Top Ten craziest AD&D rules (part 1)

Here is a countdown of the top ten most insane AD&D rules. It’s from a site called Topless Robot (one of around a thousand geek sites with the word “robot” in the name). Each item is followed by my own (hold the applause) witty and informative comment on it.

Because it’s a little lengthy (3 or 4 pages or so) post, I’ll do the first five today, then post the other five in a couple of days.


10) Treasure Type

This system of treasure placement suggests that every Gargoyle has 2-8 pieces of gold on them at all times, or that Shambling Mounds always have on their person an assortment of coin, a few gems, a couple of scrolls, and maybe a potion or miscellaneous magic item (not to mention that carrot they have for a nose, just in case you're feeling snacky). Once players realized that this system was more or less a guarantee of at least a chance for a specific item type to drop, it becomes incentive to hunt them down. Who cares if nymphs are neutral good? She's Treasure Type Q and X, man!


My take: I hardly ever used the random treasure type stuff; although at some point in Jr. High I was using some tables from the monster and treasure assortment. Ultimately, it was more fun for me to just decide for myself what the creature had on its person or in its lair. Sure, I keep the Old School Encounter Ref in my game bag for emergencies these days for when characters wander off the beaten (and plotted)path, but that isn’t really based on monster type anyway. Yeah, we don’t need no steeking treasure type lists for monsters.

9) Level Titles

Okay, so these are pretty damn cool, and remain a fond memory for most players familiar with the 1st Edition rules. But if you think about it, they're also pretty nuts -- why is a 1st level fighter a veteran, if they're first level? They're even sort of insulting, in some cases. Take the Cleric titles: at sixth level, you're a Catholic Canon; at seventh, you embrace Buddhism as a Lama; and at eighth, you're a Patriarch out of the Greek Orthodox tradition. All this from a cleric who worships Odin. Seriously, this is just asking for religious boycotts. And while we're talking about it, was there anyone who played a kick-ass Monk who wanted to go by the title "Grand Master of Flowers"?


My take: this is a very good point, and flavor or no I don’t really use them. Let’s for sure hold off on calling Mr. 1st level fighter a “veteran” until he has killed his first orc and kissed his first girl (put a female orc in there and you got yourself a two-in-one).


8) Magic-Users

The name alone warrants inclusion on this list. Later editions fixed this -- "mages" in 2nd Edition, "wizards" in 3rd. But really, anything was better than what they fixed upon for the 1st Edition. It becomes status quo for most players, but think about it--by this nomenclature, fighters (which had at least by this point graduated from the gender-exclusive and similarly lame class title of "fighting men") should have been called "sword-users" and thieves would have been called "lockpick-users." (I'm excluding clerics from this example, since they would have been called "healing-users with a blunt weapon of only marginal combat value"--which they already sort of were.) But the real beef about Magic-Users in 1st Edition was that in terms of magical combat, they were one-shot and done. One magic missile or sleep spell, and they were done for the remainder. Mages make up for this by being insanely powerful on the other end -- when fighters are doing only slightly more damage per hit than they were doing at first level, mages can lay waste to an attacking platoon in a single round. But getting past that early going when a decent wand is more useful than you? That's a tough row to hoe there, Gandalf.


My take: Bah, I don’t really care. I tend to use the term MU or Magic-User because I like to reserve terms like mage or wizard for a character that has advanced somewhat (but not necessarily a name level). In in may game world, I assume people refer to them as magic-users (even though there are other types of spellcasters). As far as MU’s being a little light in the pocket spellwise at low levels, well, them’s the breaks. In the last couple decades I gave new MU’s a couple of random spells “in mind” that they can cast once a day, but for my next campaign I’m just thinking of giving them access to cantrips again, and making those cantrips free and castable anytime, with perhaps a 3-5 a day limit.

7) Arbitrary Limits as to Gender, Race, and Class

Admittedly, this is a broad category. But the problem here is well represented in the early pages of the first edition Players Handbook, in which in his preface on page 6, Gary Gygax mentions that readers will find "no baseless limits arbitrarily placed on female strength"...and then two pages later, the rules specifically state that human female fighters are limited to no more than an 18/50 strength. (It can, of course, be argued that this can still be seen as consistent, and that Gygax meant that those limits -- which are even more stringent, by the way, if your character is demi-human and not a fighter -- are neither arbitrary nor baseless...but that only exacerbates the problem.) But seeing as how that score is (supposedly) rare, there are better examples: how about a cleric of Poseidon who can't wield a trident? A dwarven fighter who can't rise higher than 9th level? (And too bad for you if you wanted to be a half-elf cleric, because you couldn't go higher than 4th level.) Why? Some of it is game mechanics -- unlimited levels were one of the few perks that existed insofar as being a human was concerned, back then -- and the game designers didn't want magic-users and clerics using swords, so they just forbade it (and even though 3rd Edition and onwards has corrected this issue to some degree, it still lingers in legacy games like World of Warcraft.) But other things -- like gender differentials for ability scores and the like? That's not a game balance thing; that's just alienating half your potential audience. To be fair, later editions of the game went too far the other way, and relied almost exclusively on the feminine pronouns -- so the game switched from exclusionary to pandering. Great work.


