Old School Hack and The World Between: A Strange but Fitting Match

I think you could create a gothic spectrum something like this: Edgar Poe, Emily Bronte, Warhammer Fantasy, romance novels, Batman, X-Files,  Addams Family, Elvira’s Haunted Hills. I also think you could do an Old School Hack game that settles anywhere on that spectrum.

In fact, I think Old School Hack is better suited for gothic fantasy than Dungeons and Dragons, and just as good as Warhammer (a major claim.) Why?

Old School Hack has a flatter power structure. That’s a major advantage. By the time you are a 7th level cleric or wizard in D&D, you’ve got superhuman world-bending powers. If you can fly or teleport or fling fireballs, then it is difficult to stay connected to the fundamental roots of gothic horror that viscerally affect the players–just like Justice League power scale is no longer suitable for tackling gangsters and bank robbers. The more alien your character is to the player, the harder it is for visceral terror and horror to transmit through that character to the player.

So, about those fundamental roots of gothic horror. I think Jack Shear really nailed it with the essay at the beginning of his compendium. He makes the point that gothic survived as a genre as adapting to blend with other genres–a mode of literary production rather than a genre. “A genre assumes that the literary form has some immutable internal structure; while the imagistic and stylistic conventions that define the Gothic are recognizable, the Gothic’s mutational proclivities are far too broad, changeable, and migratory to fit into a strict generic designation.” He goes on to note “The Gothic both absorbs other literary forms and hybridizes them and functions as the raw material from which other forms of artistic production are created.”

So what “imagistic and stylistic conventions” are we talking about? He’s got a great list from the essay.

Gothic literature is filthy with the following generic conventions: an
imperiled heroine whose life and/or virginity is often at stake, a
Catholic setting (generally either Spain or Italy in the early Gothic
novels); a focus on terror (psychological fear) or horror (disgust) or
both as affect; a long-buried secret from the past that can no longer be
repressed; monstrosity (whether human or inhuman) or villainy (often
a patriarchal figure of power); violence and sexuality that passes
beyond the border of the socially acceptable; incest; doubling
(doppelgangers, mistaken identities, etc.); a decrepit castle,
monastery, fortress, dungeon, or other medieval structure as part of
the setting; the Inquisition and the misuse of religious authority;
specters, ghosts, or phantasmal visions (remnants of the past that
cannot be repressed); mysterious veiled women; fragmentary
narratives (framed narrative, missing text, etc.); enclosure, premature
burial, and imprisonment.

Okay, for people who want to pick Old School Hack up and run with it, keep this list handy, and if you’re not sure what happens next, pick something! You can play it for creeps and also for laughs. (Elvira’s Haunted Hills is a GREAT example of playing it for laughs.)

At the heart of a successful Old School Hack game is the Awesome Point economy. People give each other Awesome Points to reward behavior that makes the game better. This can be goofy fun, but if the group wants to play a more serious gothic game… see where this goes? The players decide what is awesome! So if they want a gothic atmosphere, then they play that way, and reward each other for reinforcing that play style. The rate of character leveling, the ability to overcome challenges even when betrayed by the dice, the capacity to use talents that are not yet earned, and some management of damage given and received are all regulated by Awesome Points–you key into Awesome Points, you key into the whole game. The mood is, in this way, mechanically consensual.

The underlying philosophy of “awesome” clearly undergirds Jack Shear’s vision of the World Between, as well as Old School Hack. His section on “The World Between in Detail” involves a one-sentence summary, a paragraph of run-on imagery, a taste, a sound, and an image. He can fit three national/regional “in detail” summaries to a page. The evocative foundation this provides is very Old School Hack, but it lacks the sort of information normally needed to run a game without doing a lot of foundational work, or improvising the whole thing.

The World Between, in my opinion, takes the standard D&D setting and trims back character diversity while going into overdrive making the setting varied and interesting. If you play aliens, being confronted by alien influences has less punch.

Old School Hack, the Fictive Way, is prepared for this. A mass of human templates mean you can create extremely varied low fantasy adventurers. My work already marinaded in Warhammer Fantasy, a clear influence on Shear’s work also. However, the World Between stomps on the gas for weirding the world out in a way Warhammer is not prepared to do–but Old School Hack is. Keeping the power scale lower means characters have fewer “win button” spells or items, so while they are over the top they are still mortal and can be threatened without resorting to huge hit die monsters or tiresome spell lists in the hands of NPCs.

