This post is the last in a series of three discussing the most recent season of D&D Encounters. I've already posted my recap of how the season unfolded and a discussion of how the "adventuring day" math in 4th Edition affects the narrative character of the game. One of the conclusions I drew was that the math behind roleplaying games uniquely, and distinctly from most other categories of games, affects both the mechanics and narrative of the game.
If you were to distill the central mechano-narrative concept of just about any RPG, it might look something like this: when you do cool stuff, the numbers go up. Of course, every RPG defines "cool stuff" differently, and every one has its own method for making the numbers go up. In D&D, "cool stuff" might be slaying a monster, surviving a trap, or solving a puzzle. From there, you get two rewards, experience points and treasure. Finally, the numbers go up once you've accumulated enough experience points to gain a level or if you find a magic item in all that treasure.
Every edition of the game has worked like this, but the relative contribution of level- and item-derived bonuses to a character's statistics has changed with every incarnation of D&D.
3rd Edition
In 3rd Edition, at sufficiently high level, a character would likely have no fewer than half a dozen magic items that granted static, constant-effect bonuses to his numbers. The preponderance of such items gave rise to the derisive nicknames "Christmas tree" or "mannequin" effect, suggesting that the primary purpose of a character was to act as a stand to hang his magic items on.
There were two big problems with the Christmas tree effect, one narrative and one mechanical. The narrative problem was that a huge fraction of the magic items in 3E went entirely unused. Though the designers and developers tried their hardest to make items interesting enough to compete with bigger numbers, it just didn't work. As a 3E player, given a choice between outfitting your character with an intriguing though limited-use and situational item and one that boosts a number that your character uses often, it was the utilitarian "make the numbers go up" every time.
And the mechanical problem was that the math behind magic item contributions to character numbers was obscured to both players and DMs. There was presumably some internal idea of an "assumed magic item power" vs. "character level" graph, but we couldn't see it. We could posit a function's existence and set its upper and lower bound but had no idea what its shape or intermediate values were.
In that respect, DMing 3rd Edition was a bit like being an auto mechanic who was charged with taking care of a car's engine but couldn't lift the hood. You knew you needed to operate the car under a certain set of conditions, and you knew you needed to give the engine the right kind of oil. But you didn't know what kind, or how much, or how frequently, and you often resorted to making adjustments once things had started making too much noise.
4th Edition
As it was wont to do, 4E fixed most of 3E's problems by introducing some of its own. 4th Edition made two major simplifications to how the item structure worked. First, it reduced the number of types of items that could give a static bonus to a score from at least eight in 3E to only three. That change helped to alleviate the narrative problem from 3rd: no longer did you have to choose between a ring that granted you a brief moment of invisibility and a ring that enhanced your armor--because there was no such thing as a ring that enhanced your armor in 4th Edition. Instead, the ring slot was free to do all sorts of other interesting things besides just provide a numerical benefit.
So far, so good. 4th Edition's other big reform was to codify the exact character level for which each magic item was appropriate. In general, a +1 item (i.e., one that adds 1 to a d20 roll, or a 5% bonus to your attack or defense) was deemed appropriate for a 1st-level character, +2 for a 6th-level character, and so on up to +6 for level 26. So in 4th Edition, a DM had a much better idea of what magic items that characters should have at what time; for example, if your 7th-level fighter already has a +3 sword, he's slightly more powerful than average for his level.
But what if a DM doesn't give out magic items at that canonical rate? What if he built his world to be comparatively low-magic, or he decides there's not a situation where the characters realistically would have found a magic sword in the past few levels? In the original conception of 4E, he would have broken the game. It +3 vs. +2 doesn't seem like a big number, but for every "unit" of each magic item lower than where you "should be" for your level, combat becomes 10% more difficult.
The much worse problem was a newly introduced narrative one. As the magic item math became more transparent and more tightly integrated with the character power math, DMs and players alike began to think more acutely about the "correct" magic item to have at a certain level. As a result, magic items felt less exciting, less mysterious--frankly, less magical--and more utilitarian, more simple tools to make the numbers go up.
Essentials (and looking forward to Next)
Sometime when we weren't looking, but probably around the time that the Essentials rules started worming their way into 4E, the "inherent bonuses" rule showed up, and it's a much better addition to the game than most of the rest of Essentials. All the rule does is decouple the "numbers going up" function of magic items from their narrative interest. The "expected" numerical increases from magic items just get rolled into level-derived bonuses. The reason that "inherent bonuses" is good is that it frees the DM even more to give or withhold magic items as he sees fit, or to make them focus on their special properties instead of just what they do for the characters' numbers.
