Games, Grinches, and Good Ideas...

As we enter the holiday season, yours truly can't help but remember what was doubtless the most important (and consequential) Christmas gift to ever grace the bottom of a tree. This wondrous delivery was Holmes Basic with Keep on the Borderlands. Toys break or get lost in the dustbin of our collective childhoods, along with everything else we wrongly believe we possess. But Homes was basically an idea. And ideas are powerful things in the right hands, and quite possibly the only lasting things our hands have made... 

Case in point: having read the rulebook and enclosed module, the whole thing could go up in a house fire and we'd probably still have enough to reconstruct a playable fascimile from scratch. A homebrew creation all the funner for the sense of ownership. Of course, that never happened, and I went from Holmes to AD&D thereafter; still, it underscores how exposure alone arms a creative person. Simply understanding the division of labor between the players and referee is 90% of what happens, setting Holmes above that year's gifts.

Now I've talked about this before, making it the equivalent of holiday leftovers. But it bears repeating, especially given the commercialization of the hobby. At best, we publishers offer convenience and the chance to explore another's vision. It's an optional service no one really needs, which counsels humility and appreciation. But every referee keeps a game designer somewhere inside of them, making WotC's overreach ultimately futile. It's the idea behind our hobby that truly matters, a thing more precious than any rulebook...

I know; there's content. Monsters, spells, the works. But knowledge of the division of labor, something akin to hit points, and the need to roll for actions is probably enough to get started with a men vs. monsters type affair, with everything else developing during preparation and gameplay (arguably, where it belongs). This is what I got for Christmas, 1980, and it gave me a lifelong pursuit. People are more important than anything, and ideas more important than mere things, so here's wishing everyone a season full of everything that matters.

Bitterblossom: The Small-Press Supremecy...

Our hobby has always been a small-press thing. Even now, with modern, corporate D&D, the pastime remains in the capable hands of the hobbyist, empowered as they are to add or otherwise change anything. Tabletop roleplaying games are a set of written rules where the action, from battle to negotiation, takes place inside the participan't heads. And what can houseruling tell us the about small press? Everything, or so it appears, because the referee, so commisioned, carries a game designer's power in their dice bags...  

Why buy Second Edition when you can house rule the first? And even if we published the slickest game known to man, it still wouldn't be 100% of what gets played at the table, meaning the actual participants are always, and necesarily, closer to the action than the rules being utilized. Bonus point: since these players can self publish original content, to include original rulesets, small press is likewise (again, necesarily) closer to the action than anything the big names could possibly achieve. Small press rules the tabletop roost.

And, of course, the hobby began as small press (by the gamers, for the gamers) and, barring a few notable exceptions, remained so. Nothing embodies this ethos more than fanzines, where house rules (by the fans, for the players) rise to the forefront. A perfect example of this is Bitterblossom, a fanzine for Mydwandr. This digital volume contains...

1) New kindreds, bound to specific regions of the setting. From mechanical dwarven bottle gnomes to lizard folk from the swamplands around Cornyth, these races deliver! 

2) Added abilities. Speak with the recently dead or wield a whip Indiana Jones style, with several lending a real strategic element to the right campaign, maybe yours.

3) Original guilds and gods. Famous taverns and house rules galore from Biz, Tim Fox, Serra Marbol Mordan, Jon Salway, and James Hook, ready to incorporate into your game!

4) Stylish illustrations (by Luke Ryan Herbert), with an easy to access layout.

5) Tools for referees in a pinch, including sample parties and hirelings to get the party going in convenient and seamless fashion. It's a fanzine that doubles as a supplement...

Like any fanzine, this one puts power in the hands of the players, offering a buffet of content to pile high on their plates. Mydwandr itself is an eponymous setting fully customizable by whoever's at the proverbial helm. Our Mydwandr is different from Jon Salway's, different from yours, but no less valid, because gaming means power to the players. But publication, like parenting, means inevitably surrendering our creations, however beloved or deeply personal, to the people actually playing the game, underscoring small-press supremecy.

Players (read: fans) put the fan in fanzine. And no one's closer to the games being played than the participants. Rulebooks aren't games. Rulebooks are tools. Raw materials for others to bring their worlds to recreational life. And next up from these actual participants are the small press publishers, because while gaming doesn't (necesarily) need a cash economy, if economies have to exist, they're absolutely best kept closest to the bottom, no offense to Wizards. Anyway, we recomend Bitterblossom to the fans, and zines to everyone...

Old School Enabled (While Disabled)...

