Why Dragons Are Too Weak in D&D

Dragons are the quintessential monster. They're massive in size, incredibly intelligent, can breath fire, and have wings. They're iconic the world over, and are in the very name of "Dungeons & Dragons". The very sight of one should send a bone-chilling panic into any would-be adventurer.

Yet I've noticed in the fifth edition of D&D, dragons have surprisingly low strength. Looking through the monster manual and I see dragons with STR of 19, 23, 26, 22, and so on. The strongest dragon I found only had a STR of 30. Now, this may seem like a high number, but when compared to the average human strength of 10, this means that the strongest dragon is only three-times better?

If we think about why dragons seem so dangerous and scary, it's easy to imagine a dragon being able to crush, chomp, or smash a human with little to no effort. In Lord of the Rings, for example, it took an entire village, equipped with a special ballista, and the fact that the dragon had a hole in his iron-hard scales, to defeat it. Yet in modern RPGs we see a watering down of dragons; an artificial nerfing to human levels to allow for PCs to triumph and defeat them with no more than four to six humanoids.

Dragon's True Strength

All of this got me thinking about what the "true" strength of a dragon should be. How much can they carry? What is their STR score? Here's what I came up with...

First a disclaimer: It should be said that yes, there are many different sizes of dragons throughout mythology, and that with that there will also be a wide variation in strength. So, to keep things simple, I'm going to stick with Smaug, the dragon from LOTR; since it's so iconic and seems like a fairly "medium" dragon.

To start, since dragons aren't actually real, we need to find a real-world comparison. I've chosen to look at elephants, since they're both large and are actually a thing. The average elephant is about 20 feet long and can carry 9000 kgs. Compared to a human of 6ft tall who can carry 90 kg (200 pounds) on their back. This means elephants are over three-times longer than humans are tall (foot to head), but can carry 100 times more weight.

Now let's look at this scaled image of Smaug the dragon.

I measured the human to be 66 pixels tall, and Smaug to be 620 pixels tall (from bottom of his front foot to head). One could easily argue that I should have measured the dragon length-wise (including or not including his tail), which would easily make him even larger in pixel count.

So, what do the numbers tell us? Well, for one, Smaug is over nine-times larger than the human; and if we use elephants as a guide, then he'd be able to carry up to 27,900 kg. That makes him an astounding 310 times stronger!

Conclusion

If an average human strength in D&D is 10, then in reality dragons such as Smaug should have a STR of 3,100. Incredible! In fact, it's kind of mind-boggling to think about. However, it makes a lot of sense, as well.

For one, as I stated earlier, dragons should be damn-near unstoppable. They live for ages, are colossal in size, are smarter than humans, and breath fire! The idea of an entire kingdom, with torches & pitchforks in hand, marching up a mountain to a dragon's perch to take them on seems so much more epic then some rag-tag band of adventurers.

Second, based off their sheer size, they should be able to crush humanoids like humans can crush cockroaches. So, having a near god-like strength works well.

Thoughts?

4 Ways to Make Your Dungeon Crawl More Tactical

Before I got into D&D, one of my favorite board games was Descent: Journeys in the Dark. If you've never played it, it's essentially a lite version of a dungeon crawl. Today I was thinking about why I liked it so much; then it dawned on me that most of the fun and excitement I experienced from the game can be codified into four simple rules, and used in almost any dungeon crawl game (particularly Dungeons & Dragons).

These rules are not for every style of game, though, and are particularly geared towards dungeon delving that the game master wishes to turn into a deadly, tactical shootout.

Rule 1: Characters are Mortal

If you're an OSR fan like myself, you're probably already following this rule. Essentially what it means is that characters should have low quantities of HP, and are fragile (can die quickly and easily). This is essential to instilling a sense of fear in the players; by letting them know that they need to fear everything in the dungeon; since almost anything can be a monster, trap, trick, and so on.

Increasing the lethality of the game will be the bedrock for the party to work together, as a team, to survive--rather than individuals waiting for their turn to roll dice.

Rule 2: Onslaught of Encounters

Traditionally, dungeons have moments of action and moments of rest. Parties start to clear out dungeons until they're completely empty. But in this variant, I want you to imagine the situation as if the party of adventurers were soldiers deep behind enemy lines. They're surrounded, they're outnumbered, and there is little respite to be found.

Movement and time management should remain in "combat" time, and encounters should be rolled every round (old school D&D does a good job of this, which sadly has been lost to new editions). Yep, that's right--the enemy will be constantly spawning at random times, and there's an endless number of them trying to kill the party. The monsters should also be a good variety of different creature types.

This rule drives home a message to the party: trying to "clear and hold" a dungeon is not an option. Dungeons are teaming with horrific monsters. These dark catacombs have never been tamed by the local towns guards, past adventurers, or even mercenaries. The goal is not to "claim" the dungeon; but rather to get in, get the jewel/princess/mcguffin and get the hell out.

Rule 3: Fear the Darkness

When the GM is spawning monsters, the placement of the monsters changes to any space that is not within line of sight of the adventurers. Typically the GM can spawn monsters essentially anywhere within 2d6 spaces or so, but here's why my new rule can prove to be better: when players cannot control the placement of monsters, they're bound to "huddle" together so they fight closer to one another. But if you tell the players that monsters can only spawn outside of the parties' line of sight (aka the "darkness"), the PCs will tend to work more tactically by covering the corners, doors, and various angles of the room to prevent a surprise spawn. In other words, they'll spread out more, and work in turns to leap frog one another.

This rule was one of my favorite in the Descent board game. My friend and I would stand at an L, T, or Y junctions while the other adventurers moved down the hallway and opened a door. But once the new room was revealed, there was instantly many dark corners, alcoves, and crevasses that needed to be "cleared". So the PCs would stack up and rush into the room then spread out. As for the hallway we just abandoned? Well, it was fair game for monster spawning (which is why we'd immediately close and bar the door, and never take our eyes off it).

Rule 4: Declare Your Actions

Before each character performs their actions, the players should discuss what they, as a whole party, want to do each turn. Once a consensus has been reached, they "declare" their actions to the GM. Only after this phase would they then move their pieces on the board.

A "declare actions" phase allows for all the players to plot and plan their next move; similar to a game of chess. The entire table is involved; in contrast to everyone waiting for their turn to arrive. Once the actions have been declared, there's no "take backs". So it behooves everyone to know what each character's intentions are.

Once a plan has been plotted, the next phase--performing the actions, is fun to watch as you try to set your plan into motion. Can the unarmed fighter run across the room and grab the healing jewel before the centipede blocks his path? Will the archer kill the orcs at the end of the hall while the cleric heals the magician, or will the orcs survive the assault and kill the magic-user? Can the rogue sneak across the room in time, or spring a hidden trap and foil their entire plan?

Having a plan, and executing it, are two very different things.

Conclusion

These four rules, as simple and "common sense" as they mean seem to some, really changes the dynamic of the game for me and my friends. Descent was one of the only board games I would play for six hours straight and be enamored over the entire time. I loved the tactical feel, I loved planning our moves ahead as a team, and I loved seeing if our plan would go off without a hitch.

Have you discovered any rules that add a sense of tension, suspense, or tactical combat to your game? Let me know in the comments below!

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.