AD&D's Front-Loaded Dilemma...

AD&D has some front-loaded demihumans. From dwarven saving throws to elven attack bonuses (and infravision, among other useful abilities), non-human characters enjoy substantial advantages up front. Humans get the full range of classes with no level limits, but nothing more. Add multi-classing, and demihumans have undeniable advantages. Casting spells wearing plate armor is nothing less than the best of both worlds and a powerful combo humans lack and won't make up for until advancement most won't reach...

So how do humans balance the ledger? Multi-classers divide hit points, so a character with 8 fighter hits and 2 magic-user points would get 5 (8+2/2), which is almost half those fighter hits, and well within a longsword's d8 damage. Add slower level advancement and humanity sees faster progression. But this is apples and oranges, especially considering those non-human abilities. AD&D's solution, and all of early D&D, was to impose level limits, which may come up short because in old-school gaming, low(er) levels are the only sure thing.

Humans have unlimited level advancement. But is this effective? Early editions were notoriously lethal; and setting violence aside, most characters probably didn't reach those lofty heights. Indeed, most online (i.e., Reddit, etc.) polls settle on 8-12th as the mean maximum level attained. A 3rd-level fighter/5th-level magic-user has some 8 combined levels, plus racial abilities, putting them on par with most high-end human achievers, who balance the proverbial scales only when it stops mattering in the scheme of things...

Which has inspired Robyn and I, as game designers, to give human characters their own racial abilities*, or in the case of race as class, counterbalancing abilities, with unlimited advancement (where applicable) or identical limits otherwise. Now none of this is to say that AD&D got it wrong. Far from it. But B/X and BECMI, its close cousins, embraced race as class and missed an opportunity to better achieve balance; and given the fun these games continue to offer, level limits are a trivial thing, but maybe one worth reexamining.

*Basic Fantasy, a personal favorite, has been doing this for years...

Bodies Change: An Opherian Mystery...

Some players have wondered why Stalkers of the Elder Dark features only three of the Opherian Mysteries. There has to be more, but we hoped to avoid even a level playing field with the cosmic horrors characters will inevitably face. That said, there are other dreadful Mysteries to be uncovered (and used) in a Faustian bargain, for no power comes without its price. So being October, a month of horrors, here's a fresh offering...  

BODIES CHANGE transforms the caster into an abaloth, with all the physical attibutes of one while retaining their human faculties. This utterance deals an instant 2d6 trauma, with 1d6 additional points per day spent in this condition. Traumatized characters ignore their phobias in this state; but mental breakdown causes them to become true (and mindless) abaloths pending recitation of an Elder Sign in the presence of the affected individual.

The above can be used to survive the void of space and/or withstand the debilitating effects of one's greatest fears, noting that phobias become active again upon resumption of the character's human form and faculties. Of what use this was to the Opherians remains lost to deepest time, although some writings suggest a reproductive process, if not a gift to cults consecrated to The Elder Ones. It may be best not to know such secrets...    

Once again, fair fights are antithetical to cosmic horror. That doesn't mean the players have no chance against the darkness. Far from it. But it does mean the characters are at best unnerved; and when taking up the tools of the enemy, they do so at tremendous personal risk as befits the terrifying powers at work. And if your players know even a hint of real fear at risking a beloved character's humanity, Stalker's true purpose has been realized.

Gaming's Timeless Tabletop...

Who remembers Pong in the 1970s? Robyn and I plead guilty. Not only was it cool that mere mortals could control what appeared on their screens; it was doubly exciting that we could physically interract, indeed control, what happened therein. Fast forward, we're playing Atari's square and conspiculously pixelized reality. We thought Intellivision was damn near Skyrim because one could (sort of) make out the baseball cap on the pitcher...

Fast forward again and its the future. Computer (and especially console) games are ambitious affairs with Hollywood's production values. Vintage games were primitive things, and while throwback titles exist, you can tell the difference. But tabletop games, they're timeless. Now the design and physical production might be dated (OD&D was clunky with more than a few oversights); but our theater of the mind was as modern as CGI.

The human imagination, beyond all gadgetry, has better special effects. Of course, a generation born to shoddier (you can see the zippers) movies doubtless refers to them, so maybe not universally; but as a rule, human imagination reigns supreme. And that's the timelessness of tabletop gaming. It's one step away from a Paleolithic clan gathering, but more realistic than centuries spent trying to nail our visuals with technology... 

Friends sharing stories. It's a human preoccupation. And given all the hysteria around television (the 70s version of a modern concern), you'd think roleplaying, with its social bent and academic pretensions, would have been a parent's dream. Another decade's drama, replete with bad religion and 80s hair metal; but it's nonetheless true that while technology tried to tell our tales, tabletop was there well before we finally started catching up. 

Autumn Is Gam(ing) Season...

No, not football. Tabletop roleplaying. It was autumn of 1977 when I fell in love with the Rankin/Bass Hobbit, and autumn of 1979 when I found out we were moving just as things were getting good with my local D&D group. More happily (and against the odds) it was autumn when we moved back (a different neighborhood, but with new friends) culminating in a season spent anticipating the Holmes Basic I knew Mom had gotten me because yours truly wasn't remotely subtle. Christmas 1980, the ending to a perfect fall... 

And so for me at least, autumn has always been (tabletop) gaming season; but why, beyond circumstance and random history, is it so? I suspect the following:

(1) Autumn is cooler. You start moving indoors for cozier entertainments. I'm sure this has changed, what with computer games and the mainstreaming of D&D; and, of course, I played over the summer months as well, although family vacations plucked various party members beyond recall, so maybe they weren't always the best months to be a roleplayer.

(2) October brings ghosts and goblins to every house for weeks ahead of the big night, and these channel the supernatural monsters in just about every dungeon.

(3) Christmas, the true culmination of autumn, brings many people's first gaming experience when not new additions to a pre-existing obsession. Birthdays and Christmas remain the perfect times to grow a collection. Games abound anymore. You can get a fascimile of early D&D for free (Basic Fantasy); but back then, rulebooks were precious comodities.

Of course, your experience may differ. Birthdays happen year-round, and the alchemy of circumstance means that everyone's gaming season has its own trajectory. 

And speaking of autumn, it's coming this week, and after a summer working on Mydwandr, finally available in hardcover, a break is definitely in the cards. Don't be suprised if Pits Perilous resumes a monthy format. Between Baldur's Gate 3 and Starfield, there's finally time to relax and explore some digital worlds. Not to worry though, autumn's fantasy bona fides won't be forgotten. There's an excellent chance the cooler (and shorter) months inspire more, not less, gaming goodness. In the meantime, have the best of all possible seasons...