Playtest “D&D Next” Like A Pro
I may not be the best game designer in the world, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s playtesting. I’ve been a playtester for a variety of games from RPGs to party games to board games to light card games to heavy war games. I’ve been chief of product development for a startup card game publisher, and a lead playtester (and copied on ALL playtest reports) for Marvel Heroic Roleplaying. A good set of playtesters can make your good idea great, or kill your bad idea before you invest too much time and effort.
With the open playtest of the new iteration of D&D coming tomorrow, I wanted to offer some of my advice on playtesting and giving feedback. Wizards of the Coast will provide plenty of instructions on what they do and don’t want to see, so obviously that could easily supersede anything I say here. These are some general guidelines to keep in mind for D&D, so hopefully you find these tidbits helpful while playing the game and collecting your feedback.
Respect Their Playtest Decisions
The designers at WotC have decided that the first thing we’re going to see is going to include pre-generated characters, and not have character creation rules initially. I understand not being happy with this decision, however, it’s not like they’re going to suddenly decide that there will never be character creation rules. So when submitting your feedback, you don’t need to tell them “I wish I could see the character creation rules.” As professional game designers, they’ve decided (after many meetings, I’m sure) on this method of rolling rules out, so try and respect that. Keep your responses to what you were provided, not complaining that you don’t have what’s already been promised. [Read the rest of this article]
Torg: A Marvel Heroic Roleplaying Hack (Primer)
Back in 1990, West End Games released Torg, a cinematic style multi-genre roleplaying game. This game featured many innovative mechanics such as the Drama Deck and Possibility Points, but is best known for its background. Not only did this game allow multiple genres to be treated with the same mechanics, but then smashed them together and added an invasion of Earth on top of it.
Torg is one of my all time favorite roleplaying games. Although I have only briefly played it in the last 15 years, I’ve always wanted to go back to playing it. However, although some of the mechanics (especially the Drama Deck) are great, the system as a whole is showing its age. From problems such as the ‘glass jawed ninja’ to an over-proliferation of skills (even though it is a skill-based RPG), there are several modern RPGs that are more ‘elegant’ than that system.
When I was introduced to the Leverage RPG last year, and learning about the various hacks to the system, I decided to work on a Cortex Plus hack for Torg. This has been something of a journey, learning the ins and outs of the various Cortex Plus games. Originally I planned on making it a straight Leverage hack, but then after playtesting the Marvel Heroic Roleplaying game, I decided that it was the best fit. However, I did briefly flirt with the idea of basing my hack on Smallville as well.
Before I get into how I’m hacking MHR, here is a primer on the Torg setting. [Read the rest of this article]
The Easily Lost Explorer’s Guide to Dungeon Crawling
The latest D&D Next blog post by Bruce Cordell covers one of the oft-pointed to dealbreakers for many in D&D 4e: the use of the combat grid. This is actually only one piece of a whole topic about spacial thinking.
Bear with me here: if we all had perfect spacial thinking and effective communication skills, we wouldn’t need a battle grid in combat. The DM could describe the dimensions and shape of a room in the dungeon, as well as relative positions of inhabitants and features. We could just describe how far we’re going, all adjust our mental pictures appropriately, and voila: the entire time to set up a battle would be the time we need to talk about it.
Unfortunately, we don’t all have that. Some of us are terrible at it (me) while others of us are really good at it. In order to make it function at its best though, we have to ALL be reasonably good at it in the same game. Usually this is not the case: you have varying levels of spacial aptitude among the players at an RPG table, and definitely varying degrees of communication skills. In D&D, this has classically been addressed by one of the following styles:
- The battle grid, where everybody can see a birds-eye view of the entire battle, and can always determine exact distances and sizes.
- Rough battle grid (RBG) that does use a map and minis/tokens, but is less concerned with measuring distances and more simply about rough positions.
- “Theater of the Mind” (ToTM) as discussed by Bruce Cordell, where distances aren’t as important and everyone roughly imagines relative positions. (Notice there’s only one exact distance given in Bruce’s example in the size of the room.)
- A fourth style that I’ll call “Blueprints of the Mind” (BotM) that uses exact distances but does not represent them in the real (OOC) world, and is entirely reliant upon the DM to communicate where everything is.
(There is at least one other style in other RPGs I’ve played, which I’ll address later.)
