My son's Star Wars kitbash

 

My son kitbashed this fellow from various bits and bobs. He's put up a video about it here.

Megadungeon mechanics part four: a universal table of wandering monsters

I started writing this a few months back, in response to some interesting posts on wandering monsters from Lich Van Wrinkle and noisms. As so often, I failed to finish the post off - but I'm now incorporating its substance into my series on the megadungeon.

In their respective posts, Lich describes mixed results in his first experience of using wandering monsters 'properly' while noisms takes against them somewhat, especially in the dungeon:

In the artificial and enclosed 'dungeon' environment, though, I've always thought that something stinks about random encounters. Unless the encounter is with a being that already exists within the dungeon key, and is assumed to be moving around (that is, if the encounter is with a being that is extraneous to what is already plotted), then one is forced to simply put out of one's mind the question of where it came from. Why is this giant slug, which the random encounter table just threw up, suddenly here? Where was it before? And why is it that it it does not appear to have had a material effect on its dungeon surroundings prior to this point? 

Like Lich, I didn't use wandering monsters much or at all in my first incarnation as a GM. In part, that was because I started out with RuneQuest, which lacked the concept of the procedural dungeon crawl. And in part, it was because my adventures tended to be sketchy affairs in which a complete map was a bonus and there was never enough prep time for extras such as wandering-monster tables. 

That's not to say that I didn't use dynamic encounters - but they tended to be of the "some guards come round the corner" variety when things started to lag. 

I've still got plenty of time for that approach. But since I've been using Basic D&D for the nine months and running of our daily lockdown campaign, I've used wandering monsters a lot, and I like them. So, I think, do the players. Wandering monsters formed the basis of whole sessions on the Isle of Dread; as noisms notes, "the wilderness is all random encounters". 

A good table of fauna offers lots of instant adventure, especially when two or more rolls are used together. One highlight in our campaign involved the PCs glimpsing a roc on the wing from atop the Isle of Dread's volcano; when they descended onto the plateau and encountered a mastodon, I had the big bird swoop down and snatch it - much to the players' horror and delight.

But what about the dungeon? Wandering monsters are the quintessence of the dungeon crawl, I think, because they communicate to the players that dungeon-crawling is a dangerous business and that they should be quick, quiet and careful. And they also bring the setting to life. 

So where do these monsters come from? Noisms argues that the "only reasonable answer as to where randomly encountered monsters in the dungeon come from is: outside, or from further down". I don't think that's quite right - or at least, I think that these and other answers are easy to rationalise even in an "naturalistic" dungeon.

Now, I agree that wandering monsters should fit the environment. Each dungeon - and probably each dungeon level - should have its own tailored table. But I'm thinking about universally applicable categories that can be intuitively filled in for a given area of the megadungeon. Let's consider eight of these.

Patrols

This is the easiest and most obvious sort: patrols of humanoids (or similar) that live in the dungeon. You can divide these into 'home' and 'hostile'. So, if a dungeon level has mutually antagonistic orcs and gnolls in it, a home roll in orc territory brings orcs while a hostile roll brings gnolls - and vice versa. How do the hostiles get there? Most likely by following the PCs, hoping to exploit the carnage that they've created - and perhaps to pick off the depleted adventurers. Rationalising their route should be easy, presuming that the PCs have come through no-man's land to get to the orc section. The gnolls have simply followed in their (bloody) footsteps.

Stalkers

While patrols probably want to prey on weakened foes and parties alike, other creatures might be specifically interested in the party. They might be predatory, or they might be looking for security, company or even friendship. So, this category can include scavengers hungry for fresh corpses, beings that want protection in the dungeon (and what better escort than a bloody-handed bunch of murder-hobos?) or those interested in something the party has: past owners of treasure, perhaps, or their minions. If Moria is the ur-dungeon, then Gollum is the ur-stalker. 

Vermin (a.k.a dwellers in the wainscotting or the Wolves in the Walls)

One obvious way to have dungeon vermin suddenly appear is simply to have them come out of the walls. I've often used kobolds in this way: their tunnels riddle the dungeon but are too small for (most) adventurers to get down - and too dangerous even if they could. Yes, your halfling might squeeze into a kobold crawlspace, but the excursion probably wouldn't end well. 

This gives a nice rationale for why weak creatures like kobolds survive and even thrive in the underworld. Rather than inhabiting large and easily invaded caverns, they live in twisting tunnels; their communal spaces are almost impossible to access. And it also explains why they can crop up at almost any time or place in the dungeon. They tunnel and burrow constantly, the entrances to their crawlways are cunningly concealed, and they're always creating new ones. 

Kobolds are just one example of creatures in this class, of course. Giant rats, giant beetles and many other smallish, burrowing beasts fit here nicely, as do stirges that roost in the recesses of the dungeon but fly through its corridors when on the hunt. 