There is more to come as I continue to delve into the compendium and adapt many of the pieces that are there, as well as fleshing out some implied elements (like the map and the history.) My special thanks to Jack W. Shear for such a great inspiration, and for his approval of my efforts here. Stay tuned, more to come.

OSH reflecton on longevity.

Timothy the Tulip has been played in six games. I expect he’ll face the dragon soon; at the end of the session after next, total 8 sessions. Then his arc will be finished, and he’ll retire (or be dead.) I figure he’ll likely be about 12th level when that happens. He is 9th level now.

What has he been up to?

• First. He meets up with someone who knows a wizard who is looking for a dragon’s lair, and gets involved.
• Second. He joins an expedition to get into a long-dead hero’s trophy room to learn the location of the dragon’s lair.
• Third. Traveling towards a port where he can get passage closer to the dragon’s lair, he is sidetracked into a dungeon crawl to earn some cash.
• Fourth. He travels the dangerous last leg of the road to the port city.
• Fifth. He rescues a scholar familiar with the dragon’s lair from a prison, and acquires a pirate ship to work out transporting treasure.
• Sixth. He gets to the island with the lair on it, and begins searching for a way in through the magically sealed back door of the lair.

I’m really glad we could give him room to run that way. If we had to stop at 4th level, we would have to either confront a dragon pretty much right away, or stick to smaller stories. The process of finding out about the hoard, then finding its location, getting together resources (like the cannon, a pirate ship, a scholar specialist, and so on) allows them to do some preliminary background, and now they’re scouting for a back door. By the time they get to the dragon, it’ll be a pretty cool climax.

He has 4 gladiator talents (and 1 improved, so 5 slots) and 4 talents from other templates. By now all his attributes are positives. He has spent thousands of gold. I like defining his time by a story, instead of by level. Could we keep him in circulation? Sure we could! But there are other characters to try.

No one else has played a single character through all the sessions he’s been in; he adopted the dragon killing as his goal, and that’s provided a direction for the games, and others can drop in or out as desired (since it is open table.) We just don’t do dragon hunting games if Paul can’t make it. Some have played multiple characters crossing his path as he has continued on towards his goal.

As far as I know, this is the single most played OSH character in the world.

I was looking at my Friday schedule. We play every other week. I’ve got two main games in that slot. Of 26 possible sessions scheduled, that’s 10 of each of my 2 primary and 6 of anything else. (Then there are the Saturday games, probably 10 total.) That sounds like a lot until you realize it is a whole year. Then, planning to run a character 8 sessions doesn’t seem like a puny number at all. Playing every other week, that’s 4-5 months of gaming.

No point, really, just thinking over longevity and the pros and cons of the arc model. I return you to your regularly scheduled internet.

“Fictive’s Portable Pantheon, 2012″ is almost done.

I’ve been working on a book to turbo-charge the support for Old School Hack deities. Last week I finished all the templates for the 18 gods, they’ll be going up on the blog on a schedule as I continue working on the book in the background.

I would like to have people willing to edit or review. Any takers?

Here is my table of contents, with some explanations added.

How to Use This Book (General guidance on how to use this material; don’t try to stuff it in all at once, but pace yourself. Focus on groups that worship the gods, not on the gods themselves. Be flexible.)

 Divine Mechanics (Explaining how divine talents work, and a summary of how all the talents work. Recap from “Talents and Templates.”)

 Cleric Template [This is the base template for all these spell lists.]

The Pantheon     [Italics for the Ascendant Five, led by Saegrak]

1.  Aretchya          Goddess of the Cosmic Flow (actually starts with “2″ so you can randomize on 2d10, but you get the idea.)
2. Boomaxle         God of the Magnificent Self
3. Cyclaria           Goddess of the Pale Night
4. Dufell               Goddess of the World’s Depths
5. Elevhia            Deity of Greenery
6. Fylsifias           Deity of Deception
7. Geldurk            God of War
8. Inspyria           Deity of Inspiration
9. Kytanlisk         Deity of Carapaces
10. Mulvisk           God of the Open Road
11. Nihlos              Goddess of Death
12. Oblivorix         Deity of Oblivion
13. Preyvask          Goddess of the Hunt
14. Saegrak            Goddess of the Sky
15. Solastian          God of the Sun
16. Soothotcha       God of Wounds
17. Thogro             Deity of the Sea
18. Urmia              God of Civilization
19. Unknown God(s)

 Inhuman Clerics (I suggest using cleric as an overlay template for other races, or just giving them some spell talents to show they’re blessed.)