War of Everlasting Darkness was the first Encounters season to mandate the use of inherent bonuses rather than assuming a glut of magic item-based numerical increase, and it worked beautifully. Only a handful of magic items existed in the season, and all of them served a deeper narrative purpose than simply making the characters more able to survive combat. My players really got into it, getting more excited about the items' ability to break the eponymous darkness than about their game statistics.
And that seems to be a more authentic expression of what a magic item in D&D should be, dating back to its Tolkien-esque roots. Sure, Sting was probably a little sharper and better balanced than the average short sword, but that's not why we remember it. Sting is a notable installation in the fantasy repertoire because it glows blue when goblins and orcs are around. Orcrist wasn't interesting because it gave Thorin Oakenshield a bonus to his attack rolls; it was interesting because the orcs and goblins knew of its might and feared it.
Next seems to be moving back toward the "interesting effects" function of magic items instead of the "numerical bonuses" function; its most recent set of playtest rules limits the highest bonus from a magical weapon (even ones of legendary rarity) to +3. Meanwhile, the rules are full of neat descriptors of who created the item, what it's made from, how it's used, and what its properties and "quirks" might be.
That's exactly the direction D&D should be going: making the math behind magic items both transparent and decoupled from the game's core mechanics. The holy avenger sword is a part of D&D lore because of its epic history with the forces of good, not because of some number it adds to your attack rolls.
Showing posts with label DnD Encounters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DnD Encounters. Show all posts
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Thursday, January 10, 2013
D&D Encounters: War of Everlasting Darkness (Part 2: the Adventuring Day)
In the previous post, I discussed my experience DMing the War of Everlasting Darkness season of D&D Encounters. In this and the next post, I'm delving a bit deeper into the math behind 4E--and why some of the season's grand experiments worked better than others.
War of Everlasting Darkness's "schtick" was that it would play around with some of the "sacred cows" of 4th Edition, especially the concept of the fixed-encounter adventuring day and the contributions of magic items to character statistics. It was a noble experiment, attempting to feature the "exploration" and "interaction" pillars of D&D as heavily as the "combat" pillar, and using magic items more for their flavor than for their mechanical effect, two concepts that feature heavily in D&D Next.
4E (and to a lesser extent, every edition of D&D that has preceded it) is based around the concept of the "adventuring day," the idea that the characters have a certain slate of abilities they can use every day, and once those are exhausted, it's time to go to sleep and get back into it tomorrow. Therefore, DMs face a tight balancing act: too many combat encounters in one day, and the difficulty ramps exponentially with each; too few, and each is trivially easy. Most "adventuring days" in 4E are assumed to have four combat encounters, give or take, and Encounters has dutifully implemented exactly three to five combat encounters per adventuring day in nearly every season until this one.
It turns out that 4E is exquisitely balanced to handle exactly the right number of combats per day: characters have just enough powerful daily-use abilities to make it through the day, but not so many that combat becomes far too easy. When the system works, it works brilliantly: at every level of the game, combat has a flavor of peril and a sense that things could go terribly awry, but rarely does it become overwhelmingly and frustratingly difficult.
War of Everlasting Darkness, though, turned this assumption on its head, to mixed results. Each adventuring day had a number of combat encounters that could happen. But sometimes combat only triggered if the characters acted a certain way or said a certain thing. Sometimes a usually-hostile monster wouldn't be so bent on killing the characters if they'd handled a past situation particularly deftly. And sometimes, three branches of the same tunnel could lead to an easy combat, a hard combat, or no combat at all, essentially at random.
As a result, most adventuring days this season had too few combat encounters compared to the "four per day" heuristic. That typically resulted in one of two outcomes. In some cases, when the players knew they'd only be facing one or two combats of any significance in the day, all the characters could use their most powerful daily-use abilities at once, and combat was over practically before it started. On the other hand, sometimes the module over-compensated for this eventuality by making that once-daily encounter far too difficult.
In 4E, you gain around a 3-4% increase per level to the average d20 roll, not to mention increases in damage and new powers that let you do cool things. An encounter four levels above the characters' level is entirely winnable but on the order of 30% more difficult--since you're less prepared to deal with the monster, and the monster is simultaneously more prepared to deal with you. That translates into a lot of battles won or lost more on luck than on clever strategy or careful planning. Winning because of luck is the least satisfying way to win, and losing because of it is the most frustrating way to lose. 4E in its "sweet spot" is very good at avoiding those outcomes. It's clear that War of Everlasting Darkness saw 4E operate quite far from that comfort zone.