Squeezers (through cracks)

Monstrous oozes and jellies are pretty much a D&D invention (drawing on shoggoths and the Blob, of course), and they provide another easily explainable source of monsters. Where did that thing come from? It dripped through the ceiling. Oozes gonna ooze.

Raiders

Now, these are typically from the outside (or above or below). I'd differentiate these from patrols, above, in that they're not on regular duty or simply being opportunistic, but have mounted an attack against the area of the dungeon in which they're encountered. So, while these could be the orcs/gnolls from across no-man's land on the same level, they'd appear in far greater numbers than a patrol. But they could be hobgoblins from a nearby stronghold or bugbears from the surrounding hills. They might signal their attack with drums or horns, and the party might initially just encounter their scouts or vanguard - giving the PCs the opportunity to make something of the situation. Repeated rolls in a single session would typically indicate encounters with different elements of the raiding party. Raiders could also be other adventurers, of course.

Rampagers

Another dangerous category, this: big monsters on the hunt, whether from nearby caverns or from deep within the earth. This might include trolls, landsharks and umber hulks. If these creatures exist on the dungeon level, their coming will prompt other inhabitants to bar their doors and retreat to their fastnesses. And it could be signalled by howls, heavy footsteps or trembling in the earth.

Haunters

Given that most dungeons have witnessed many scenes of slaughter, you'd expect a few ghosts to be clanking their chains. Different bestiaries assign specific roles to synonyms for ghost, but we can usefully divide this class into apparitions: harmless but disturbing visions that merely show something that happened in the past - from a march of doomed troops to a murder; unquiet spirits: ghosts that want the party to do something for them - bury their bones, avenge their death or return some object to their grave; and evil spirits: hostile ethereal undead of the D&D spectre or wraith sort.

Apparitions are perhaps the most interesting class. In a science-fantasy setting, they might be fragmented holograms (as in Serenity or Prometheus). In any setting, they can be used to hint at some tragedy from the past. Perhaps the PCs see grim-faced warriors in bronze armour march down the corridor - and then encounter animated skeletons wearing that same armour elsewhere. And perhaps these apparitions aren't visible to everyone. You can have the whole party make a save vs spells; if everyone passes, they'll still be spooked.

Personalities

An easy way to bring the dungeon to life is to ensure that its most celebrated inhabitants don't simply sit in their room waiting for adventurers to arrive. There are two obvious categories here - the 'home' encounter, which might be the orc chief visiting his lieutenants or interrogating prisoners; and the rarer 'hostile' encounter, in which an eminence from another part of the dungeon has arrived. A 'hostile' result could actually be a welcomed guest - what matters is that it's someone or something who's not on their home turf. Previous random encounters might give clues to this. If you've had a 'hostile' raiders encounter previously, a subsequent personality might be the hobgoblin commander striding in like Darth Vader in the Hoth base. If you haven't, he might be here with his bodyguards to plot mischief in alliance with the orc chief. 

So, those eight categories might give us a table like this:

D8                    Category                        Encounter (D4)

1                        Patrols                           1-2. Home (2d3)   3. Hostile (2d4)   4. Outsiders (2d6)

2                        Stalkers                         1-2. Ghouls    3. Protection-seekers 4. Treasure-seekers

3                        Vermin                          1-2. Kobolds (2d6)  3. Giant rats (2d6)   4. Stirges (2d8)

4                        Squeezers                      1. Gelatinous cube (1)  2-3 Black pudding (1-2) 4 Grey ooze (1-3)

5                        Raiders                          1 Home (4d6)  2. Hostile (4d6)  3. Outsiders (4d6) 4. NPCs (2d4)

6                        Rampagers                    1. Umber hulk  2. Trolls (d3) 3. Landshark 4. Purple worm

7                        Haunters                        1-2. Apparitions 3. Unquiet spirits 4. Evil spirits

8.                       Personalities                   1-3. Home        4. Hostile

Over a session or two, rolls on this table should illustrate the dungeon's history, politics and ecology. 

And while they should challenge the players, they should also provide them with opportunities. A hostile patrol offers the prospect of a temporary alliance. A treasure-seeker might obtain its goal in return for local knowledge. If a 'home raid' takes 4d6 of the bugbear warriors out of the complex, PCs who have snuffed their torches and concealed their pack animals may have the chance to fall upon a lightly defended bugbear lair. If the hobgoblin chief is talking to the orcs, then he and his bodyguards won't be at home if the PCs come knocking. 

Some more Lund and Copplestone orcs - and thoughts on Warhammer and Chainmail

 

To take advantage of the extra time afforded by home-working, my son and I have been doing a bit of mid-week wargaming. Our goal is to try out various 'square-base' rulesets and work out which we like best. So far, we've played games of Warhammer (3rd edition) and Chainmail. We've got our sights seton Ral Partha's Chaos Wars, Sword and Spell, AD&D Battlesystem and - the newest of the lot - Oathmark. And we'll also revisit Saga and 'MicroHotT' (Hordes of the Things with individually based figures). 