 Chapters, Churches, Cults, Orders, and Temples (A cool way to randomly generate a faction of worshipers.)

 Making Religious Conflicts (A cool way to randomize the circumstances leading to religious factions being in conflict, and thereby generating opportunities for player character adventures.)

 An History of Energy in the Breathing World

Old School Hack in Gothmagog

The adventure report is here.

My adventuring party was typical for Old School Hack–the Fictive Way; a scout, a mechanic, and a cosmic channeler. The cosmic channeler is distant offspring of Thogro, goddess of the sea, and his adventuring motive was that a prophecy states he’ll someday judge the world. The mechanic invented a spring-loaded quasi-pneumatic heavy hammer to hit people with, and during the war was stuck repairing airships that returned all banged up, he never got out towards the front, so he’s proving himself now.

The scout got the adventuring motive that he likes to snipe leaders, and he has a -2 Charm. He wanted more than 1 starting weapon, he wanted a rifle and a couple pistols, and improved light armor. Okay, says me, that’s fine, and you’re going to be the second son of Mondaviak looking for your big brother. So bam, I’ve got a hook and an excuse to reuse the estate and family, and the player is complicit in this instead of a victim of my scheming. The wife inherits, and she finds him repulsive (or he’d be in even greater peril–when he leveled, he put +1 in Charm, so I gave him a new roll whether he liked it or not, and he rolled a natural 1; still repulsive, whew.) Still, he returned from the war to go find his brother, and now he’s done that.

Everybody hit second level, and the cosmic channeler was closing in on third.

So, some interesting learnings and rulings on this one!

I used Awesome Points in unusual ways several times.

• After the climactic battle, I asked if a player was willing to give up 3 Awesome Points to me. Reluctantly, Makon’s player did; I had the gypsies drag Rudolfio back into the clearing, as one of the cultists that chased them off (and they recognized and subdued him.)
• I gave them a 50-50 chance the old man was dead upon their return, and to twist the knife, let a player roll it. He rolled 5, 1 short. So I allowed them to each give up 2 Awesome Points that did not count towards leveling, and bought him 6 more breaths–just enough.
• A player wanted to spend Awesome Points not to have an encounter with the Watch, and I did not allow it.

New rulings!

• On d12 rolls, 1 tilts things in a bad direction even if successful, and 12 tilts things in a good direction.
  • On a side note, I have never seen so many “1″ results on Charm tests–there had to be 7 or 8 in 4 hours.

• If you have put in a day’s work, then to keep going, test Brawn starting at difficulty 7 or 8 and increasing for each additional period of work to add before sleeping/resting. Upon failing, take 1 wound you must rest off.

So if you want to ride all day and investigate and fight all night, there comes a point where you’re draining off Awesome Points to keep going and if you roll poorly enough, you just take that soreness and pain.

All in all, another great session. Thanks, Jeff.

Ravenloft–an Unorthodox Solution

So because I am a bad person, I lured my game group (modern supernatural investigators) through the mists into Ravenloft for a game Friday night.

The details of the background campaign are less important. We had a powerful group; a wizard, a superhero, a half demon, a cyborg, a geomantic line walker, and a telepathic prophetess. The general idea was, a dimension-traveling Vistanti lured them in through the mists to retrieve powerful relics from a cursed dimension. Once there, they tipped to the score pretty fast. So how to get clear of Strahd?

Get this. They checked in with the priest, then sent their smooth-talker to the Burgomeister. Dante convinced the Burgomeister he could rule over a bigger territory and be out from under Strahd if they could collaborate on taking Strahd out so they could escape Barovia. He appealed to greed and self-interest of a thug in charge (I had the Burgomeister as Strahd’s collaborator, dealing with the vampire as a necessary evil as long as he got to be king of the pathetic little hill of Barovia as a thuggish brute.)

So… they worked fast while there was yet day, taking the biggest cell in the dungeon under the Burgomeister’s house and using pitch and tents to make it air-tight (no rabbiting in mist form!), and they pretended to be chained up; the telepathic prophetess was apparently a reincarnation of Tatyana, so when the Burgomeister told them he had all the visitors prisoner, Strahd (overconfident, naturally) went to investigate himself. And once in the cell, they slammed the door–

Magic flew, stabbing commenced, and though Strahd nearly unmanned them with his burning presence, the wizard managed to hole him with magic. They whacked Strahd (but knew Ravenloft would resurrect him the following dusk) and they grabbed the Burgomeister, left the priest in charge to continue the resistance, and booked it.