In other words, if your game is a heavily structured one, based on definite combats that will absolutely happen, then 4E is a fantastic rule set for your game. For other situations, it works less well. What if the characters are on a long journey and the DM wants them to have one single combat encounter in a given day, fighting some trolls in a roadside ambush? What if the characters are in some tight spots but opt to talk through them or run away rather than fight it out? Or what if the characters have a bellicose streak and create combat where you didn't plan on one existing?
4th Edition is much more poorly suited to running those sorts of games. And there's a lot to be said for those sorts of games: they appeal to players who are interested in non-combat situations. They give characters who are built around something rather than fighting a chance to shine. Most importantly, the game feels a lot more organic when the characters are working things out their own way rather than being conducted along the DM Railroad.
Being witness to this great experiment has led me to appreciate something unique about roleplaying games compared to other categories of games. When you alter the math in a board game, you're altering the mechanics, and that's it. If you make the starting cost of coal in Power Grid 2 Elektro rather than 1, all you've done is make coal power plants a comparatively worse early-game strategy. You haven't changed the narrative tone of the game.
In D&D and in other roleplaying games, though, when you alter the math, you've altered not only the mechanics but also the narrative tone. In making 4E so explicitly structured around the correct number of combat encounters per adventuring day, 4E became very much about combat encounters. That, in turn, encourages players to create characters best served to engage in combat encounters. A version of D&D less carefully balanced on the precipice of the perfect adventuring day would result in not only the (mechanical) change in how the adventuring day played out but also the (narrative) change in what the experience of playing 4E is like.
This isn't a knock on 4th Edition. To its credit, its balance really is very good, as long as its strictures about including the correct number and difficulty of combats per adventuring day are obeyed. But because in a roleplaying game, the math is intrinsically tied to both the mechanics and the narrative, 4th Edition is simply more capable of handling certain styles of gaming than others. In the third and final post in the series, we'll look at how another D&D concept, the math behind magic items and "inherent bonuses," and how it might affect the look and feel of D&D Next.
War of Everlasting Darkness's "schtick" was that it would play around with some of the "sacred cows" of 4th Edition, especially the concept of the fixed-encounter adventuring day and the contributions of magic items to character statistics. It was a noble experiment, attempting to feature the "exploration" and "interaction" pillars of D&D as heavily as the "combat" pillar, and using magic items more for their flavor than for their mechanical effect, two concepts that feature heavily in D&D Next.
4E (and to a lesser extent, every edition of D&D that has preceded it) is based around the concept of the "adventuring day," the idea that the characters have a certain slate of abilities they can use every day, and once those are exhausted, it's time to go to sleep and get back into it tomorrow. Therefore, DMs face a tight balancing act: too many combat encounters in one day, and the difficulty ramps exponentially with each; too few, and each is trivially easy. Most "adventuring days" in 4E are assumed to have four combat encounters, give or take, and Encounters has dutifully implemented exactly three to five combat encounters per adventuring day in nearly every season until this one.
It turns out that 4E is exquisitely balanced to handle exactly the right number of combats per day: characters have just enough powerful daily-use abilities to make it through the day, but not so many that combat becomes far too easy. When the system works, it works brilliantly: at every level of the game, combat has a flavor of peril and a sense that things could go terribly awry, but rarely does it become overwhelmingly and frustratingly difficult.
War of Everlasting Darkness, though, turned this assumption on its head, to mixed results. Each adventuring day had a number of combat encounters that could happen. But sometimes combat only triggered if the characters acted a certain way or said a certain thing. Sometimes a usually-hostile monster wouldn't be so bent on killing the characters if they'd handled a past situation particularly deftly. And sometimes, three branches of the same tunnel could lead to an easy combat, a hard combat, or no combat at all, essentially at random.
As a result, most adventuring days this season had too few combat encounters compared to the "four per day" heuristic. That typically resulted in one of two outcomes. In some cases, when the players knew they'd only be facing one or two combats of any significance in the day, all the characters could use their most powerful daily-use abilities at once, and combat was over practically before it started. On the other hand, sometimes the module over-compensated for this eventuality by making that once-daily encounter far too difficult.
In 4E, you gain around a 3-4% increase per level to the average d20 roll, not to mention increases in damage and new powers that let you do cool things. An encounter four levels above the characters' level is entirely winnable but on the order of 30% more difficult--since you're less prepared to deal with the monster, and the monster is simultaneously more prepared to deal with you. That translates into a lot of battles won or lost more on luck than on clever strategy or careful planning. Winning because of luck is the least satisfying way to win, and losing because of it is the most frustrating way to lose. 4E in its "sweet spot" is very good at avoiding those outcomes. It's clear that War of Everlasting Darkness saw 4E operate quite far from that comfort zone.