Yours truly is disabled. Not by birth, but by war. I had to rebuild my self image from the ground up after decades of able-bodied existence, which wasn't easy. And it was around this time I began to notice disabled characters in tabletop, complete with miniatures and the online notoriety that goes with them. At the time I shrugged. Magic can clear that nonsense up pronto, right? It turns out that I was wrong. Some are born to disability, while others acquire it elsewhere. Regardless, reconcilation is a necessary thing. 

Despite the reasonable distance we hope exists between ourselves and our favorite characters, these pen-and-paper personalities are avatars. A living extension of that part of out innermost selves wishing to become heroes fantastically equipped for adventures in narrative cause and effect. We fashion these characters in our own image and hope to live up to our best selves. Now it's easy, and probably honest enough, to admit we'd magicically eradicate our disabilities given an accomodating universe...

But that was never the point. Ever. Not for the young (especially not for them), and not for the older (and oftentimes newly disabled) either. Those born to disability enter adolescence, already a hard enough time to be different, in constant awareness of the fact and seeking to understand where they fit in the world. Supernatural aid can mend their characters; but it almost certainly won't help them formulate a positive self image as a disabled person, which is arguably what superior roleplaying (you pick the system) should fascilitate.

And what are we telling these kids? You can be elves. Or wizards. But not disabled because disability is a bridge too far? And because disability is a stain to be washed clean in any respectable universe as though it's bad enough in real life? This (misguided) assumption fails to grasp the many benefits of roleplaying. The same goes for acquired disabilities later on, because aren't these players seeking a similar reconciliation? It's better to accomodate their wishes in its name because play's always been somewhat therapeutic...

And because we're all drawn to roleplay as a means of exploring ourselves and finding our  place by way of imaginary worlds, complete with disabled characters who risk everything, heroically, and master the considerable odds against them. If this can't help people reconcile with who they are, nothing will. And maybe they recognize their inherent worth as persons, resourceful and with awesome ideas to contribute. Nothing is more old school than that, and who knows? The friendships made at the gaming table might be good for everyone.

The Seven Seals of Sword & Sorcery...

So Gregorius 21778 released Rescue From the Temple of the Revealing Flame, an adventure for our Blood of Pangea game. This one's a nice mixture of classic Howard and Lieber's darker brand; but while fantasy (writ large) remains a welcoming landscape, the sovereignty of sword & sorcery is less flexible. High fantasy can incorporate its elements; but not the other way around beyond the purely incidental owing to its defining attributes, the Seven Seals (or traits) of the genre given below as follows:

1) Men (and women) using physical strength and cleverness to survive...

2) Hedonism; gold, sex, and other earthly pleasures, as a motivator...

3) Sorcery disdained (if not outright denounced) as questionable at best...

4) Living day by day, and coin by coin, with no thought for tomorrow*...

5) Barbarians more virtuous than the so-called civilized people around them...

6) Banditry (and/or piracy) practiced with a concern for the innocent...

7) A prehistoric setting inspired by real-world civilizations, suitably exotic**...

Basically, no demi-humans or friendly magic as an impersonal force; sensual pleasures as the primary motivator; an amoral world of amoral heroes who nonetheless hold to a primitive code of honor, all in an exotic setting drawn from our ancient world. As fantastic genres go, sword & sorcery remains the most humanistic of them all. Tolkien delivered a hopeful missive of men made perfect, while pulp provided the unvarnished truth, even if it came with primal, often prehistoric, terrors. It's a genre that works best when properly understood...  

*With notable exceptions; still, Conan wore his crown on a troubled brow.

**Leiber and Moorcock imagined other worlds altogether, but with a historic bent.

Minions: Charmed, I'm Sure...

Ok, so first, the commercial. Chronicles II: The Black Dog Caliphate is now available for Barons of Braunstein. This one's set in medieval Cairo, more specifically, in the desert following the imaginary Small Nile. If this resonates, check it out. End of commercial; but it raises important questions about historical magic. The supernatural defies all boundries, meaning there's no way to get it wrong beyond ill-concieved mechanics...

But since Braunstein has an optional fantasy component; and especially since this has to channel historical conceptions, it's worth noting that modern gaming magic bears little resemblance to how it was imagined, especially under medieval Chistendom. But it's also clear that OD&D, cheerfully unencumbered by decades of convention, hewed closer to historical and folkloric traditions, which often included minions...

