disciple were to lapse in any of the above requirements, the penalty they suffer is total revocation of their clerical magic. In other words, if they don't keep their patron deity happy, their deity cuts them off. But don't worry, they can get their mystical powers back after 6 hours of devotion to their deity and apology for their "sinful" ways.

Alignments

In BD&D they had the option for good clerics to be a bit naughty. They could be bad (or evil in a way) by casting a clerical spell, but in reverse. Instead of healing someone, you could cause them injury, for example. This was a great play on the polarity of good and evil (or law and chaos, as it was called back then). It hinted to the possibility of there being evil, or dark, clerics; which in turn gives raise to professions such as "necromancers" and "vodoo priests". But, in my opinion, this "alternative cleric" was never fleshed out enough.

If we fast forward into the future of D&D, especially 3.x and beyond, we see this concept comes to fruition. There are rules for good-aligned and evil-aligned clerics, and how they can channel positive and negative energy. In my opinion, basic versions of these rules should be included in BD&D since they were essentially missing from the start.

So, we have full support for good and evil clerics. But what about neutral clerics? If you're thinking to yourself "there's no such thing", you'd be wrong. In Rules Cyclopedia, in fact, it talks about how Druids are a prestige class, of sorts, derived from clerics. Since Druids are always neutral, we essentially have support (or at least tolerance) for the idea of neutrality existing within the ranks of the cleric class.

However, the way druids are handled in RC has never seemed right to me. Why must we wait until level 9 to become a druid? Even if we did, why would a cleric remain ardent to one alignment for 8 levels then decide to walk away from the cosmic battle between good and evil (not to mention the cities of men) to live among forest animals?

Instead, I propose the druid become its own class that can be pursued at level 1, and treated as a neutral cleric that devotes itself to the cosmic force(s) of the material plane. This would explain why nature and the universe are so sacred to a druid/neutral cleric, with none of the "ex pat" mid life crises.

Exorcism

The last topic we need to tackle are the special powers that these disciple/cleric characters posses. Whatever they end up being, we can conclude that they A). are either only given to a cleric if they are "ardent" in their faith and/or can be revoked if the cleric isn't walking the path right, and B). should fit the theme and focus of the cleric's alignment. That means support for good deeds as well as neutral and evil ones.

The common thread with all clerics throughout the history of D&D has been the ability to repel undead. First, the term "Turn" or "Turning Undead" should be changed. It's a confusing term that has no intrinsic meaning (that I'm aware of) outside of D&D, and must first be explained to be understood. Rather, the term "exorcism", which is a real term, is far better suited for the job.

Terminology aside, a purview of the 3.5 rules show us that there is a far more refined approach to clerical exorcism:

• Good-aligned clerics can attempt to destroy or rout (force to retreat) undead creatures
• Evil-aligned clerics can attempt to command or rebuke (force to cower) undead creatures
• Neutral-aligned clerics can mix and match between the two options

As much as I love OSR and Basic D&D, I have to say that these "new" rules are far more in spirit with what the "old" rules were trying to do. They fully support all the alignments by offering fun alternatives to evil clerics (commanding the undead rather than destroying them).

While we're discussing "turning" undead, let's talk about that "turning undead" table.

This bad boy has got to go. From a game design perspective, it's never a good idea to have such an innate common ability require such a large and verbose table. Especially when it can be condensed down into a few simple rule statements.

To start, the whole premise uses a 2d6 system. Since it's based on the idea of routing, or invoking fear and panic, in undead, we can replace this monstrosity with another system already in place: the morale system. The morale system exists to gauge a creature's willpower and whether that creature is fearful during combat (or other situations) and chooses to flee. Sound familiar? Yup, the morale system also uses a 2d6 mechanic. The two systems are practically identical.

All that has to be done is make a rule that says a cleric can force an undead to make a morale test when they attempt to exorcise them. The 2d6 roll adds the level of the cleric. If the roll is over the creature's morale number, the monster is affected. The next rule we need is to say that if the cleric's level is 3+ levels higher than that of the monster's hit dice, they are automatically destroyed (or commanded, if evil) instead of routed or rebuked. If a cleric is level 10 or above, they can affect 3d6 creatures (instead of 2d6). At level 25 they can affect 4d6 creatures, instead. Voila!