It was for Saga that I initially started building up a square-based orc force. Since then, I've started using 25mm squares as the default for our daily D&D campaign, simply because the bases work nicely with dungeon floorplans and look a bit less obtrusive on the table. The old Chronicle and Grenadier orcs (metals by Nick Lund; plastics by Mark Copplestone in Lund's style) that I was using for Saga have done plenty of time as the Vile Rune tribe in the Caves of Chaos, and I'm sure the PCs will meet more of that tribe should they ever return from Tekumel, where they're currently adventuring.

If they do, the orcs will have considerably more firepower, as I've recently finished a 12-strong unit of archers. Twelve is the requisite unit size for Chaos Wars, though it will give me a couple of smaller units for more flexible games.

I've also added a couple more warriors and a shaman. I don't much like the shaman miniature, but the warriors are exemplars of the Lund style: brawny, brutish and bristling with aggression:

As with their predecessors, I'm deliberately limiting the techniques I use in painting these. Everything gets a base colour and a wash in Agrax Earthshade, except for the skin, which gets washed in Reikland Flesh. Then everything but skin gets a retouching of base colour and a single layer of highlights. Skin gets a second layer of highlights. Then it's just a question of black-lining and painting in the pentacles on the shield (buff, white, black lines). 

It's a very quick process, and the simple pallet gives the miniatures a certain consistency, despite their orcish irregularity. 

And what about the games? Well, we thought Warhammer was quite fun at first, but it became a bit of a slog as the game wore on. My impression is that the finicky differences in the profiles that I learned and loved as a kid are, ultimately, a bit pointless. Too many of them even out, and it also takes an awful lot of time to cause a kill on most units. In our game, we had lizardmen, beastmen, troglodytes, orcs, hobgoblins and chaos warriors, but all of them were pretty similar on the table: tough, durable infantry. 

One thing that Warhammer lacks, I think, is sufficient differentiation between unit roles. Light infantry are just worse heavy infantry, and the movement penalties don't really balance things out. A unit with heavy armour and shield will move at 6" a turn (assuming reserve move) whereas an entirely unarmoured unit will move 8". But that difference is less striking than it seems, because once they've closed with the enemy and lose the reserve move, the distinction is just a single inch. And the 3:4 ratio is less marked than in other games; in Hordes of the Things, for instance, the ratio between 'blades' and 'warband' is significantly more pronounced at 2:3.

So, while Warhammer ostensibly boasts infinitely more variety in its profiles than HotT, it actually has less striking differences between many of them; many gradations rather than the bold strokes that, in my view, make for a better game. It's not just movement: it's also things like how units react to situations and interact with each other. The rock/paper/scissors aspect that's so successful in other games is largely absent here. By the end of the game, I remembered full well why I found HotT so refreshing as a teenager after a surfeit of Warhammer. 

We both liked Chainmail quite a bit more. We played with similar forces, but we found that Chainmail, with its built-in distinctions between unit types, offered quite a bit more flavour. And it was quicker too, with much more emphasis on manoeuvre and much less on turgid, scrum-like melees. But at the same time, I can see why Warhammer was much more appealing to kids. Chainmail and HotT are both games that you have to play to absorb the flavour. The Warhammer rulebook positively drips with flavour; it's just that it's less in evidence once you get to the table. 

One reason that Chainmail played faster was that kills came much more quickly. I worked out that if two evenly matched forces of human soldiers with light armour and shield fight a round of melee in Warhammer (assuming the previous round has ended in a draw and frontages of four), they're more likely not to cause or suffer casualties than otherwise. My maths could well be faulty, but our experience of play bore it out. In Chaimail, by contrast, your hits aren't going to be nullified by unsuccessful wound rolls or cancelled out by armour saves. 

Warhammer's long statline must take much of the blame here. There are no fewer than three separate ways in which an infantryman can be 'tough' - through Toughness, Wounds or Armour Save - and you also have the prospect of fighters being skilled at hitting but not great at wounding (Weapon Skill versus Strength). All this detail creates a 'wood for the trees' effect, so that stats are cancelling each other out.

The lengthy statline must also take the blame for one of the most boring aspects of our game: the performance of the troglodytes - who are subject to Stupidity and have Intelligence 4. This meant that they were most unlikely to ever act as requested during the game, and indeed they never did anything of consequence other than wander aimlessly around their deployment zone. The problem here is that Warhammer has all those psychological stats demanding to be used. Were those to be replaced with a single Leadership stat, so that the trogs were testing on their higher Ld rather than their lowly Int, the Stupidity rule would add flavour and predictability rather than just rendering a unit useless. I think this may have happened in later editions, but I've never played those.

Where Warhammer did have an edge over Chainmail was in the clarity of its morale rules. Chainmail's calculation takes a bit of getting used to; I can see that it takes plenty of factors into account, and I can imagine that it becomes easy to do after a few games, but it's quite a slog at first. 