In other words, if your game is a heavily structured one, based on definite combats that will absolutely happen, then 4E is a fantastic rule set for your game. For other situations, it works less well. What if the characters are on a long journey and the DM wants them to have one single combat encounter in a given day, fighting some trolls in a roadside ambush? What if the characters are in some tight spots but opt to talk through them or run away rather than fight it out? Or what if the characters have a bellicose streak and create combat where you didn't plan on one existing?
4th Edition is much more poorly suited to running those sorts of games. And there's a lot to be said for those sorts of games: they appeal to players who are interested in non-combat situations. They give characters who are built around something rather than fighting a chance to shine. Most importantly, the game feels a lot more organic when the characters are working things out their own way rather than being conducted along the DM Railroad.
Being witness to this great experiment has led me to appreciate something unique about roleplaying games compared to other categories of games. When you alter the math in a board game, you're altering the mechanics, and that's it. If you make the starting cost of coal in Power Grid 2 Elektro rather than 1, all you've done is make coal power plants a comparatively worse early-game strategy. You haven't changed the narrative tone of the game.
In D&D and in other roleplaying games, though, when you alter the math, you've altered not only the mechanics but also the narrative tone. In making 4E so explicitly structured around the correct number of combat encounters per adventuring day, 4E became very much about combat encounters. That, in turn, encourages players to create characters best served to engage in combat encounters. A version of D&D less carefully balanced on the precipice of the perfect adventuring day would result in not only the (mechanical) change in how the adventuring day played out but also the (narrative) change in what the experience of playing 4E is like.
This isn't a knock on 4th Edition. To its credit, its balance really is very good, as long as its strictures about including the correct number and difficulty of combats per adventuring day are obeyed. But because in a roleplaying game, the math is intrinsically tied to both the mechanics and the narrative, 4th Edition is simply more capable of handling certain styles of gaming than others. In the third and final post in the series, we'll look at how another D&D concept, the math behind magic items and "inherent bonuses," and how it might affect the look and feel of D&D Next.
D&D Encounters: War of Everlasting Darkness (Part 1: the Season)
Last December, D&D Encounters concluded probably its most ambitious experiment yet: an arc of three seasons that told different sides of the same (very drow-y) story. The first, Web of the Spider Queen, started the story with the PCs as crusading anti-drow heroes; the second, Council of Spiders, turned the tables and had the PCs play as a bunch of villainous drow. The third and most recent (and most ridiculously named), War of Everlasting Darkness, wrapped things up by putting the PCs back on the anti-drow side, though the drow were mostly a background, behind-the-scenes threat for a sizable chunk of the season.
This seven-month-long drow arc saw quite a few D&D firsts for me: the first time I've played the game with my girlfriend (!), the first time in my twelve-year history with the game that I've actually played as a drow character, and the first time I've DMed an extended 4th Edition campaign. I was an early supporter of 4th Edition, believing that it was just as fun as the game's previous incarnations (albeit in a different way), but the constant Encounters grind of "make a 1st-level character, advance to 3rd, and do it all again" started to get old. When our usual Encounters DM, Matt, offered to let me DM this season, I jumped at the chance, mostly to get to do something different for a change.
The Season
Structured entirely differently from previous Encounters seasons, this one had us play eight sessions, with each character gaining a level after every one. That meant we actually got to explore levels 4-8, unprecedented in Encounters-land. The leveling schedule was clearly accelerated, with all the experience-point math hand-waved, but neither players nor DM seemed to mind too terribly much. It was yet another piece of evidence in favor of a DMing strategy I prefer: keep the XP behind the scenes, and tell players when they've gained a level. No player likes being 50 XP short of a new level, and no DM wants to have to design his game around that possibility.
I found the game exceedingly easy to run, though that's not saying much since the War of Everlasting Darkness module told me what to do at every turn. To keep the game dynamic, I did go "off-module" more than most DMs might have: if the characters had a clever solution to an ostensible combat encounter that didn't involve fighting, I let them pursue it. If they had a creative skill to use in a skill challenge that wasn't explicitly enumerated in the module, I let them use it.
My table composition changed more drastically from week to week than I might have liked: one week, we had twelve people show up with all the combat roles at least doubly covered, and we had to split into two tables. The next week, without warning, we were down to three (naturally, two of whom were playing strikers). But lack of continuity is a hallmark of Encounters, often leading to more humorous self-effacing comments (looks like Marshall's character was too busy drinking with his new dwarf buddies to join us this time!) than actual confusion. And in a season like this one, where each session happens in a different place and time, it's even more plausible that a certain character might be missing.