Miscellaneous

Okay I lied, exorcism isn't the last topic. I want to look at some of the differences of how clerics are handled in different versions.

Holy Symbols

To start let's talk about holy symbols. In BD&D and RC there is no rule about holy symbols being needed to exorcise undead. In fact, RC (page 14) reads "The power to turn undead is inherent in the cleric; he does not need the symbol of his faith or any other device to do it, unless the DM declares otherwise."

To me, I find this ruling a bit odd. We're all used to seeing priests and other holy men pulling out their holy symbol and using it as a ward to keep evil or undead at bay, often times in tandem with holy words. In fact, Wikipedia has this to say about exorcism:

Exorcism (from Greek ἐξορκισμός, exorkismos – binding by oath) is the religious or spiritual practice of purportedly evicting demons or other spiritual entities from a person or an area they are believed to have possessed. Depending on the spiritual beliefs of the exorcist, this may be done by causing the entity to swear an oath, performing an elaborate ritual, or simply by commanding it to depart in the name of a higher power.

Followed by this photo:

Looks like that cleric has a holy symbol in his hand, and based off the description there's some form of verbal component involved.

I feel like disallowing a holy symbol goes against the grander spirit of what a cleric is and does. To me, a cleric has always been a conduit of their deity's powers. The cleric themselves only have mystical spells because they are so faithful to their god. In turn, their deity empowers them so they can complete their quest/conquest/mission in life. Their holy symbol, in turn, is a focal point of those powers.

Now, some readers might feel compelled to point out that all of this talk about exorcism has to do with evil creatures (aka fiends) and not undead. That's a good point, but I still believe that for consistency sake, a holy symbol should be present. Looking into the future (at 3.x D&D) we see that exact ruling being enacted, whereas holy symbols become a requirement to "turn" undead.

Affected Creatures
Another interesting difference between "old school" D&D and "new school" is how they handled which creatures are routed and which are not (since you might roll X, where X is less-than the total hit dice of undead creatures within range at the time of the exorcism). In BD&D it states that the lowest level creatures (such as skeletons) are routed first, then the extra points are distributed to higher leveled creatures. Presumably this is to emulate the weaker-minded creatures being more vulnerable to the effects of exorcism.

In newer versions of D&D, however, it says that the creatures physically closest to the cleric are turned first. This, I assume, is to emulate a "blast" effect with the exorcism; as if it is exploding outwards from the cleric's body or holy symbol.

Personally, I think both can be used, in combination. The rules state that after a cleric exorcises undead, they roll 2d6 to determine how many levels/hit dice worth of undead are routed. A simple ruling would be to say start with the lowest leveled ones. If there is still a tie, or you need to know which one of that group to begin with, start with those closest to the cleric. If there's still a tie, the cleric gets to choose.

Conclusion

Clerics can be a lot of fun, but I don't think there's a perfect version of D&D out there. Instead, it behooves us to take the best parts of each version and combine them to paint a picture of what we think the designers had in mind, as well as keep the effects grounded in historical fact (based on tradition and mythology).

Dungeons & Dragons Ability Scores Are Pointless

When the original D&D designers were creating the game; they wanted a means to differentiate one "type" of character from another. So they came up with the six core stats (strength, intelligence, wisdom, dexterity, constitution and charisma) that they felt would best encapsulate the parts of the character's body and mind needed during an adventure. Next they needed a way to quantify how powerful each stat would be. They chose to give each "ability score" a numerical value. Since the twenty-sided die (d20) was new and shiny back in the day; they wanted to use it in parts of their game.

A d20 allows for a random number to be rolled between one (1) and 20. Therefore, each number has a 5% chance of being rolled. I believe the original designers figured an "average" humanoid character in D&D would have a stat number somewhere in the middle of all this, and thus declared an ten as the average stat number. At first glance it seems to make sense, too: we humans have ten fingers and ten toes, we use a decimal system, and when rolling a d20 there is a 50% chance of rolling 10 or less and a 50% chance of rolling 11 or higher. All perfect, right? Not quite; that's when everything begins to unravel.