And spirits. Historical magicians called and commanded spirits. And they had minions, which overlapped these in places. Barons of Braunstein goes this route; but while OD&D wisely avoided having its magic users summon evil spirits, it nonetheless channeled its mythological inspirations - and the media equally inspired by it - leaning into minions as a substitute for demons. This is seen in earlier mainstream fantasy films predating the hobby...

The Seventh Voyage of Sindbad had Sokurah. And Sokurah had a genie. And a dragon. And skeletal servitors. Jack the Giant Killer had Pendragon, who in turn had a cadre of giants,  hobgoblins, and witches at his command. The latter wasn't Harryhausen. Jim Danforth lent his stop motion talents, noting that both wizards were played by Torin Thatcher, with their assembled servitors figuring prominently as the source of their powers.    

So what did OD&D offer? The Charm spell, which, unlike later editions, affected a greater variety of targets, including gnolls and nixies, without regard to level if its (very broad) criteria was otherwise satisfied - with but a single saving throw ever. Even novice magicians might amass a cadre of powerful slaves, with Charm Monster (starting at 7th level) bedazzling any adversary, with multiple 1-3rd level animals, also with but a single saving throw...

This speaks to how powerful OD&D's magic was, but also to the numerous influences behind its magic system. Arneson famously watched monster movies, and Gygax surely enjoyed Harryhausen, where Sokurah called forth minions. Vance likewise inspired OD&D; but if you want traditional (historical and folkloric) magic, servitors are a must. Of course, the game became squeamish later on; but the early rules had more powerful charms.

So what's the point of this? After writing a historical adventure with magical options, the importance of servitors is obvious. The Tempest's Prospero summoned spirits, and minions reflect a historical conception of magic. No self-respecting wizard is without their tower of mesmerized monsters to challenge intruders; and in OD&D, that fantastic medieval wargame, charms are not only a nice alternative, but perhaps the mightiest of all high sorceries...

D&D's Monstrous Makeovers...

As we entertain D&D's 50th anniversary, we should consider that while mechanics evolve over time, it's content, an implied fantasy world, that makes our pastime about living another, arguably more interesting, life. Otherwise, it's all math. And a big part of this are the many monstrous adversaries awaiting a party. Some are mythological, perhaps accounting for the vagueness of their early in-game descriptions. Others were original creations, and these baddies underwent substantial changes through decades of gameplay...

Bugbears (from Greyhawk) are described as great hairy goblin-giants, which is probably more than enough to do the trick. But the rulebook's one illustration depicts a literally pumpkin-headed monster, which invites many questions. Can you smash their soft melon heads or make tasty holiday pies from their brains? Sensing a need to reconcile this to something less (for want of a word) weird, later depictions made them the round-headed goblins we know. It never mentioned heads, so this derived from the artwork.

Another is the gnoll (Monsters & Treasure), a gnome/troll hybrid minus regeneration in a gentle nod to Dunsany. The illustration is certainly interesting, and it might have made fascinating alternate history had it remained so. But by AD&D, it became explicitly clear, per the Monster Manual, that these most closely resembled hyenas. And this wasn't a gentle slope either, nor an attempt to reconcile the earlier artwork. It was a radical transformation, becoming big where once small, and without a trace of trollish ancestry...

There are others, of course. Half a century of gaming leaves its mark on a ruleset; but content, especially monsters (and especially the originals not tied to any recognized mythology) may undergo radical transformations. Rules are important; but it's content that makes a game more than mere math. And you can see within its pages where OD&D's assorted authors leaned heavily on established mythology and where they fashioned new and exciting creations to be shaped by generations of artists and clever players.

Rules, Roles, and Assholes...

I remember explaining D&D to my brother back in 1980. I'd started playing in '78; but this always happened off camera (mere coincidence because we did share friends), so he didn't have questions until I got a Holmes Basic set for Christmas, forcing him to reckon with an emerging phenomenon. His first observation was that the DM could do what they wished, and there wasn't much anyone could do about it. Unfairness loomed because (obviously) we humans are natural-born assholes largely helpless to resist our nature... 

It's a fair assessment. I've seen all too many misuse their authority, mainly the immature, a quantity in no short supply among adolescents (and too many adults). My only defense, unassailable by every measure, was that in a game of ongoing adventures, killer DMs would quickly find themselves without players. All this, and several months before I got my first Dungeon Master's Guide and read Gary's take on deficient DMs. I pitched this in terms of game balance (and whatnot); but at the end of the day, who likes an asshole?