All in all, I had a fantastic time DMing. Of course, the situations I created and the story I told was only part of it. A far bigger reward was knowing my players had a good time. Comments like "we quit our other weekly game because Encounters here has much better DMs" and "I really appreciate all the extra work you've put into this game beyond just what's in the book" make me know I've done a good job.
This seven-month-long drow arc saw quite a few D&D firsts for me: the first time I've played the game with my girlfriend (!), the first time in my twelve-year history with the game that I've actually played as a drow character, and the first time I've DMed an extended 4th Edition campaign. I was an early supporter of 4th Edition, believing that it was just as fun as the game's previous incarnations (albeit in a different way), but the constant Encounters grind of "make a 1st-level character, advance to 3rd, and do it all again" started to get old. When our usual Encounters DM, Matt, offered to let me DM this season, I jumped at the chance, mostly to get to do something different for a change.
The Season
Structured entirely differently from previous Encounters seasons, this one had us play eight sessions, with each character gaining a level after every one. That meant we actually got to explore levels 4-8, unprecedented in Encounters-land. The leveling schedule was clearly accelerated, with all the experience-point math hand-waved, but neither players nor DM seemed to mind too terribly much. It was yet another piece of evidence in favor of a DMing strategy I prefer: keep the XP behind the scenes, and tell players when they've gained a level. No player likes being 50 XP short of a new level, and no DM wants to have to design his game around that possibility.
I found the game exceedingly easy to run, though that's not saying much since the War of Everlasting Darkness module told me what to do at every turn. To keep the game dynamic, I did go "off-module" more than most DMs might have: if the characters had a clever solution to an ostensible combat encounter that didn't involve fighting, I let them pursue it. If they had a creative skill to use in a skill challenge that wasn't explicitly enumerated in the module, I let them use it.
My table composition changed more drastically from week to week than I might have liked: one week, we had twelve people show up with all the combat roles at least doubly covered, and we had to split into two tables. The next week, without warning, we were down to three (naturally, two of whom were playing strikers). But lack of continuity is a hallmark of Encounters, often leading to more humorous self-effacing comments (looks like Marshall's character was too busy drinking with his new dwarf buddies to join us this time!) than actual confusion. And in a season like this one, where each session happens in a different place and time, it's even more plausible that a certain character might be missing.
All in all, I had a fantastic time DMing. Of course, the situations I created and the story I told was only part of it. A far bigger reward was knowing my players had a good time. Comments like "we quit our other weekly game because Encounters here has much better DMs" and "I really appreciate all the extra work you've put into this game beyond just what's in the book" make me know I've done a good job.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
D&D Encounters: Council of Spiders
I was incorrect when I called the last season of D&D Encounters "the Drow Season". That moniker should have been reserved for this season, the drow-iest thing that Wizards possibly could have conceived. As a sort of sequel to Web of the Spider Queen, Council of Spiders had us take a look at the same events and conflict from the other side. It was actually a nice storytelling move, tying two seasons of Encounters together with the same plot thread, and it gave both seasons a narrative consistency unprecedented in Encounters so far.
It also called for the characters all to play as drow.
My Character
Okay, playing as a drow wasn't per se required. We could have also played as one of the drow "servitor" races--svirfneblin, goblin, duergar, and the like. But I wasn't about to mess around with any of that. If we were playing a drow campaign, it was time to go big or go home and play my first drow character ever. Striker was the next role in my character rotation, and obviously the drow aren't well-suited to be the sort of striker that swings around a massive two-handed greatsword. Plus, it was whispered that this season was going to be a bit more roleplaying-heavy than the recent seasons. I decided to go with a rogue, a stealthy character just as comfortable her stabbing enemies in the back as sneaking around and stealing treasure or secrets.
Ilivara Melarn, I decided, would be the daughter of Garam Melarn, a great captain who slew many elves in the wars a hundred years ago. A female of the noble House Melarn, she was originally intended for the priesthood, but (as the proud owner of 8 Wisdom) she was pretty terrible at it, decided to enroll in Melee-Magthere, and followed in her father's martial footsteps. She had a bit of an authority problem, thinking that being a female of noble blood, she should be in control of every situation, and she pointedly acted in the interests of her House, even if it meant going against the rest of the party.
And, I have to admit, I really enjoyed playing her. She did insane amounts of damage, befitting her role as a 4E striker. She didn't get to steal as many things as I might have liked, but it was a lot of fun to act out her sass and rebellious streak. And it was hilarious to be able to play up every drow stereotype that exists, a chance I haven't gotten often but really dug into with some delightful irony. Even if we're enjoying the game ironically, we're still enjoying it!