Warhammer's personalities worked quite well, I thought, because we avoided the most powerful types. We used no heroes or magicians higher than Level 10, and that kept everything suitably balanced.

We'll certainly give both games at least one more run, but it'll be Chaos Wars or Oathmark next. And for those, more orcs are required ... 

Into the Odd - the best RPG for kids?

An eclectic band of intrepid adventurers

We had friends staying last weekend. After introducing their kids to Song of Blades and Heroes last time they were up, I'd promised my kids that we'd do a bit of roleplaying with them this time. So, after a jaunt up the hill on Sunday, we settled down for a spot of dungeon-crawling.

I'd planned on using Whitehack or the Black Hack. Then I thought about one of the fantasy variants on Into the Odd. But then I decided just to use Into the Odd itself. And I'm very glad I did: it made for the perfect introduction to RPGs. 

Why? Well, the game's loose setting and brilliant character-generation system made for a very easy set-up. We rolled characters, and then the kids chose miniatures to represent them from the Cabinet of Shame. That gave us a space marine in corroded bronze armour, a 'space monkey' and an orc with an axe that fairly approximated the shovel in the player's 'starting package'. And that eclectic mix worked just fine as we laid out dungeon tiles and explored the underground complex I'd sketched out half an hour earlier.

The scenario was simple: the PCs were desperadoes, short of cash, and the authorities had put a price on the tentacled head of an evil sorcerer. So the PCs were raiding his underground fastness. No other background was needed.

And we had a blast. The new players grasped the concepts of ability saves on a D20 very quickly. And the no-messing combat (rolling damage, with no time wasted on fripperies such as rolling to hit) was equally clear - as were its risks. 

But best of all was the way that the players instinctively made use of their starting equipment (determined by cross-referencing a character's hit points and highest stat on a table of 'packages'). One character had a pistol, a smoke bomb and some wire. Another had a dog, a pistol and a shovel. The use of this limited gear led to all manner of interesting situations. Best of all was the final encounter with the octopus-headed wizard. The PCs filled the chamber with smoke, then dashed down the stairs to improvise a trip wire. They pulled off their rolls, swiftly dispatched the fiend and made off with this head. The dog, alas, did not make it out, but all of the PCs did, though only by dint of a couple of successful saves to avoid critical damage. 

I ran another session on Friday evening for my son and one of his schoolfriends (both RPG veterans). This time, we played through The Iron Coral, the introductory adventure that comes with the rules. With most of the 'dungeon' explored, both characters met a sticky - but undeniably fitting - end. This time, I was struck by the speed at which the game runs. We played it quite a bit last year, but I'd forgotten quite how quick and decisive combat encounters can be, and how much time that frees up for exploration and role-playing.

Of course, games in which combat is a game in itself can be tremendous too. We've played The Fantasy Trip a lot this year, and it's excellent - because every time there's a fight, you get an engrossing board/skirmish game to resolve it. And in TFT, every fight can be deadly for the PCs, which adds tension and suspense even if the party are just facing a few goblins.

For games in which all players are familiar with the rules, TFT is tremendous. And its rules are clear, logical and relatively simple, which helps. It's also perhaps the best RPF for very large parties, because the tactical aspects of fighting give everyone lots to consider as you go round the table.

But for smaller games in which the players are not familiar with all the combat options they can take and just need a sense that "fighting is dangerous", Into the Odd is very hard to beat.

And as an introductory game for kids, it's the best. Start with a pistol, a smokebomb and a length of wire - and watch as imagination does the rest.

Enter 1:72 - and a protocol for miniature use in RPGs

Converted lizardman from Caesar; hoplites from Zvezda

Miniatures are a bit of a double-edged sword in RPGs. On the one hand, they provide focus for the players and create lots of tactical options in combat situations. On the other, they can erode the 'theatre of the mind' that's such an attractive feature of the game.

Most of the miniatures I own are the standard 28mm sort. A couple of years ago, though, I ran a Whitehack campaign using 15mm miniatures based on pennies. The smaller scale has lots of advantages: the dinner table becomes a much bigger space, and there's less of a sense of identification about the miniatures. So you hear less of "We killed that goblin last time!", because your 15mm goblin tribe probably has various duplicates on the table at the same time.

But there were disadvantages too. Painting 15mm isn't that much faster than painting 28mm, and the miniatures aren't that much cheaper - especially as you have to buy in batches, often of the same figure. And the best stuff for fantasy RPGs - Khurasan and Splintered Light - isn't readily available in the UK.

On top of that, "15mm" miniatures vary radically in compatibility with each other. I'm not a huge stickler for scale consistency, but the difference in size between "small" and "big" 15mm stuff can be enormous. That can spoil one of the main attractions of the scale: using the huge range of historical figures with fantasy ones. Alas, dwarfs and goblins from some manufacturers tower above men-at-arms and knights from others.

Also, the smaller figures don't take up much room even on a penny - so that 'crowding' is no more achievable than with 28s based on the standard 25mm round base.