GMs are the usual suspects given their obvious power. But players can also be a problem, albeit differently. I'm not talking about those too shy or insecure to contribute. Friendship and understanding goes a long way. Nor am I talking those of evil alignment, sanctioned by the rules and allowed to exist. OD&D had its Conan rule, which I'll employ. Assassins and similar miscreants shouldn't want to attract the wrong sort of attention, so this tends to sort itself naturally once the city guard and/or church (or archmage) gets involved.

I'm thinking more in terms of disruptive people who disrespect their fellow players and the referee for any number of bad and unjustifiable reasons. The vile player who wants to fantasize sexual violence against NPCs finds that people don't appreciate that sort of thing and react accordingly. Those seeking the same against their fellow players, delighting in whatever real-world harm results, get invited to leave. Of course, consent matters, as does good communication. It's only a problem when boundaries are willfully crossed...

Oh, and those who lack the good sense to not get stupid when boundaries aren't clearly stated (because, obviously, restraint is the safest bet) and especially, those who take advantage of a situation to feign ignorance. I've encountered that personality too, because decades of gameplay experience tends to do that. Young players might recoil at more traditional notions of rulings over rules, preferring dense rules as an absolute authority (to which all are beholden); but neither approach insulates against assholes.

So the good news is that gaming is social. That's its biggest strength, and one exceeding the power of mere storytelling alone. But the bad news is that gaming is social, meaning the experience is subject to the social contract - and easily derailed without the people skills no rules can possibly provide. Not the modern iteration, mechanically structured around the concept of fairness, and certainly not the free-kriegsspiel revolution. Only people can deliver that, so it's up to us whether my brother's observation becomes a dire prophesy...

Teasing Out the Wargame...

OK, so I apologize in advance for what might seem a pedantic post about the little things residing within our various inspirations. Longtime readers know Robyn and I appreciate rules-light gaming, exchanging complex mechanics for complex narratives. Roleplaying doesn't require minimalism; but it almost certainly benefits from getting out from behind the rules and re-engaging with players and their unvarnished decisions, which brings us to this month's offering: teasing a simple roleplaying game out of wargaming rules...

So sometime back in the days of manual type, the New England Wargamer's Association published some LOTR-themed rules, provided below with apologies to your collectives eyes, click the image to enlarge. It's made the rounds in gaming circles, and I've just now gotten around to mining this bit of inspiration for ideas. These are evolutionary ancestors to modern roleplaying, and maybe we can (reverse) engineer something useful from them.   

So first, dragons. There's talk of triangular cones (surviving into modern play); but I'm more interested in the idea that dragons crush their targets, and that said targets can save and subsequently escape on a 5 or better. This probably isn't a direct ancestor to saving throws; but it shows the concept was kicking around the hobby. More importantly, and for present purposes, it suggests an alternative to the typical "hit point" approach...

Next, we have wizards (dragons and wizards are a great starting point). There's talk of fireballs, a staple of magic, and special immunities (as opposed to spellcraft); but I'm more interested in the idea that it takes 20 non-cumulative hits in a single round to defeat one owing to their abiding power. Non-cumulative. In a hypothetical roleplaying situation, Gandalf can take 19 hits without succumbing and bounces back the next round renewed.  

SAVE YOUR EYES AND CLICK TO ENLARGE

Finally, and I'm lumping the rest together, there's ents, orcs, and men to complete the fantastical battlefield. Ents defeat orcs on a roll of 3 or better, men (humans) with a 4 or more in an early version of armor class. Heroes (including anti-heroes) endure some 10 non-cumulative hits, akin to wizards, before succumbing to death. Now is this enough to cobble together a simplified combat mechanic? You bet your splintered shields...

Let's say characters can take 6 non-cumulative hits in a round of combat before dying, with attacks dealing one (or sometimes two) dice in damage. Less than 6, you live to the next round, refreshed in whole; but suffer 6 or more, roll to save (5 or better) with armor granting an appropriate bonus: light (+1), heavy (+2), shields (+1), such that a character in heavy armor and shield only dies on a 1. No attack rolls, just rolled damage against foes.

DISCLAIMER: I started playing in 1978; D&D, not wargames. I don't pretend to be an expert on wargames or the specific inspirations for particular mechanics, welcoming (warmly) the expertise of better heads. The point of this isn't forensic, but a desire to construct an original system from a wargaming source, especially one we might not fully understand (however intriguing it may otherwise be) and to demonstrate just how little is needed...

