Soulstones

I renamed phylacteries as “soulstones” in my own games about five minutes after I became aware that “phylactery” was a word referring to an actual thing in the real world of contemporary faith, and not a relic of a dead mythology, as my very white, very Anglo-Saxon, very atheist-but-effectively-Protestant-by-osmosis self had assumed was the case when I first read the word in the AD&D Dungeon Master’s Guide. 

I swapped the name “golem” for “animata” for similar reasons. I’m in the process of renaming nagas and rakshasas and angels and other creatures in my own game likewise. I did these things because changing names in a game is dead easy. Figuring out how things work, figuring out how rules balance, figuring out the best way to present mechanics and lore — that can be tough.  

Changing a name, though? It’s nothing.

I’ve retroactively changed the names of NPCs in my games. I’ve changed the names of classes and monsters. I’ve changed the names of cities, nations, and historical periods when I realize there’s a name I like better for something than the name I first chose. It’s a non-event every time. 

So the idea that anybody would get bent out shape over acknowledging that the use of “phylactery” by D&D and its progeny games is culturally problematic makes me wonder what exactly it is they’re getting bent about.

(Archive post from the personal blog.)

What’s In a Name?

Need a D&D fantasy name in a hurry?! Turn any real word into a fantasy name in three simple steps!

1. Turn any y’s into i’s.
2. Turn any one other vowel into a y, or add an e to make it a double vowel, or make an e into ae.
3. Throw a silent h in there somewhere.

You’re whaelcyme.

(Archive post from the personal blog.)

Ability Check

People keep having conversations about ability scores in D&D, and why they don’t get nuked in favor of just using ability modifiers, and I keep struggling to come up with a quick precis of why I like ability scores, even as I acknowledge their limited purpose these days.

And then it hit me that the following might work: Ability scores are to ability modifiers as a character’s height and weight are to their size.

Which is to say, size and ability modifiers are game things. They have mechanical import and meaning. Height, weight, and ability scores are the more nebulous “statistics” from which the mechanical game things are defined.

The mechanical things are of primary importance in the game. Your ability modifiers define what your character can do; your size defines when you need to squeeze, and whether you can be swallowed by a giant frog. But on rare occasion, the more nebulous statistics underlying the mechanical thing come into play. Your Strength score determines what heavy armor you can wear. Likewise, if a magical effect enlarges you while you’re climbing up a rope, your weight might determine whether the rope breaks.

Certainly, it would be easy to remove height and weight from the game, saying that size can cover any of the times it’s needed. Likewise, heavy armor could have a Strength modifier prerequisite. But height, weight, and ability scores all seem like useful ways to help define a character beyond their modifiers and mechanical statistics. They might not be important as far as the rules go, but for me at least, they’re an important part of how a character feels.

(Archive post from the personal blog.)

You Are Welcome Here

For me, the issue of gender and inclusivity in games isn’t always about sexuality or gender issues per se. It’s about acknowledging what your narrative choices say about the world you’re creating, and about the people in that world. And with respect (and in response to some discussions taking place elsewhere), I think people who say, “I would include LGBTQ content in my game if I had those people at my table” are missing a larger point.

In a (stereo)typical FRPG setup, if I say, “The owner of the inn welcomes you, introducing you to his wife where she works behind the bar…”, it says something about the world of my game. It’s probably not intentional, because we create these narrative moments by instinct, and our instincts are honed by our own experience of living in a world where men own things and women work for men. But contrast that to “The owner of the inn welcomes you, introducing you to her husband where he works behind the bar…” Because that says something slightly different — and, in my view, something important — about the world of my game. Just as “The owner of the inn welcomes you, introducing you to his husband where he works behind the bar.…” says something more important still.

The thing I hope that last one says to LGBTQ players is “You are welcome here.” The thing I hope it says to non-LGBTQ players is “This is the world you’re a part of.” Even over and above creating games and game narrative geared toward LGBTQ characters and players (because that’s obviously important), this is big part of what inclusivity means to me.

(Archive post from the personal blog.)

Lights, Camera, Roll for Initiative

I confess that I haven’t seen any of the previous D&D movies (because I have way too many other things I need to watch that don’t apparently suck). But on the subject of the current hysteria regarding a new film and the possibility that said film will/won’t suck, and how to make sure it does/doesn’t, I have what I suspect is a minority view.

I don’t think there should be a D&D/Forgotten Realms movie. Like, not now, not ever, not under any circumstances. Because no matter what approach is taken to a film, no matter how objectively good it might actually turn out to be, D&D is such a vast creative phenomenon that it’s impossible for a work as brief as a feature film to even begin to capture what the game means to those who know it, and to overcome the sense of “Why should I watch a movie about this nerd game?” on the part of those who don’t know it.

Instead, there should be a D&D/Forgotten Realms cable TV series. An ongoing, slow-building, visually and viscerally compelling narrative that can take advantage of the episodic nature of that medium. Because only a medium that has the space to fully explore a world and the sense of imagination at the heart of that world is going to allow the breadth of storytelling that can do justice to the lore of the Realms, and to the sense of what the game is and what it means to the people who play it.

(Archive post from the personal blog.)

D&D 30 Day Challenge — Day 30

Best DM You’ve Ever Had

At the end of a month of thinking about D&D stuff, and with all the nostalgic reflection that inspires, I’m going to bestow this most prestigious honor on my good friend Kevin. (’Sup, man?) Kevin was the very first DM who ever ran me through a D&D session (as has been recounted here previously and was linked to on Day 1), so on some level, he can be held responsible for how much of my life has been gloriously wasted on this stuff the past thirty-odd years. But even more that, Kev was a DM I always looked up to back in the day, because playing in his games showed me how to be a better DM.

I remember Kevin for the epic scope of his campaigns. (You ever wanted to play a D&D campaign set on Larry Niven’s Ringworld? You ever wanted to play a kick-ass heroic adaptation of Lord of the Rings? We did BOTH AT THE SAME TIME!!!!) I remember the almost perfect amount of detail that went into his games — enough to make a scenario and its setting and characters feel real, but never so much that it felt like an alt-history lesson. I remember his ability to extemporize encounters out of thin air, often with no actual game materials in front of him. I remember with great envy Kev’s ability to keep a campaign moving by adroit improvisation, deftly talking his way out of the most insanely random shit that his unappreciative players (including me) could throw at him.

All the things Kev did (and made look easy, to my eyes at least) comprised skills it took me a long time to master as a DM. And though a number of different DMs (including me) have been behind some of the anecdotes relayed here over the past month, Kev’s games are ones that I still look back on most often. Not just with nostalgia, but for inspiration. I suspect that if DMing has any ultimate goals beyond the entertainment value, the world building, and the sense of satisfaction that comes with helping other people have a good time, being able to inspire players thirty years after the fact is probably high up on the list.

(Archive post from the personal blog.)

D&D 30 Day Challenge — Day 29

What is the number you always seem to roll on a d20?

No specific single number shows up more often than any other to my mind and recollection, but there’s a specific range of numbers I roll way too consistently on a d20: Under 10. As a DM, I can (and often do) go through the first ten minutes of combat — making attacks, defense rolls, and saves for a half-dozen monsters — and never roll higher than 9. Not just “rolling badly”, but seriously never rolling anything in double digits. I’m a statistical wonder that way, as my players will attest.

(Archive post from the personal blog.)