I thought this was inventive, I enjoyed watching their plan unfold. Sure, I worked up the whole castle and thought they might spend a number of sessions in Ravenloft, but when they use the tools at hand to fashion a different fate, that’s neat. “Okay, so the locals are corrupt and vicious–how can we use that to advance their self interest and our own by getting rid of Strahd, however temporarily?”

Good times.

Here’s a spectum of play to consider.

Here is a quote from Andrew D. posted here on a very interesting thread:

To look at it another way, there’s two different kinds of D&D:

Old school: a game where we use characters to solve problems we imagine, and if we fail at a problem, it takes just moments to create a new character and try again, approaching the problem from a different direction. The most fun is found in solving dilemmas presented by the adventure/rules.

New school: a game where we take the time to create the character that exactly fits what we imagine, then use it to solve a problem. We don’t really ever fail to solve a problem, because the problem is designed in such a way as to make sure our characters succeed. The most fun is found in creating a character with exactly the strengths and weaknesses we want him/her to have.

Contrary to what both sides of the edition wars say, these are both good ways to play D&D – they’re just different.

I think he’s got a really solid point–but I would suggest there is a continuum here, not two different and alien play styles.

For my superpowered game, my players can build characters that can do amazing things, at generation. They can choose their power sets, and really narrow in or be generalists, creating a character that will be fun to play. Then I come up for stuff for them to do.

The reason I suggest this is a spectrum is because those characters DO sometimes fail. If there is no risk of failure, then they can’t really be heroic, and much of the spice of victory becomes stale. If a trained monkey would succeed, then why should you get all worked up about your success? Easy conquest is boring.

I think the main point made here is that the focus is either on the problem to be solved using characters as tools, or on the characters to be developed using the problems in the game as tools.

One of the main draws of an RPG to me is that you don’t make such clear-cut either/or determinations. If I want to develop characters, show off my twisty plot skills, and control the outcome, I write a novel. I use RPGs to draw the best from my players so they can add flavor and excitement to the setting and the story (and because I want them to think I’m cool, and I want to entertain them.)

Therefore, I think the three tools that Telecanter refers to earlier in the post are spot-on for describing the interconnection that makes RPGs so great for me.

Let’s hear from Telecanter himself, from his post:

Now, we’re all familiar with random encounters and certainly with static location based encounters, but I stumbled into that third, when-I-thought-it-best-to-happen mechanic on my own.  And I like what it allows me to do…It seems to me that a DM will want to use all three of these tools for determining what players experience– the static, the random, and the DM orchestrated– at the same time.  The first makes locations and choices about exploration real, the second is what story emerges from– surprising even me and making the world seem alive, the third allows me to do something a computer game could never do– make things happen based on what I’m observing players are feeling.  I think a good DMing “how to” would talk about how to get these three methods working together.

Good stuff.

“Things Role Playing Bloggers Tend Not To Write About”

This post is inspired by a challenge here. The questions and answers!

Book binding. (I can’t be the only person who bemoans the way new rulebooks tend to fall apart like a sheaf of dry leaves after about 5 seconds of use).

• My favorite is hardback; it lasts and it is sexy, especially when it embraces something I’ve written. Saddle stitch is okay if the project is the right size for that. Perfect binding is merely acceptable if that. Don’t get me started on spiral binding; smish it once, and…

“Doing a voice”. How many people “do voices”? Should they? How do you get better at “doing a voice” if that’s your thing?

• Oh, I do the voices. Some of my more attentive players can not only tell the NPCs apart, but from a couple words can identify someone they haven’t seen in months, by inflection. That flatters me. I just go where that NPC lives in my head, and let them talk. Yeah, and this is one reason I don’t game in public places or let those who are not in the know sit and watch the sessions. “Quit looking at me. Look through me at the NPC I’m portraying.”
• This doesn’t always go well. Like when my Mexican accent gets tangled with an Irish accent for a vampire who takes himself seriously. And not EVERYONE gets a special voice. Still, this is the broad strokes.

Breaks. How often do you have breaks within sessions?