Theater of the Mind, in 3D
Now, as someone with terrible, terrible direction sense, I tend to prefer one of the first two in D&D. The battle grid means that we’re all automatically on the same page. If I lay out a room as a DM, you can see how big it is without any negotiating. If I’m a player, I can easily look down and pre-plan what I’m going to do (and more importantly, get excited about what my character will do next turn) without having to wait and get a recap. The only delay tends to be working out fiddly things like line-of-sight. RBG operates largely the same way, though there’s a bit more clarification often involved.
ToTM can be OK, but also problematic. With situation that cares about relative positioning – ”Can I my barbarian charge him? Is he in range of my bow? Can I aim this Cone of Cold to hit all of them?” – it becomes messier. Because I know I’m not going to be able to track where everything is, I have to wait until it’s my turn and get a recap. This sometimes leads to embarrassing situations where I’m not sure if there are goblins still attacking my face or not until it’s my turn. In other situations, I prefer the ToTM. In fact, in many other RPGs I play, this is the only way I’ll play because it just doesn’t matter who is where, and decisions are made based on what would make sense in a story.
BotM is my least favorite, as you might be able to tell, and I think it’s more common than people give it credit for. In this style, I completely check out when it’s not my turn because it just feels punishing and frustrating when I try to listen to everything that’s going on and I still can’t form a mental picture. Sometimes, it’s even worse when it feels like a math problem: “two golems are equidistant from each other in a 50 foot square room. One of them charges 30 feet to the wizard on your left. Assuming a halfling’s speed, can your rogue reach the other golem before he pulls the lever that drops the lava on the rest of the group?” It sounds extreme, but I’ve found that’s often the case when a very spacial thinker runs a game without a grid. While I cannot picture distances in my head, I’m sure there are folks out there that can’t help but describe things in terms of feet (and sometimes, horrifyingly enough, yards).
Stop And Ask That Pit Trap For Directions
These situations don’t just apply to combat mapping either. Take ye olde dungeone crawle. Mapping the dungeon is treated like another job you must perform like party caller or healer or stableboy. Only, in the case of dungeon mapping, it’s entirely based on player skill, so your illiterate barbarian with a 6 wisdom could be better at it than the 18 intelligence wizard.
So you have your dungeon cartographer, and the DM can describe the hallways that snake off 20 feet to the north and 30 feet to the south, then curve at a 45 degree angle for 40 feet, and so on. The cartographer listens intently and sketches it out as we go, making the player be in charge of trying to draw floor plans only by talking to a partner, like some kind of party game. Mess up, or misinterpret, and everything could be off. This is sometimes fun, for like the first time it happens, and other times, feels like you just programmed your Robo Rally robot to walk off a cliff repeatedly. Likewise, you miss all the possibly fun connections that are had by exploring a dungeon and seeing where the things wrap around, or connect in interesting ways.
Even assuming that you’re doing it perfectly, the mapping is done by one player, who has the best sense of what’s going on. The two players sitting next to her can see the map and weigh in on informed decisions about where to go next. Sitting anywhere else at the table? “Uh, left is always good.” Certainly a good cartographer will show it to other players when needed, but by and large, exploring a dungeon is the province of the one player who really understands what’s going on.
Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE exploring in D&D. I love those “aha” moments where you figure out where there has to be a secret door because of the way things connect. That’s just what makes me sad about the style of play, since I don’t get to really participate. And trust me, you do NOT want me doing the mapping.
3d6+12 Feet Converted To Metric
All this is what lead me yesterday to declare, on the internet of all places, the following statement, in reaction to my friend Trevor stating that you need to know whether a range is in squares or feet:
I actually find feet similarly worthless in a gridless situation. Either you’re measuring exacts or not. Melee/Close/Medium/Far etc. would be fine, or some kind of zoning method.
Exact distances (like 30 feet, or my more hated 3e spell alternative, 30+2 feet per level) get you into the BotM framework. A spell tells you how far it works, and NEVER EVER goes beyond that. If you need to hit the dragon with an acid arrow but it’s 31 feet away, you’re out of luck (and if your DM isn’t out to hose you at every turn, he might even tell you before you waste the spell.) In more situations, we fudge it anyway, which TotM and RBG both live in the “fudge it/negotiate it” zone of play.
What I’m ultimately saying is that specifying exact distances in play, unless you’re using a battle grid or something similar, punish people like me, and there are more than us than you might think that are just playing along. It’s one of those things that has been a part of the game for so long it’s easy to just accept it. However, I do think there are solutions out there that can help everyone.