The above could be a simple, no-magic game of men vs. monsters. Everything else, whether money and equipment and/or the specifics of individual foes (and why shouldn't these be exclusive to the setting), falls to the referee. The earliest campaigns did just that. Dave had his game, Gary had another. Only with D&D as a commercial, for-profit enterprise did this paradigm overturn, and it wasn't always smooth going. Anyway, the best thing about gaming just might be the pleasure of creating our own, and that's an empowering thought.

Arsenic & Old Lace (a Review)...

The free-kriegsspiel revolution (or FKR; sometimes free-kriegsspiel roleplay) has been getting a lot of attention lately, which seems inevitable given renewed interest in the pastime's wargaming origins. But this style is far more than the minimalism it's known for. Instead, imagine that complexity is transferred from the rules to the narrative. This is free kriegsspiel in its purest form, and one most aspiring products fall short of by necessity...

Enter Arsenic & Old Lace by Tainted Edge Games. This release doesn't shy away from narrativism, embracing its promise by way of an evocative (and overlooked) backdrop; namely, The Thirty Years War, noting that this isn't history as it was, but how it was believed to be, complete with its cunning men, wise women, and mercenaries hardened by the endless conflict plaguing the land. It's an adventurer's paradise.*

The book is laid out like a period handbill, with woodblock-styles artwork to heighten the game's atmosphere. Narrative is everything, which includes the visual; and after an explanation of the system's core premise, the reader is offered a list of suggested readings (and viewings) to further reinforce the primacy of narratives as the guiding light of this approach. From here the rules proper begin, in keeping with the FKR spirit...

Characters each choose a vocation, including the aforementioned cunning men (and wise women) and mercenaries, but also thieves, witch hunters, and woodsmen. Each is offered as a descriptive narrative. What can they do? Whatever their definition allows for. And how is success decided? By rolling against a target number set by the Storyteller (a variation of the GM), supplemented, for added flavor, by some mechanical flourishes...

Resolve is a combination hit points/spendable luck point provision You spend it staying alive and/or improving dice rolls. Destiny is granted at the onset of an adventure and otherwise accumulated whenever the character rolls a natural 20 (we love this). Spending a point of this turns a failure into a success, albeit at a price, adding additional nuance to the emerging storyline. What happens? Ask the narrative. Does it work? Roll the bones...

From here the rules veer into seven appendices, covering everything from random encounters to potential spells. Magical effects are negotiated with the Storyteller, but with narrative (and historical) guardrails to impose balance. There's a total of three charts, extraordinary even in rules-light fare, and no monster lists (most enemies are human anyway) because imagination, through the narrative, is enough to give them life.

Of course, all of this relies on the same high-trust dynamic characteristic of the OSR in general; but taken to a whole new level. Narratives are rules, and rules provide the atmosphere expected of a simulated reality. Rules serve at the pleasure of the narrative, which means the perfect FKR just might read like a good story. Arsenic & Old Lace exemplifies this style, making it an essential addition to any FKR collection...

*Yes, it has black-powder rules and would work nicely with Barons of Braunstein.

Gratification in the Gaming Age...

There's no doubt we live in an age of instant gratification. There isn't much we can't get immediately. Instant books, instant food, games, and instant movies and/or television (binge watching is a guilty pleasure in our personal orbit). Nice, and who's complaining? When hunger strikes, it's nice to get DoorDash. General Tso's is delicious, while pants are definitely overrated. Let's not pretend this fact isn't hot-buttered awesome...

Ditto for tabletop games. Steam makes us wait at least 10 minutes; but Drive-thru is nearly instantaneous. A universe of gaming goodness awaits a clicking finger. And again, who among us would dare to complain? In the time it took to write these words, someone picked up the complete Pits & Perils (and may they enjoy their purchase), underscoring just how good this is for everyone involved. Speedy delivery rocks; but what gets lost?

Things are precious because they're rare. Or infrequent. And that's the price we pay for this windfall. At the risk of waxing nostalgic, I remember the following well...

(1) Ordering my dungeon Hobby Shop catalog and waiting two weeks, only to order some miniatures and wait several more, checking the mailbox Christmas Story style. 

(2) Waiting all month for the next issue of Dragon (with a subscription).

(3) Patiently saving my allowence for some desired thing. The pleasure of a monthly trip to Pizza Hut. Next week's episode of (insert show here), seasoned by the waiting.

Speed is good, and variety better. Truly we live in a golden age. But if things are precious when they're rare, and it's sometimes better to wait, how do we square that circle and get the best of both worlds? Maybe we have to cut ourselves off from the glut of options, imitating yesterday's deprivations today. Yesterday was unintententional. There wasn't as much, and fewer ways to deliver it. These days, we need a more conscious approach... 