And because the figures are metal, they're heavy and fragile. With reasonable success, I constructed a travel set of 15mm miniatures in a box lined with magnetic card, so that the kids and I could play skirmish games on holiday. The only problem with it was that the magnetism wasn't sufficient to keep the miniatures from rattling around in a rucksack - so that they needed a fair bit of retouching afterwards.

I'll probably rebase the lizardmen on twopence pieces

The allure of an intermediate scale
Enter 1/72. I've dabbled in this scale before, but only in monsters that are somewhat scale-agnostic, such as the Caesar lizardmen, which I've used in both 28s and 15s. But I've started to see the attractions of RPG gaming in 1/72 scale entirely.

First, 1/72 figures tend to be a lot more compatible with each other than 15mm. Yes, there are scale discrepancies between manufacturers. But they're slight. One viking or hoplite won't be twice as tall as another. That opens up a huge range of historical soldiers and civilians (1/72 ranges offer a nice array of ancient and medieval civilians). Populating a crowded marketplace or court is far more achievable.

The second attraction is cost. For between six quid and a tenner, you can get 40 or more miniatures. Yes, there'll be some repetition, but there's also a lot of variety within boxes. I bought some Italieri crusaders yesterday; the box included nine mounted knights along with multiples of eight different foot-soldiers.

And those multiples offer a further attraction: anonymous 'extras' for town guards, the local baron's men-at-arms or whatever. Compared with the characterfulness of 28mm miniatures, the unassuming nature of 1/72 figures takes some of the emphasis off the miniatures on the gaming table and back into the players' minds.

At the same time, the compatibility of the figure and their anatomically correct scaling (as opposed to the 28mm emphasis on faces and hands) adds an extra dimension of realism. And the miniatures occupy a penny base just about perfectly - allowing for a reasonable amount of crowding while still providing stability and weight. And they'll travel unscathed in my magnetised box.

Swords, sorcery and soft plastic
But the biggest attraction, for me, is 1/72's suitability for sword and sorcery. I don't much like Robert E Howard's Conan stories, which I find poorly written and heavy on the sublimated wish-fulfilment. But I do like the Hyborian blueprint of a world including lots of thinly veiled proxies for historical cultures, all thrown together with anachronistic glee. Fritz Leiber does it rather better, and so too does Howard's contemporary and correspondent Clark Ashton Smith.

The best way of representing that sort of mish-mash - ripe for games involving travelling adventurers - is to have different cultures visually represented. And 1/72 opens up a whole wealth of intriguing possibilities. Imagine these as town guards in one northern city. Or these as invaders threatening a coastal civilisation far to the south. If you want a human-centric game - or one that's set in or nodding to Glorantha or Tekumel - this is the scale to do it.

Fantasy creatures, of course, are less well represented. But Dark Alliance/Red Box and Caesar do quite a few fantasy sets: orcs and goblins of various stripes, lizardmen, ratmen, trolls, hyena-riders, fantastical barbarians and undead. And, of course, 28mm monsters will generally work fine in 1/72: they'll just be bigger (and nastier).

It's also worth noting that some of the official D&D miniatures from Wizkids are a nice fit with 1/72 stuff, because they are similarly (i..e more naturally) proportioned. This snakeman is much bigger in 1/72, but the proportions of his human elements make him a better fit in 1/72 than in 28mm.

Also, some 15mm goblins work pretty well at this scale. I reckon the little chap below is perfect for a small Middle Earth orc or a D&D goblin:

The same's true of these (rather large) 15mm frog-men:

And I'll be stripping down these Ral Partha dwarfs (painted by a friend when we were teenagers) and repainting them. They're tiny by 28mm standards, but just right for short but strong mine-dwellers in 1/72:

These old Chronicle kobolds and orcs work too (as larger and fiercer monsters at this scale - gnolls and ogres, perhaps):

I can also see lots of potential for using these in Dragon Rampant. The reduction in unit 'footprint' makes a 3'-wide dinner table a better battlefield - and assembling and painting up cavalry is much quicker. And then there's Hordes of the Things. A box of 48 miniatures (like the Dark Alliance fantasy sets, with four identical sprues of 12 figures) could be used for a couple of different factions of individually based models for RPG and skirmish games and a few elements of multi-based troops for massed-battle wargames like HotT. 

Then there's painting. I found the Caesar lizardmen exceptionally easy and quick to paint. The softness of detail is actually an advantage when it comes to painting 1/72 for RPGs, as you can blast through them without worrying too much about precision.

A protocol for miniature use in RPGs

These considerations of scale and "anonymity" have got me thinking about how miniatures are best used in RPGs. Nicely painted 28s and precise floorplans are great for dungeon crawls and one-shots, but take a lot of time to prepare. And there's the problem I brought up at the start: the way in which the tabletop props can detract from the imagined scene. That doesn't much matter in the typical dungeon crawl, but it causes problems in more sophisticated games - not least because if everything's set out in detail and represented with miniatures, everything looks like a fight.