To better understand what is inherently wrong with this logic; let me ask you a question: on a day-to-day basis, how often do you consider yourself failing at things? Let's imagine you're carrying some heavy boxes up some stairs. You have to move 16 boxes up a flight of stairs; how many of the boxes are you typically going to drop and helplessly watch tumble down to the bottom? Probably none; if you're careful. But with the logic of D&D; an average character should fail at 50% of everything they do. What a bummer!

Ten is a Terrible Number

Worse yet, ten is just a terrible number. Our decimal system is not one (1) through ten (10), it's zero (0) through nine (9). Yup, nine is the limit. Starting at ten is starting over the maximum of our single-digit decimal system; not in the middle. The number ten is like that awkward period in our lives when we're going through puberty and our bodies are all gangly and disproportionated as we're growing into our true potential.

The number ten, it turns out, is too big for some things and too small for others. Imagine your PC has a constitution of 10; what does that get you? Does that mean you can start with 10 HP? Nope; that'd be too much HP to start, according to old school D&D. Okay, maybe if you had a dexterity of 10; that denotes how many spaces you can move per turn. Wrong again. What if we said an intelligence of 10 was the number of spells we could cast or the number of languages we knew? All too many. 10 is just too big of a number for these kinds of things.

The original designers of D&D decided that rolling 3d6 was a good way for you to randomly generate an ability score for your character which would have a statistical bias toward the number ten, as seen here. Except--wait a minute--there's a problem, isn't there? 3d6 doesn't center on the number 10, it centers on the number 10.5. If you have OCD tendencies like me, that 0.5% imbalance will make your eye twitch. It's almost as if the designers of D&D either didn't know their dice probabilities or simply shrugged it off, grabbed a beer and said "good enough". This means you're just as likely to roll an 11 as you are a ten. They easily could have used a plethora of other methods, such as roll 4d4, but decided to use an imperfect dice mechanic.

Ability Modifiers Are A Hack

But none of this solves our original problem with ten. You see, the founders of D&D knew ten was imperfect, which is why they had to come up with a hack to fix it. Thus, Ability Modifies were born. The idea was that the more of an extreme you rolled over or under this fabled ten, the more +1, +2 or +3 modifiers you would gain for various tasks. In later editions of D&D these modifiers would be expanded up to +4 and +5 and sometimes even beyond).



It was these numbers that the designers truly wanted to work with. These numbers were smaller, more manageable and more applicable. They allowed characters to dictate a number of feats:

• Melee Combat -- Increased the chances a character would hit their target.
• Increase Weapon Damage -- Melee and thrown weapons would deal more damage with a high strength modifier.
• Force Open Doors -- Could be used to increase the "Open Doors" roll.
• Languages -- Dictates the number of languages a character knows.
• Save Throws vs Spells -- Applied to the save throw roll to increase a character's odds of saving themselves from damage or magical effects.
• Armor Class -- Effectively increased the defense of a character who had a high dexterity modifier.
• Extra Hit Points Per Level -- Added a number of extra HP equal to the constitution modifier.
• Reactions & Number of Retainers -- The charisma modifier added to reaction rolls and dictated the number of hirelings a character could hire.

As you can tell, these modifiers are an important part of what makes a character capable in an adventure. It was as if the ability scores, and their average stat of ten, were only there to create the ability modifiers then fade into the background.

How It Should Have Been

A more proper design would have focused on these smaller numbers from the start. For example, instead of centering on ten (or, technically, 10.5) D&D characters should have had about half that value (for an average of 5). With a smaller number like five you can assign values that matter in the game with the number as-is.

For example, with a CON 5, you could say your character starts with 5 HP. If you wanted to retain that 50/50 success-to-failure ratio, simply roll a 1d10 for any and all ability rolls; then add your character's number to that roll. If the total is equal to or greater than ten, the character would be successful in whatever they were attempting to accomplish. It's such a simple, easy to play and easy to remember mechanic; it makes one wonder why the designers used such a roundabout system, instead.