Curate a wishlist, schedule purchases in imitation of a middle-school budget (few of us are rich, so this part's easy), and maybe control social media time. Kickstarters are the very definition of delayed gratification, but proceed with caution. I'm not so old I think living was better with less; but just like we need to exercise to make up for the physical activity we lose in our sedentary lifestyles, maybe we should engineer that specialness ourselves.

No Clouds Above, No Men Below...

Ageism might be the last acceptable predjudice; and given the young/old divide implied by the OSR, you definitely see this in the gaming community. Case in point: last week on Facebook (because it's always Facebook), some grognard posted a meme waxing nostalgic about their younger days and marathon sessions. No putting anyone else down, no ugly edition warfare, just reminiscing about a happy childhood. Well along comes the inevitable contrarian, who suggested it sounded like "old man yells at cloud" stuff...

Really? Also, absurd. So here goes. Simply (1) being old, (2) preferring older editions of whatever system, and (3) enjoying happy memories doesn't make you the proverbial old man (or woman) yelling at clouds beyond the rather thoughtless imaginations of some. By this reasoning, every grognard should immediately burn their rulebooks and rend their garments over these false memories of happiness. If you're denigrating the younger generation and their rulebooks, you are this guy. But simply liking your favorite stuff is far from it.

I get it (and rather suspect it's tit for tat). The young are denigrated ad nauseum for being born decades too late. Their games, famously forgiving, are too soft (as though generation X stormed the blood-stained beaches at Normandy). It's Marxism. Storygamers are entitled swine (take that, Forge). This is old man vs. cloud multiplied, and every bit as ridiculous as the reverse. Games are played for fun, and each offers a different experience. Unless a ruleset involves bona fide homicide, it's hardly Hitler's invasion of Poland...

But it's not all bad. Last year (also on Facebook) someone posted a gag module called Against the Grognards. I pointed out that grognard implied the aged, broad brushing them as stereotypical Boomers who resist everything. What they meant was Gatekeeper, a sadly universal phenomenon transcending generations. And you know what? My Facebook friend agreed, changing the title and making it all the funnier. Laziness is easier than nuance, accounting for much confusion. But preference and nostalgia alone are no offense.

Action: Reaction Rolls, Take Two...

Reaction rolls seem pretty old-school to me. It's just the sort of sandbox, create-the-world-as it-happens provision that early gaming thrived on. But like the grappling tables, it might be one chronically ignored by later generations who inevitably simplified their new hobby through selective application. It happens. Don't like [insert mechanic here]? Vote with your feet and leave it out, all the easier if it seems extraneous to being with. Monsters are the bad guys, so roll for initiative already. That's my experience anyway; yours may vary...

But if you want to incorporare reaction rolls and keep it simple, you have options:

Take One: Assign predispositions to enemies in advance. Most are irredeemably hostile, doubtless explaining why so many have abandoned (or otherwise ignored) the idea straight away. Those foes amenable to bargains or bribes can be identified in advance, with terms and conditions spelled out. The Goblin Chief is wicked, but appreciates bribes of 100 GP or more per the GM. This is implied in certain rulesets and bears elaboration.

Take Two: Once again; the above, in some form, is close to standard practice, with countless iterations befitting the milieu. Another approach, for the adventurous, is to rework a game's entire system, merging combat initiative and enemy reactions in a single roll. One player rolls for the entire party (a rotating duty) with enemy reaction and initative as indicated:

2-4      Hostile; enemy takes initiative and attacks immediately

5-7      Negotiable; monsters hold initiative, but may pause for sufficient overatures

8-10    Hostile; party holds initiative and may attack or attempt to bargain

11-12  Negotiable; characters win initiative, but the enemy displays hesitation  

Of course, any openess to negotiation is lost with hostile action from the party, noting that superior players will already know to inquire about an enemy's non-verbal cues, saving themselves needless bloodshed. The GM will still need to establish temperment in advance, adjusting accordingly. This approach has the added benefit of being easy to remember in battle, and easy to tailor to conditions. Reactions are only positive when conditions are met, meaning that Take One (above) still applies. A great choice for Mydwandr.

Some enemies are always hostile, others always amenable to negotiation. In these instances, dice indicate potential attack order only. The rest comes down to the fine art of game mastery. That's because while the dice can generate outcomes, only a seasoned referee can translate entries on a table into a natural and seamless narrative where player decisions matter. Reaction tables are old-school because old-school rests on a sandbox stocked with random outcomes seasoned by strategy. But it needn't be difficult...