So here's how I'm planning a forthcoming session with some old friends. I'll almost certainly use The Fantasy Trip for the game, because of its simplicity and speed of character generation and its tremendous tactical combat. That entails a hex grid, so I'll get one of the Chessex dry-erase maps. The smaller scale of the 1/72 miniatures will compensate for a grid size that's smaller than the TFT standard. 

Now, what I want from an RPG session is plenty of roleplaying. But if there's to be fighting, I want that to be intense and tactical - essentially a mini-wargame for players and GM alike, with both sides aiming to win. Of course, I'll allow and encourage any convincing stratagem that interrupts the normal flow of combat. 

To balance that with role-playing and 'theatre of the mind', I won't use the dry-erase markers until swords are drawn. The players will know they're in a large audience chamber or a cramped tomb or whatever, but until they have a fight on their hands, I won't sketch it on the grid or place miniatures to represent NPCs. 

That should have two important effects. First, the players will process the monsters and NPCs as they're described before they see how they're represented on the table - if they see that at all. And second, rather than every encounter looking like a fight, as it does in a floor-plan-assisted dungeon crawl, every encounter will appear a role-playing opportunity. Only if that leads to fighting will I quickly sketch in the scene, place a few props and - finally - plonk the baddies down on the table.

A ten-year-old's take on At the Mountains of Madness

For the past four months, my son's been working on his first RPG scenario. He based it on Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness after reading first the graphic novel and then the story itself.

Using Fimo, tin foil, cocktail sticks and hot glue, he made all the monsters himself. He also painted up miniatures for the player-characters (in a single afternoon after school!) and made floorplans from cardboard, white glue and loo roll. He drew designs on index cards to show the carvings on the complex's walls.

This Sunday, he ran the game for four friends. It seems to have been a hit, and he's planning to repeat it with a couple of other groups of friends. The giant penguin - in lieu of the group of merely large sightless albino penguins in the story - was my sole contribution to the set-up. It's a Hobbycraft papier-mache shape with some added extras in Milliput.

I'm sure we'll find ways of recycling the monsters in other games. There are three Elder Things:

The Whistler in the Darkness (an original creation):

A captive Mi-go:

And - of course - Shoggoths:

My son also drew this to encapsulate the scenario:

All in all, it somewhat outstrips my efforts at a similar age; those were largely confined to graph paper.

Down in the dungeon with Song of Blades and Heroes

I got back into gaming through Ganesha Games' Song of Blades and Heroes, which I bought to play with my kids. Since I gave my son a batch of painted miniatures for his birthday a few years ago, we haven't looked back.

We hadn't played SBH for a few months, but last night, we got a dungeon-based skirmish going. My son laid out a quick dungeon using D&D tiles, and then we identified a couple of areas (a temple and a sorcerous circle) as objectives. We assumed a god's eye view, just to keep things simple, and marked out a few areas for wandering monsters. Then battle commenced.

Wandering monsters are a regular feature of our SBH games, reflecting creatures drawn by the noise of battle or the prospect of carrion. What we usually do is have each player roll a d6 at the end of their turn. If it's a six, a monster turns up. Before each game, we set up a row of six monsters, so when one appears, we roll a d6 and take the appropriate one (rerolling if that monster has already been used). A 'monster' could be a wandering owlbear or a band of goblins or anything else from the deepest recesses of the Cabinet of Shame. They typically attack the nearest player-controlled characters, with the other rolling for them. Each monster (or group: they act as one) rolls activations on three dice; two failures does not end the monsters' turn, as each individual or group is treated separately. The monsters are generally inimical to each other.

This works pretty well - especially with the more spectacular monsters. In the past, we've had some climaxes reminiscent of Harryhausen films in which two monsters fight to the death. In one memorable game, these monsters had killed or driven off all the player-controlled characters, so what began as orcs versus lizardmen ended as griffon versus tyrannosaur.

In last night's game, though, we decided that all the dungeon monsters would be on the same side. As the game progressed, we got through the whole batch: a mindflayer, a demon, a gorgon, an alzabo, a flesh golem and a meriod. As the mindflayer ("brain eater" in the Song of Gold and Darkness book) had the Leader trait, the other monsters benefited from his presence when they were nearby.

In the battle between orcs and snakemen, the orcs eventually prevailed, helped by greater numbers and the presence of two leaders. But it was a close-run thing - and a nice way to dust off a superb ruleset again.

The case for miniatures in RPGs

When I got back into gaming a few years ago, the thing that struck me as strangest about contemporary RPGs was the assumption that you play D&D with miniatures and a grid.

We never did that when I was a kid. Yes, we sometimes had miniatures on the table, but they were used for convenience (marching order, formations in combat and various tactical situations) and were mostly ignored altogether. We almost never used any scenery that wasn't improvised on the spot ("This d4 is the pillar with the prisoner chained to it"), and we certainly didn't use a grid. The occasional book with pictures of Chessex mapping paper pointed to some absurd platonic ideal.