My take: Heh, I remember some gaming material in the 80’s going with the “she” or “her” instead of the usual male reference. Political correctness at its finest. I also remember fondly articles in The Dragon and The Dungeoneer in the early 80’s aimed at female players (with titles like “Those Lovely Ladies”) that seemed to think women in gaming were getting the short shrift. I had a superhot girlfriend who played in my games when I was in high school (she was already a fan of Sci Fi and fantasy so this hot chick playing D&D was not that weird), and all my jealous gamer friends would have their characters kiss her charcter’s asses in attempts to at least get favor from her PC’s in a way they could only dream of in real life. This was in stark contrast to when I took her around my football teammates, where my friends would try to kick my ass to impress her. Best of both worlds. Jeez, I took this comment in a weird direction. Ah, memories.

6) Bards

Holy crap, why was it so hard to be a bard in first edition? Any idiot can pick up a lute and start strumming it in a tavern -- so why in the world would they need to be at least a fifth level fighter, a 5th level thief, and a first level druid before becoming a first level Rhymer? Especially in a game that didn't seem to have been designed to support characters going much higher than 14th level or so? (No modules were created early on for levels above that with the exception of Isle of the Ape in 1985, and even though the spellcaster tables go up to 29th level, once most classes hit name level---10th, they stopped accumulating even full hit dice, let alone new powers or abilities.) Bards were effectively the first prestige class in a game system that didn't yet support them. Bards--along with psionics and several items above--are a good example of why the stuff in the Appendices were relegated to the appendices in the first place.


My take: D&D bard was indeed some stupid shit, at least in my games. In the 80’s onward you were lucky if I ran a campaign long enough to get your character to 7th level, so a regular bard would be out. At some point I created a bard subclass of thief that gained skill (in music, performance, and art in addition to some thief skills) as they went up. Due to Andy’s early (and fairly mild) power gaming with this kind of bard at the start of this current campaign, I have altered my bard heavily since he rolled up his character Vaidno (much to his chagrin). I love the Vaidno character nowadays, but my bard class will be a different animal if anyone runs one in the future (although in Andy’s defense, I gave my bard a D4 for hit points, which makes up for almost every other problem with my bard class).

Economics of the Dungeon Age

In a land where multiple dungeons exist (Arduin had dozens), the ultimate financial impact had to be felt by the economies of the kingdoms to some degree.

First, there is the village, and especially the tavern, that are in the dungeon vicinity. Even if a party of adventuring Elmer Fudds only come stay every few weeks, some serious coin is getting dropped even before the dungeon crawl. There is always that supply mercantile with all your dungeoneering needs, from spikes to ropes to ten foot poles. Soup to nuts. And of course a good DM will have his merchants charging big markup. We are practically in the wilderness, you know. An especially well traveled dungeon’s village will perhaps even have a magic supply shop (run by a high level mage, of course) where the parties “Wiggle Fingers” can replenish components and scroll supplies. And that store ain’t cheap.

The local tavern may just fare the best from deep pocketed delvers. The locals know dungeon crawlers when they see them. Word gets around town and in minutes locals are pouring in to see what the fuss is about. Adventurer’s new to the area will know that locals are the best source of info about the dungeon and it’s rumors and legends. Liberal spending, even upwards of 100 gold for endless rounds of ale and meat pies, will not only loosen some tongues, but also guarantee good will from the tavern owner. And that tavern owner knows more rumors and legends than most.

So a party goes to deeper levels, and when they are done the survivors will set out for the bigger towns and cities loaded with wealth. They’ll spend that money in the city, or perhaps higher level PC’s will go off to build housing for their retainers and followers. And if you are playing 1st ed. by the book, then there will be trainers and mentors all over the place profiting from the characters hard fought cash. Magic users will spend much dungeon money, from guild fees to research materials. Clerics will enrich temple coffers (and hopefully the temple leaders will see fit to invest in the local infrastructure) of their favored god. Fighter, thieves, and bards will debouche their money away into the economy in a thousand ways.