The Season
It was a short season, only eight sessions instead of the usual eleven to thirteen, but it didn't feel like much was missing. By now, every Encounters player has gone through the levels-1-through-3 motions enough times that it seems routine if not necessarily stale. Rather than padding an eight-session story with extraneous encounters to bring it up to "normal" length, this season told a faster-paced (if slightly shorter) story, and it worked out well.
Definitely the most original and fun part of Council of Spiders was the "secret orders" mechanic. New to Encounters, these orders came up as part of which of three factions each character decided to align himself (or herself!) with. The secret orders led to a lot of chicanery among the party, and our DM was kind enough to provide us with "skullduggery" index cards where we could write actions unseen by the rest of the table and accomplish our goals unbeknownst to anyone else.
The combat encounters were pretty unremarkable, but it's worth pointing out that unlike many seasons, Council of Spiders had a pure-roleplaying session, when our characters were trying to convince the eponymous Council of the right course of action toward the end of the season. It was a refreshing change from the pure-combat nature of most Encounters seasons, but at the same time, it felt unorganized, an obvious departure from the style of the system. Those obvious departures are only going to become more frequent next season, as Encounters clearly gears up for a full-blown transition to D&D Next.
Final Thoughs (and Outlook)
It wouldn't be too dramatic to say that the drow arc of Encounters (spanning last season, this one, and next season) is the beginning of the end of 4th Edition. We're seeing the freest experimentation with the format in Encounters' history coupled with a storyline that purports to create actual permanent change in D&D's most iconic campaign setting. These three seasons have been devoid of any new "crunch" content for new character classes, races, or anything else. All of that put together suggests that the times are changing in Encounters. It's exciting to be part of it.
Given that the days of 4E Encounters might be numbered, I'm taking the opportunity to make a change of my own: I'll be DMing the next season! I've DM'ed exactly one session of 4th Edition, and that was about four years ago. Next season, War of Everlasting Darkness (yep, it's actually called that), promises to feature the "exploration" and "interaction" pillars of D&D in equal measure with "combat," which sounds like exactly my thing.
It also called for the characters all to play as drow.
My Character
Okay, playing as a drow wasn't per se required. We could have also played as one of the drow "servitor" races--svirfneblin, goblin, duergar, and the like. But I wasn't about to mess around with any of that. If we were playing a drow campaign, it was time to go big or go home and play my first drow character ever. Striker was the next role in my character rotation, and obviously the drow aren't well-suited to be the sort of striker that swings around a massive two-handed greatsword. Plus, it was whispered that this season was going to be a bit more roleplaying-heavy than the recent seasons. I decided to go with a rogue, a stealthy character just as comfortable her stabbing enemies in the back as sneaking around and stealing treasure or secrets.
Ilivara Melarn, I decided, would be the daughter of Garam Melarn, a great captain who slew many elves in the wars a hundred years ago. A female of the noble House Melarn, she was originally intended for the priesthood, but (as the proud owner of 8 Wisdom) she was pretty terrible at it, decided to enroll in Melee-Magthere, and followed in her father's martial footsteps. She had a bit of an authority problem, thinking that being a female of noble blood, she should be in control of every situation, and she pointedly acted in the interests of her House, even if it meant going against the rest of the party.
And, I have to admit, I really enjoyed playing her. She did insane amounts of damage, befitting her role as a 4E striker. She didn't get to steal as many things as I might have liked, but it was a lot of fun to act out her sass and rebellious streak. And it was hilarious to be able to play up every drow stereotype that exists, a chance I haven't gotten often but really dug into with some delightful irony. Even if we're enjoying the game ironically, we're still enjoying it!
The Season
It was a short season, only eight sessions instead of the usual eleven to thirteen, but it didn't feel like much was missing. By now, every Encounters player has gone through the levels-1-through-3 motions enough times that it seems routine if not necessarily stale. Rather than padding an eight-session story with extraneous encounters to bring it up to "normal" length, this season told a faster-paced (if slightly shorter) story, and it worked out well.
Definitely the most original and fun part of Council of Spiders was the "secret orders" mechanic. New to Encounters, these orders came up as part of which of three factions each character decided to align himself (or herself!) with. The secret orders led to a lot of chicanery among the party, and our DM was kind enough to provide us with "skullduggery" index cards where we could write actions unseen by the rest of the table and accomplish our goals unbeknownst to anyone else.