• If the party is all split up and I’m handling groups a bit at a time, I figure people can take breaks as they need, and then I’ll wait until players are in conversation with each other, and I’ll go take my break. If we’re all moving together, I choose the time (about every 3 hours if we’re all working together well) or by intensity, or by need. The schedule does not dictate breaks, it accommodates them as appropriate.

Description. Exactly how florid are your descriptions?

• Depends on the moment. Description is not in the toolbox, it is a toolbox. In the garage of game technique. There are times I rip as lurid and purple as my imagination will go, times I lay on the technobabble and cast my tenuous grapples to real science, times I slow or stop the movement of the second hand to really focus on a point, times a few sentences get us through weeks of travel. I tend to reward players with description–I offer a minimum, then open up as they ask questions. Or, for a grand moment, remind them how awesome or terrifying that grand moment (that they have earned) really is. Description is the reward, not the price of admission. Most players appreciate a quick brutal description of the horrible thing their decision and dice roll wrought upon their hapless victim in combat.

Being a Jerk. Where do you strike the balance between “doing what your character would do” and “acting like a [jerk]“?

• This is  a sore spot for me. People blame all sorts of bad behavior on alignment, or interpreting their character’s motives. The trouble is, we are rationalizing creatures, and we can rig up any kind of explanatory rationale to justify our actions that we want to–so I challenge my players this way.
• “If you think your character would do something harmful to the game or others, stop and think again; how could your character justify (from the same framework) doing something that you think would help the game or the other characters?”
• In other words, don’t blame the fictional character you’re playing for your own rude and game-damaging decisions. If you are going to be a jerk, own it.

PC-on-PC violence. Do your players tend to avoid it, or do you ban it? Or does anything go?

• Players should play their characters. I don’t go out of my way to set up conflict, and I intensely dislike being compelled to address player conflict for the survival of my game.
• My open table games? Stab each other, whatever. You aren’t likely to go on to win, but I’m unlikely to intervene aside from perhaps a brief discussion if it gets out of hand and players are getting offended.
• My closed table games? You only get to come if I think you can do better than killing the game off with hard feelings between players. Please don’t prove me wrong, or it’s back to the open table for you.
• Player conflict bleeds out into characters, so even if we reached a tense impasse where one or more people didn’t want to play with each other anymore, switching characters and even systems just delays the seepage of those toxic conflicts again. It’s harder and more rewarding to figure out ways to work together. Don’t even start me on the White Wolf game design principle that everyone starts out hating everyone else. Why play that?

Description. How do you explain what a role playing game is to a stranger who is also a non-player?

• I start saying my friends come over and we play games. (True enough.) If pressed to quickly sketch RPGs, I describe it as a story where people are playing characters like actors in a movie, but writing the script as they go, and one person is the director/referee. Best case scenario, I don’t talk about it to non-playing strangers. The first rule of RPG club is that there is no RPG club. I do not speak out with my geek out. My geek is saved for sneak attacks.

Alchohol at the table?

• No. Only gamed with alcohol imbibed by the players one time. It was an unmitigated disaster that still blemishes my record as being among the worst gaming experiences I’ve volunteered for. Do I object in principle? Maybe if your players understand moderation. Even then. Do we need it? Really?

Absences. What’s acceptable to do to a PC whose player is absent from the session? Is whatever happens their fault for not being there, or are there some limits?

• Open table, it’s only an issue if you said you’d be there and you don’t come. That’s obnoxious, it’s rude and disrespectful. If your circumstances changed, that’s one thing, but if you decided you had something better to do, give as much notice as possible and an apology is in order. Leaving mid-session for anything less than an emergency is a bit tacky. The beauty of open table, though, is if you didn’t say you’d come, there’s no pressure. I can take a different group every time.
• Closed table. Give me notice to work you in and out. More notice is better. Try not to do it on cliffhangers. Etc. If you said you’d come, please do. I apply my creativity to get them in and or out. I don’t mind this now and then, life is busy. But if you’re showing up erratically, like a waterlogged corpse in a fast-flowing river, we need to talk. I want my game to be a delightful opportunity; if it is a tiresome commitment, or if it is interfering with life, it’s okay to drop it.

Anyway, I hope that was interesting.