I can think of a single Dragon Warriors one-off that I ran that used entirely painted miniatures with a tower and floorplans (the tower was from the Citadel mighty fortress, with old Citadel dungeon floorplans representing each level and the cellar). But that was a late-stage exception.

And I think I can safely say that none of us every paid the slightest heed to the movement stats in whichever game we were playing (RuneQuest, AD&D, Dragon Warriors, Call of Cthulhu, whatever). We assumed humans could outrun things that were more sluggish, and we assumed that fast things (e.g orcs - I tended to enforce a certain Tolkien purism on this) would catch you sooner or later. 

Since resuming RPGs with kids, family and old friends, though, I've used miniatures about half the time. Holiday games are always 'theatre of the mind' - a term that we never used as kids, because it was the default. So too have been the classic Dragon Warriors scenarios and Dungeon World homebrew games we've run through. One-off dungeon-crawls for lots of kids are done with miniatures and commercially produced tiles, however, and our Whitehack campaigns this year and last have used miniatures (15mm last year, 28mm this). The one-offs I've run for my old gaming friends have been a bit of both (miniatures for Tales of Blades and Heroes, which requires them; theatre of the mind for Heroquest Glorantha and Dungeon World; and miniatures again for Whitehack). 

I added some thoughts on the use of miniatures on noism's blog last year, when I was generally veering away from their use:

I increasingly think that they're a constraining factor in all kinds of ways: cramping scales by limiting things to the size of the tabletop; limiting the GM's imagination to the available models (even if subliminally and irrationally); and entailing a huge amount of NPCs and stuff (e.g. for a fight in a crowded marketplace). 

Noism's comment that miniatures are a "straightjacket for the imagination" was exactly how I felt. 

But since then, I've grown a bit fonder of their use. There are lots of problems, of course.  

First, miniatures cramp scales by limiting encounter spaces to the available tabletop. It would be hard to do Tolkien’s Moria, with its vast chambers and 50-foot chasms, on the average dinner table – let alone a city square, a castle courtyard or a section of steppe. To do such things in 28mm scale, you need a lot of space.

Miniatures also have a pernicious tendency to limit the GM’s imagination. If you have an owlbear model, you’ll probably use it in your game. But if you’re using miniatures yet lack a scorpion man, you’re unlikely to write one in. Owning only 10 hobgoblin models militates against the inclusion of 50 in a subterranean barracks – limiting the range of challenges for high-level PCs. Most of my childhood games featured orcs, for the simple reason that I had lots of them. I still do, and they’ve been overrepresented in recent games for that reason.

You can (and should!) fight that tendency, of course. But then there’s the problem of identification. Yes, the players know that the owlbear is actually a scorpion man. But it still looks awfully like an owlbear. Nicely painted goblins might not convince as gnolls – and they certainly won’t do as the town guard. The potential for confusion grows when you field a combination of proxies: “This werewolf’s the black knight – and that ogre’s actually the wizard’s henchman”. 

It’s also hard to escape the thought if you’re going to use miniatures, you should do it properly – not only by having appropriate figures for PCs, NPCs and monsters, but also by having them all painted. That’s a huge amount of time on top of writing and running the games themselves.

Finally, miniatures make every encounter look like a fight. Cerebral challenges become physical. Place an ogre miniature outside the stronghold gate, and players will want to kill him. Thoughts of sneaking past, distracting or persuading will dwindle or vanish.

And yet ...

The greatest excitement I've ever generated at the table was with this:

 The coiled section, to the left, was the floor of an entire room; the PCs stumbled into it after spending miles in a huge earth tunnel. There was a gallery above it, which some of them had climbed onto before one of them decided to fire an ancient energy weapon into the slowly pulsating rubbery mass over which they were clambering - at which point, the room was replaced by a pit of loose earth and the rearing worm was placed on the table. We were using 15mm miniatures, so my home-made purple worm was fairly sizeable. The shrieking took some time to subside.

My son drew this on his character sheet after the session:

Now, you can get similar effects through description alone. But the sheer fun of that encounter would be hard to replicate without props (the closest I've come in 'theatre of the mind' was in a Dungeon World game in which the players realised that the bone-walled 'dungeon' they were exploring was actually the skeleton of a vast landwhale - and the reason the walls were shaking was because a lich was in the process of reanimating it.

And miniatures do help when kids are involved and when there are lots of players of whatever age. The physical constraints of models and maps can be limiting, but they can also stimulate the imagination - especially if you make a conscious effort to escape from two dimensions. The purple worm was a one-off, but the best reusable dungeon room I've created is the 'pudding gallery' in my Devil-Warrens megadungeon. This is a gallery on the first level of the dungeon that opens onto the second level below.