The combat encounters were pretty unremarkable, but it's worth pointing out that unlike many seasons, Council of Spiders had a pure-roleplaying session, when our characters were trying to convince the eponymous Council of the right course of action toward the end of the season. It was a refreshing change from the pure-combat nature of most Encounters seasons, but at the same time, it felt unorganized, an obvious departure from the style of the system. Those obvious departures are only going to become more frequent next season, as Encounters clearly gears up for a full-blown transition to D&D Next.
Final Thoughs (and Outlook)
It wouldn't be too dramatic to say that the drow arc of Encounters (spanning last season, this one, and next season) is the beginning of the end of 4th Edition. We're seeing the freest experimentation with the format in Encounters' history coupled with a storyline that purports to create actual permanent change in D&D's most iconic campaign setting. These three seasons have been devoid of any new "crunch" content for new character classes, races, or anything else. All of that put together suggests that the times are changing in Encounters. It's exciting to be part of it.
Given that the days of 4E Encounters might be numbered, I'm taking the opportunity to make a change of my own: I'll be DMing the next season! I've DM'ed exactly one session of 4th Edition, and that was about four years ago. Next season, War of Everlasting Darkness (yep, it's actually called that), promises to feature the "exploration" and "interaction" pillars of D&D in equal measure with "combat," which sounds like exactly my thing.
Friday, August 24, 2012
D&D Encounters: Web of the Spider Queen (and a short essay on the drow)
I'll admit it: I've never seen the appeal of the drow.
I've never found them particularly compelling or alluring. It's never made sense to me why so many D&D players are so fascinated by them. It's at least partially the fault of R.A. Salvatore, whose mediocre but prolific fiction thrust the drow into a spotlight in the late 1980s that they haven't relinquished since then.
And they've certainly made their mark on the game. Every group has their Drow Guy, who insists on playing a dark elf for every character, who has drow lore memorized, and who's approaching fluency in Undercommon. They've become an iconic villain of the game, nearly as notorious as the titular Dragons themselves. But the drow have become so ubiquitous, so overused--so mainstream, the hipster gamer in me wants to say--that they're not even interesting anymore.
We have a stridently matriarchal, capriciously evil, underground-dwelling, spider-worshiping society of dark elves with magical powers over light and darkness... and somehow, that's become cliche. Yet, a sizable and vocal population of D&D players continue to adore all things drow. So it was only a matter of time before we got the Drow Season of Encounters.
My Character
As a player, I have a mild dislike of the drow. What if, I decided, I made a character who well and truly despised the drow? Thus was born Molgar, Seer of the Deep, a svirfneblin druid whose tribe of peace-loving, fungus-eating deep gnomes was utterly destroyed by a band of drow raiders. The only survivors of the raid were Molgar and his trusty she-wolf Josephine, who escaped to the surface and vowed revenge against the drow.
Molgar ended up being one of those characters whose conception was much more interesting than his implementation. It was my "turn" to play in the leader role, so I went with the druid, a class I liked in 3rd Edition and hadn't gotten around to playing in 4th yet. Unfortunately, I didn't realize two things when I picked the druid class. First, the sentinel druid (the "leader build" of druid) really wants to be a striker, but because it's nominally a leader, it has a few heals and a few simple buffs. The result is a class that lacks a fully developed role in combat: not as good a healing leader as the cleric, not as good a tactical leader as the warlord, and not as good a damage-dealer as any striker.
Second, the sentinel druid is an Essentials build. I've realized over the last three or four seasons of Encounters that I do not like Essentials builds. They value simplicity over personalization and customization, and they don't let you do enough different interesting things in combat.
A third thing I realized as I played Molgar is that I'm not a fan of how the animal companion mechanics work. Josephang (as she was quickly and cleverly nicknamed by the rest of the party) was porcelain-fragile, and as soon as she went down in any given battle, my ability to both lead and strike suffered tremendously.
So, while Molgar had his moments, he was probably the last Essentials character I'll play. And out of all the leader-role classes I've played or seen played, none of them really match the cleric or warlord in terms of healing or tactical prowess.
The Season
Hopefully my anti-drow bias didn't subconsciously influence my opinion, but this wasn't one of the better Encounters seasons I've played. Drow showed up in literally every encounter but one. When the same enemies are part of every encounter, the same mechanics are part of every encounter, and they get stale. (If I never have to hear the phrase "he drops a cloud of darkness" again, that would be completely fine by me.)