Virtual Matrix-Esque Worlds For Every Game Table
One alternative I floated, specifically in the context of D&D, is the idea of fuzzy ranges. That is, the range of distances is described by a rough description, like I described above: melee, close, medium, far. I can only attack in melee at melee range. My bow can hit anything I can see within far range. The cone of cold blasts everything close. You can still attach real world distances to them in the rules (close goes from 6-30 feet, medium from 31 to 100, etc.) so as to support battle grid usage. Additionally, and this is the important part, the abstract nature needs to be represented by the rules. Instead of relying on having an omniscient placement of a fireball because the spell description tells me it branches out to exactly 30 squares, it instead would say something like: “hits everything with close range of each other, up to 6 targets. You may designate a target you’re trying to avoid hitting and that target receives a +5 to their saving throw versus the effect.” Or: “Any character may try to run with an Endurance check to increase the distance of their run from close to medium. Halflings and dwarves have tiny legs and so get a -2 penalty to their check.” And so on. Those are just examples that might not work in play, but hopefully you get the idea.
Another alternative, as I alluded to earlier, is to take the approach that FATE and other games have done, which is create abstract “zones” of battle that only care about what area you are in, not exactly where you’re standing. So you might be in the ogre room zone, able to attack anything in melee in that zone, or attack with a longer range weapon into that zone or the hallway zone adjacent, but not the otyugh trash pile adjacent to that around the corner. Movement is listed in things like “1 zone.” And so on.
In both cases, you still have rules about distances, and you’re still going for the same effects that you’ve always had in D&D. It’s just thinking about them in a different way, and supporting them through the system instead of relying on DMs and players to be good at estimating distances. Heck, I couldn’t even tell you the size of the room I’m in right now, and I come to it every week day.
Ultimately, I think my point is that looking at the issue of just battle grid vs. not battle grid will leave us with the same issues, conflicts, and style preferences that lead us down the winding road in the first place from Chainmail to whatever comes next. Thinking about WHY we have these issues- like being unable to picture a battle in my head- and less about one style versus the other could bear some fruit in a solution that will work for everyone playing.
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Musings on Continuity
Our Own Hero’s Journey
Sometimes, in any fantasy world where you have invested a large amount of your imagination, you start to append your real-world experiences to those of the characters being portrayed. For example, in the Star Wars universe, characters such as Luke are relatable, in that most people understand the story of “the everyman.” He is compelling because of the extraordinary destiny that lies ahead in his life. People generally like to feel that there is a greater purpose for them, and as such, they always cheer for the protagonist that achieves this greatness. As we cheer on we also become invested in the story. No matter how far removed from reality the elements of the story are, there is a humanization that brings us right back in. We love this. We want this to continue. We want to never break the feeling we first received while experiencing that story.
Everyone experiences this in a different way. What we pull from a story will differ depending on our life’s experiences. Continuing with Star Wars, one might feel more attached to Han Solo, the brutish scallywag that really has a heart beneath his crusty façade. Or, maybe it is Leia, the strong-willed and persistent princess, one who can get things done, regardless of the testosterone that flies around. Maybe you even felt a connection with Chewbacca—a big cumbersome brute that protects his friends with furious devotion, but is cuddly and cute once you get underneath the fur. Regardless of how you made the connection, you connected. You became invested in the story, and you want nothing to scramble that experience, even if you’re willing to give little ground.
Continuity of a game world works the same way. Consumers of fantasy become invested in the characters, and they begin to sense the world around them, taking in the descriptions and feel an author has provided. R.A. Salvatore, New York Times best-selling author and creator of the renegade drow Drizzt, is fantastic at bringing in the reader and giving them what is needed to relate to his characters. It is undeniable that Drizzt is popular, and for numerous reasons, people keep coming back to hear what will happen to him next. They want to maintain that feel, and have the protagonist overcome adversity. [Read the rest of this article]
The Agony & The Ecstasy of D&D Next
Following the “Retraction” episode of This Greyhawk Life, I feel I must explain myself. As you may have heard on the episode, I now admit that my account of visiting the Wizards of the Coast offices in Seattle and playing D&D Next has had elements that were not entirely truthful.
You see, as a Dungeon Master, I often incorporate elements of the dramatic into my storytelling, even while using some of the trappings of journalism. I embellished in the pursuit of the sharing a story that I felt was important. I am sorry for misleading my audience when I claimed this to be the entire truth.
Thus, in the interest of clearing the air, I would like to clarify the following points:
- I claimed to have interviewed a former worker of Wizards of the Coast who said that he and his coworkers were paid entirely in copper pieces, which do not add up nearly enough to a living wage in Seattle. The truth is that they are paid entirely in coffee.