The affect of dungeon money upon the economy may depend on your campaign world. Perhaps, as was suggested in a comment in my last post, the Dungeon Age is a time of failing civilization, where these dangerous places are a decaying product of the withering world. In a case like this, an influx of wealth may fall flat in a barter economy, or it may overwhelm the delicate system that still finds worth in coin and gem in small settlements.

In my own game world, I think of the Dungeon Age as a time of great civilized growth. Treasure from dungeon delves flowed eventually to town and city economies, and added to the advancement you find in new, successful civilizations.
In time, The Age of Dungeons mostly passes, these secluded mythic places drying up or falling into ruin. The magic that kept them going begins to unweave and float away into the ether. Mountain and forest towns in the howling wilderlands, once booming from dungeon gold, slowly shrink and eventually fall to ruin and abandonment.

On comes an age of high adventure, when greed and lust gives way to heroics. There are still secluded dungeons like those of the bygone age, full of magic and treasure. But they are now few and far between. Occasionally the greedy seekers of loot hunt down these fabled places, just like the delvers of the past age. But the norm for a hero of this bright new age is not to delve for gold and silver, but to fight in great battles, and to go on great quests, perhaps travelling to faraway lands. More so than in The Dungeon Age, able bodied adventurers set out to evil places not for merely wealth, but to destroy that very evil, or other noble cause.

But do not step into those dark corners of the world lightly, even in this luminous new age. Though the Dungeon Age has passed, there are still dungeons hidden away. Some are still vibrant with hostile intent to those who invade them. But they are there. And they are waiting for the greedy to seek them out.

Have you ever tolerated a thieving party member?

Thieving from the party that is. Well, not directly from anybody (yet), but, well, here’s the tale.

One of my fairly new players is running a magic-user/thief named Lily. A few games ago when the character was started, the party was on the way into the Night Below setting. Lily and another new player character were tied up and about to be added to stew for a hearty Gnoll feast. The party slew the gnolls and took on these new party members.

Lily is a child of the streets with a tragic family background. She is a thief and a prostitute who learned some magic from a “boyfriend” to help her get by. Lily is not a great fighter, and the most she usually helps out is by throwing the occasional dagger at an enemy during combat. There is a single classed MU in the group a little higher level than Lily, so Lily is sort of outshone in both combat and magic-use.

But she really loves move silent, hide, and pick pockets. She will use her abilities each time she is near a treasure stash, and she is more often than not the first to the treasure area (while others still slug it out with the monsters) and she usually nabs a small item or two for herself. Mostly gems and jewels, but once a decent magic item too.

Last night Lily was on fire, getting to the biggest treasure pile in the campaign so far while the others were in combat (but a couple of wary characters trying to catch glimpses of her movements while they fought). With some lucky rolls on hide and pick pockets (I was using that to see how slick she was with grabbing a couple of small gem boxes), she got some more good stuff.

Already suspicious of her (and sort of catching her red handed in a previous game), the female drow of the group used detect lie and threats of strong arm tactics. Lily handed over the gems she just took, but that did not satisfy a couple of the characters. The two other female characters took her aside for a strip search, finding a couple of other suspicious items. Lily managed to “kiester” her small magic item and they didn’t find it.

Lily does not tell them what they want to hear – that she is sorry and is just used to stealing to get by. She is unabashed and comes off with a fairly nihilistic attitude. “It is what it is.”

She is still in the party, but I’m not sure this would be the common outcome in other games. So, what would your party do about Lily once she had her say?

Treasure appraisal – how do you handle it?

OK, in a nutshell, the characters in my games generally need to have magic items identified – for the most part. There is often some clue with certain items. Protection necklaces and rings often are in the shape of a shield. And it is safe to assume that a potion with little feather bits floating around will be feather fall or levitation or something similar.

If a player uses the item a bit, like fighting with a magic weapon, they will usually find out on their own what it does (I assume a seasoned fighter can tell the difference between a normal sword and a plus 2 one after a few rounds of combat).

But I never really bother with making the characters take gems and jewelry to town to get appraised. I just tell them the worth (which, if I feel like it, I can have vary depending on what part of the lands you are in – certain gems may be worth a lot less to dwarves than they are to humans) and that is that. It’s just easier, and doesn’t seem to detract from the game. The players sure don’t seem to mind.

I guess I may be robbing them of certain role-playing opportunities, but really, there are better things to do in the big city than spending an afternoon haggling in a jewelry shop.

So how do you handle this?