Worse, nearly the entire season took place in the same subterranean tunnels, making this the least "interactive" season of Encounters I think I've played. As a player who values the "interaction" pillar of D&D nearly as much as the "exploration" pillar (and perhaps even more than the "combat" pillar), that came as a disappointment. Essentially, the season played out as
Final Thoughts (and Outlook)
While neither the theme nor execution of this past season was terribly exciting, the season demonstrated an important silver lining about D&D (and any RPG, tabletop or computer): the party makes all the difference in the world. We have a surprisingly solid and coherent group of Encounters "regulars" at Eudemonia, and because it's Encounters, you never know who is going to show up. Maybe it's a couple of awesome eighth-graders. Maybe it's your girlfriend. But it makes for a fun, low-leverage game, and if your poor wolf dies in two hits this week, she'll be tearing into dudes again next week.
Next season: Drow Season Part II. I will be playing an actual drow character for the first time in my D&D history.
I've never found them particularly compelling or alluring. It's never made sense to me why so many D&D players are so fascinated by them. It's at least partially the fault of R.A. Salvatore, whose mediocre but prolific fiction thrust the drow into a spotlight in the late 1980s that they haven't relinquished since then.
And they've certainly made their mark on the game. Every group has their Drow Guy, who insists on playing a dark elf for every character, who has drow lore memorized, and who's approaching fluency in Undercommon. They've become an iconic villain of the game, nearly as notorious as the titular Dragons themselves. But the drow have become so ubiquitous, so overused--so mainstream, the hipster gamer in me wants to say--that they're not even interesting anymore.
We have a stridently matriarchal, capriciously evil, underground-dwelling, spider-worshiping society of dark elves with magical powers over light and darkness... and somehow, that's become cliche. Yet, a sizable and vocal population of D&D players continue to adore all things drow. So it was only a matter of time before we got the Drow Season of Encounters.
My Character
As a player, I have a mild dislike of the drow. What if, I decided, I made a character who well and truly despised the drow? Thus was born Molgar, Seer of the Deep, a svirfneblin druid whose tribe of peace-loving, fungus-eating deep gnomes was utterly destroyed by a band of drow raiders. The only survivors of the raid were Molgar and his trusty she-wolf Josephine, who escaped to the surface and vowed revenge against the drow.
Molgar ended up being one of those characters whose conception was much more interesting than his implementation. It was my "turn" to play in the leader role, so I went with the druid, a class I liked in 3rd Edition and hadn't gotten around to playing in 4th yet. Unfortunately, I didn't realize two things when I picked the druid class. First, the sentinel druid (the "leader build" of druid) really wants to be a striker, but because it's nominally a leader, it has a few heals and a few simple buffs. The result is a class that lacks a fully developed role in combat: not as good a healing leader as the cleric, not as good a tactical leader as the warlord, and not as good a damage-dealer as any striker.
Second, the sentinel druid is an Essentials build. I've realized over the last three or four seasons of Encounters that I do not like Essentials builds. They value simplicity over personalization and customization, and they don't let you do enough different interesting things in combat.
A third thing I realized as I played Molgar is that I'm not a fan of how the animal companion mechanics work. Josephang (as she was quickly and cleverly nicknamed by the rest of the party) was porcelain-fragile, and as soon as she went down in any given battle, my ability to both lead and strike suffered tremendously.
So, while Molgar had his moments, he was probably the last Essentials character I'll play. And out of all the leader-role classes I've played or seen played, none of them really match the cleric or warlord in terms of healing or tactical prowess.
The Season
Hopefully my anti-drow bias didn't subconsciously influence my opinion, but this wasn't one of the better Encounters seasons I've played. Drow showed up in literally every encounter but one. When the same enemies are part of every encounter, the same mechanics are part of every encounter, and they get stale. (If I never have to hear the phrase "he drops a cloud of darkness" again, that would be completely fine by me.)
Worse, nearly the entire season took place in the same subterranean tunnels, making this the least "interactive" season of Encounters I think I've played. As a player who values the "interaction" pillar of D&D nearly as much as the "exploration" pillar (and perhaps even more than the "combat" pillar), that came as a disappointment. Essentially, the season played out as
- an extended dungeon crawl
- in an organized-play system that already under-emphasizes roleplaying
- within a version of D&D not exactly known for its attention to the out-of-combat game.
Final Thoughts (and Outlook)
While neither the theme nor execution of this past season was terribly exciting, the season demonstrated an important silver lining about D&D (and any RPG, tabletop or computer): the party makes all the difference in the world. We have a surprisingly solid and coherent group of Encounters "regulars" at Eudemonia, and because it's Encounters, you never know who is going to show up. Maybe it's a couple of awesome eighth-graders. Maybe it's your girlfriend. But it makes for a fun, low-leverage game, and if your poor wolf dies in two hits this week, she'll be tearing into dudes again next week.
Next season: Drow Season Part II. I will be playing an actual drow character for the first time in my D&D history.
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