- My story about the giant mutant chickens being used as playtesters for the Gamma World game was slightly exaggerated. The mutant chickens were merely human-sized.
- My translator says she has no recollection about my meeting with a dice tester required to make sure d4s gave “the full experience” by being forced to walk across them barefoot.
- When I wrote that an iPad would be required to play D&D Next, I actually meant that the New iPad purchased using our Amazon affiliate code would be required to play D&D Next.
- My claim that there were entire rooms, running 16 hour shifts, devoted to playtesting every possible class from Archer to Runepriest was false. No one has every played a Runepriest.
- When I described the D&D Next modular system as being able to “effortlessly combine all aspects of every RPG you’ve ever loved in a seamless way that produces an RPG superior to anything you could ever do with your life in a million years and will make you wish that you could spend your entire life within the fully realized fantasy world that you create using the multitude of advanced tools guaranteed to produce the greatest story ever told,” I was engaging in a slight bit of hyperbole.
- When I said that you could get access to the D&D open playtest early by purchasing a copy of Marvel Heroic Roleplaying... well, wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?
So as you can see, my dramatic retelling of my trip was all in the purpose of serving a greater story, one that I felt was not being told properly in the greater media. I apologize to anyone I mislead in previous posts, in my speaking tour, or my various podcast experiences. Clearly, we will redouble our efforts to tell nothing but the truth, especially on April 1st of all days.
More Than Openness: Designing in Public
In my last article, I talked about some of the basics on open design. I’ve used those principals in my work with Sand & Steam, but recently I realized that what I’ve been doing has been a step beyond openness. I’ve been designing in public.
Openness vs Public
One of the distinctions that I missed in my last article is that openness doesn’t necessarily have to be inviting. It just leave the door open. Doing something in public combines openness with a call to the public to look at what you’re doing. It’s the difference between opening the front door of your house while you work, and inviting people into your house to watch you work, and give feedback on what you’re doing.
This difference became apparent to me when I saw what was happening with my most recent project, School Daze, which is currently being funded on Kickstarter. School Daze had its genesis as I was driving back from visiting friends in Kansas City. I was thinking about a joke a friend had made on Twitter, and before I knew it, a game idea was unfolding in my mind.
At that point, I had what I felt were two options: I could begin writing, and post everything on Sand & Steam as usual, or I could go to my community hive-mind, and start bouncing ideas off of people. I chose the second option. As soon as I got home, I began bouncing around the idea of Ranks (a concept from School Daze), and what possible effects Rank-rhymes could have, in-game. The result is that I got a much more complete list of Ranks for School Daze, and the end result is much better than it otherwise would have been. [Read the rest of this article]
Fighters & Flapjacks
If you ask me what my favorite D&D classes are, it’s hard to pick one. My tastes range from the mildly offbeat (Psions/Psionicists, Bards), the specific (Paladins but only if I don’t have to deal with a damn horse), the edition-specific (2e Wild Mages and 4e Ninjas), and exactly one true classic: the Fighter.
However, I’ve been playing RPGs a long time now. I’m quite experienced at playing RPGs and games of all types. This is why I react poorly to statements implying that the D&D fighter should be the class that you give the new player, because they’re so simple. I don’t necessarily want a class that’s overly complicated (and we all know a few of those out there in D&D history) but I do want one that gives me plenty of decisions to make inherent in the class itself. I want to think like a Fighter, choosing what move (and maybe, what weapon) is most appropriate to the situation. I want to think like Batman in Dark Knight Returns and (paraphrasing) “There’s 9 different sword strikes from this position. 5 of them kill. 4 of them paralyze for life. The last one… hurts.”
Why is this? I point to what I want in D&D classes as a happy marriage between concept and mechanics. The Fighter- the tough, armored guy that uses weapons to fight monsters- is one that appeals to me for whatever reason. (Possibly because Con is my dump stat in real life.) The concept is awesome and there’s many, many examples of it out there in heroic fiction. Mechanics help reinforce that concept, but also serve with how I interface with the “game” portion of RPG, in giving me interesting decisions to make, and a specific outlet for creativity interpreted through those mechanics. (Slight digression: I think D&D needs better mechanics for improvised weapons and using stuff from your environment. There have certainly been rules and classes that attempt this, but it’s never quite clicked for me, and I think that could help some characters a lot, as well as having the side effect of powering cool descriptive background stuff from the DM and making the situation overall more dynamic.) [Read the rest of this article]