The first level is patrolled by kobolds, who guard themselves with a variety of traps. A clue for the players - which none have yet picked up on - is that one section of the gallery has collapsed; the opposite section turns into a sliding ramp when the kobolds pull a lever; the collapsed bit is the remains of an identical trap. And so some of the players end up being plunged into the second level; the room below the gallery has three slow-moving but deadly black puddings.

Above ...

I've run this room three or four times, for both kid and adult players (one party found the remains of the other), and it's worked well each time. But it would be much harder to make work in 'theatre of the mind', because visualising it is a little hard, and the intricacy of movement - on the gallery, over the trapped sections, in the room below - is hard to keep track of otherwise. The first time I used it, I placed the level-two floorplan the wrong way round; none of the players realised that the rubble was in the wrong place, but I had to radically redesign and 'canonise' the second level before the next session, given the way that the doors opened!

And below (at least when the rubble and statue line up properly ...)

Each time PCs have come through this section of the dungeon, we've had really good, memorable encounters - firefights with kobolds and their pet scorpions (which, to the horror of the players, were quite capable of jumping the gap in the gallery) above, and the terror of the puddings below. Best of all, perhaps, was when the kids' PCs revisited the dungeon to find that their hapless adult counterparts had released the puddings into the upper levels, so that rather than trying to climb back up, they needed to lower themselves down into the second level.

Miniatures can also help to turn the most humdrum location into something exciting. Below are the floorplans I drew for the lair of Brug and Brag, an ettin (though I didn't call him that; ettin in my games is simply a synonym for giant - and who's to say how many heads a giant or ogre might have?)

Forget five-room dungeons - this is a two-room dungeon, albeit with an intervening pit. Yet the encounter with Brug and Brag and his servants turned into a really exciting tactical session, which I think would have been harder to achieve without maps and models. I'd planned it as a quick interlude in a forest adventure, but it ended up as a dramatic climax in its own right.

After killing Brug and Brag's hound and henchman, the PCs rolled the barrels to form a barrier on one side of the pit and sniped at the giant from that side as he hurled rocks at them. Some of them sneaked carefully into the pit during the firefight to surprise him while others distracted him with taunts. It turned into much more of a set-piece than I'd expected - and the 'reveal' of Brug and Brag was a nice surprise; until the miniature was placed after the pit had been crossed, the PCs assumed that they were dealing with two creatures.

Brug (and Brag)

Of course, most of the problems with miniature use persist. And I think all sessions, even the most focused dungeon-crawls, should have lengthy episodes of conversation with NPCs. It helps to have miniatures for obviously helpful or neutral NPCs as well as potential foes, as this defuses the 'we must kill it' tendency.

The problem of scale is still there, but recent visits to ruins (including Vindolanda and Norham Castle, neither of which I had been to since school) reminded me that a real-life 'dungeon' would be cramped and 'tight' in the way that many RPG dungeons aren't. The constraints of miniatures and - yes - a grid can actually be helpful here.

Increasingly, I think that miniatures can be a help, but it's terrain or scenery that can become a hindrance. These days, I just hand-draw floorplans onto card or paper, which allows for much more variation than any commercial dungeon tiles or geomorphs, and - crucially - allows strict line of site to be preserved (things that can't be seen by the player don't go on the table). This often breaks down with commercial floorplans, especially in cave systems. But I also use three-dimensional props, ranging from ancient bits of Fantasy Forge or Grendel resin scenery to carved foam to painted blocks or cardboard.

As long as you're not expecting it all to match like some Golden Demon diorama, it can be liberating and creative - allowing a better sense of space than you could easily achieve through description. It works through a combination of the specific - the hand-drawn plans - and the semi-abstract: blocks and boxes used for elevations and impressionstic staircases that accommodate miniatures but don't pretend to model the stairs accurately. There's lots of inspiration to be had here from the likes of Matakishi and Runehammer. And don't their games look fun?

Impressionistic steps

Also, I've finally come to embrace movement rates - especially for chases involving black puddings or gelatinous cubes or the like. The first time PCs found themselves plunging down from the pudding gallery, the tension in a chase down a narrow corridor was greatly heightened by the fact that the players didn't know what the corridor would open into and whether there would be room for some 5" vs 3" manoeuvres when it did. The eventual escape - by a square or two on the grid - felt all the more hard won for the frantic movement-rate maths that had preceded it.

The old wargaming principle of 'what you see is what you get' is also a great help when it comes to statting up monsters. There's very rarely a reason not to run with whatever combo of weapons is shown on a miniature, which cuts down bookkeeping considerably.

And there's something else too. Even if you have a lot of miniatures (and as a result of deeply misspent youth, I have), big encounter groups of monsters are often out of reach. I might manage to muster a hundred or so of my livid-skinned cave goblins (see the top of this post), but players will soon tire of them. So with humanoid monsters, the use of miniatures suggests a slightly different way of thinking: monster bands as NPC parties, with named individuals, various quirks and plenty of personality. And that is no bad thing, I think - though it's probably something for another post.