Analysis of “An Oscelot of Trouble”

I told the players that for each of them that agreed to wear whatever hat was randomized for them, I would put 3 awesome points in the bowl. They all agreed to wear whatever came up, so that was good, but none of them ended up with truly goofy hats (except arguably the samurai helmet hunter or the dunce cap gambler. No one mocked them, anyway.) The hunter, I had roll on the “fighter” category, the gambler on the “thief” category, and the goblins on the “halfling” category on the chart.

Also, two players wanted to play goblins. To me, the niche protection aspect of the game, where only one player can play a template and you can only get cross-template talents with that player’s permission, is not an important consideration. We had a lot of fun with two goblins in the party. The rule of one template at a table may solve problems in some groups, but mine doesn’t have those problems.

Some notes on goblins generated during play; they don’t have hair, they have “fungus follicles.” They reproduce asexually by budding, and it’s bad luck to see the buds when they split open and spill out a little goblin. Goblin corpses tend to bud, to replace the goblin. And goblins greatly enjoy rubbing their growing buds, in the absence of sexual organs.

 And now for rulings!

• Pickpocketing: Cunning vs. Awareness. If they roll 5 more on Awareness, pickpocketing is prevented. Otherwise, they are seen in the act, but may still get the prize.
• In hand to hand, save vs. getting a wound with Brawn difficulty 7, not Daring.
• In a high place, test Daring to move. Failing that, test Brawn or Cunning (whichever is higher) not to fall. If successful, can test Daring again.
• You can spend as many Awesome Points as you want to boost a roll, not just one.
• It is okay for me as DM to describe what the characters are doing that is Awesome, and they can give each other points for it, as long as no one minds. If they spend the points, they are not required to describe what happens, they can let me do it if they want (and still get the rewards.)
• A Charm test can allow a character to inspire another character to get a +2 on a Commitment test.

 Observations about templates:

The thief used her inherent ability to hit the chandelier, early on. The hunter used tracking. The gambler pulled off a couple great lies. The goblins had a ball with seeing in the dark and doing goblinoid things—a sneaky scout and a gladiator weapon-caddy/cheerleader. The gladiator really hammed up being a gladiator. All in all, it really worked well.

 Observations about preparation and resulting application to play:

I kept myself to a 1 hour maximum prep time for this adventure, giving myself more time because there would be 7 players (I ended up with 6) and of those only two  had played before; I wanted their first experience to showcase the richness of the system’s strengths.

I planned for 3 significant fight scenes, with a 4^th in reserve. As it played out, the characters created a fight scene at the wedding (easy to improvise), ran from the fight with the Stenchites, acted predictably for the fight in the spiny rock crawler lair, and negotiated their way out of a fight in the Retreat itself. We concluded before my reserve fight was useful, which was fine; it was back-up in case the adventure went really fast, or they decided they didn’t want to do what I had planned.

Negotiating out of the two biggest fights did not displease me; on the contrary, I value cleverness in my players far above combat prowess in their characters.

There were two mysterious elements they did not explore, and while it would have been cool if they had, the game did not suffer for the lack. Here are the mysteries.

1. The retreat had a Stenchite artifact that I statted up and historied. Not finding it meant that the characters will not understand what the Stenchites had to do with all this—which is fine.
2. The retreat also had a hunting horn that would allow the players to potentially rule the Ghelbiu, the animal-headed people that once served Sordeg and now are in this place waiting for a new ruler. They could have gotten it as a loot piece, or got some animal-headed henchmen. In any case, just fine that they didn’t put those pieces together or find the horn.

Another source of treasure: if they had a scholar or someone who at least made an effort, they could have tried to sell maps and trip reports to scholars. They didn’t, but they were not hurting for the gold, so that’s fine.

My final game element was that Hector owed Mongrok 700 gold. Well, Hector wussed out (told them later he slipped a disk in his back, whatever that means) so he didn’t even get a reimbursement for his outlay for the expedition. If we had the time and interest, he would gladly have led a commando expedition to take out Mongrok before Mongrok took him out.

As it turned out, by the end of the adventure, Brenna was no longer feeling Hector was her friend; so her new adventuring goal is to get to Grizelle’s Horde, and she’s fulfilled her original goal of helping a friend in distress.

Finally, a confession. I forgot to start the bowl with awesome points. I put points in for the headgear, and forgot the base quantity. I don’t think I’ll forget that again. And, as it was, it worked out. Still, about everybody had unspent awesome points by the end of the night. They were starting to see the beauty of the AP expenditure, but weren’t quite there at the end of the first session–to see them as more than an insurance policy.

Well played, good fun!