Why adventure? Ask the CIA!

Adventuring is a poor career choice. It's invariably dirty, almost always difficult, and usually dangerous. To be honest, being left to die alone in some cold, dark hole in the ground is one of the better outcomes for an adventurer.

Yet there is a seemingly endless stream of novices keen to endure the challenges. Why? Well, it's quite simple. Intelligence agencies have known it for years: MICE.

---

Money might be obvious, but it probably isn't actually the best motivation, and for one simple reason. It's not that you can't become fabulously wealthy, or establish yourself as some petty king out beyond the frontier. That's entirely possible, and there are plenty of stories of those who have done exactly that. But fundamentally, you have to live in order to enjoy your wealth. And when your life expectancy is measured in weeks, not months or years, that starts to look unlikely.

That's not to say nobody is motivated by money. But it's likely to be an initial motivation, rather than an ongoing one: any self-respecting adventurer will emerge from their first expedition with enough silver¹ to live quite comfortably for a while. If that first hit doesn't do it, then either something other than money is in play, or the adventurer in question has spending habits which make pawnbrokers and loan sharks rub their hands in glee.

Which, of course, is precisely the assumption of much sword-and-sorcery fiction.

Ideology creates an adventurer who is both to be feared and respected. They have nothing to prove. They owe no debts. They will meet death with a grin on their face and a blade in their hand, knowing that every foe they take with them is a good deed done.

Any character motivated by ideology will, by necessity, have a strong belief system. This might be one based on religion, and therefore one might expect explicitly religious character archetypes (Clerics, Paladins, often Druids, and others) to fall into this category. But they, too, might have other motivations. And non-religious ideology might also exist. The warrior-aristocrat with absolute conviction that goblins must be exterminated. The peasant who is certain that somewhere in the wilderness is unspoilt land where they can live free from oppression. Any of these could be quite reasonable.

Coercion is a classic, but (like money) might be time-limited. Here we find 'your loved one has been captured by the Evil Baron von Dragonstein', or 'you will die if you do not retrieve the Chalice of Eternal Life from the Well of Despair'. Such a motivation is inarguable; this adventurer will do what they must to achieve their goal. But it's also a self-limiting motivation. There's only so many times you can pull off the 'your princess is in another castle!' manoeuvre.

Oddly enough, this is somewhat better suited to a superhero game, or epic fantasy. Those genres allow for world-ending threats which compel characters to action. Frodo agrees to take the One Ring to Mordor because it is needed to save the world - not for wealth, his beliefs, or his . And while that meant he only had one adventure, it was quite a long one.

Ego is probably the most common. This may be a would-be adventurer trying to prove that they are smarter, stronger, or tougher than other. It may be someone seeking to 'get even' for a perceived slight dealt to them It may simply be someone seeking excitement not present in their day-to-day life. We all know people who indulge in dangerous hobbies for one of these reasons - and there's seemingly no shortage of people willing to undertake cave diving or climbing the eight-thousanders.

This is a motivation which, like Ideology, is endless. And it may even be self-reinforcing, if the adventurer seeks to get the same 'high' which they got from a previous excursion, they're likely to repeat the attempt time and again.

---

What does this all mean at the table? Well, for one thing I think it means that XP-for-treasure isn't actually a very good system. It incentivises getting treasure out of dungeons, but in most cases that isn't what adventurers want. For the money-seeking adventurer, it probably does make sense. But how does a game designer create a system that links character progression to their ideology or to indulging their ego?

The coerced character, incidentally, probably doesn't want progression for their story. Whether it's Mario or Bryan Mills², the story is about using the character's existing abilities to achieve a goal. 

More usefully, though: for referees, know what motivates the characters in your game, and engage with it. The character who wants to find that rich farmland? Plant rumours so they have a reason to keep exploring. The character seeking relief from a curse? Let them feel that they're making progress towards it - or feel the effects if they're not. The character who wants to prove themselves? Challenge them.

Yes, this feels like it should be obvious. But it isn't always.

And for players: know what motivates your character. When 2d6 goblins come around the corridor, what's your desired outcome? If your character believes the only good goblin is a dead one, they'll react differently to one who's only interested in getting the contents of their treasury into your treasury - or to one who really just wants to know if they've heard the good news about our lord and saviour.

Just don't get into the 'it's what my character would do' shenanigans. Your character isn't an idiot. Even if they are, you aren't. Find a way to align their goals with things your gaming group enjoys.

---

¹: Yes, I'm a silver-standard kind of guy.

²: Mario Bros had eight levels. Taken only had three. Otherwise? Basically the same story

Magic Dealers

This month's Blog Carnival is about magic shops.

I don't like magic shops. Having magic sufficiently commonplace that any town worthy of its walls has a dealer in ensorcelled household items just doesn't lend itself to the kind of adventures I enjoy.

If you want a magic item, the right and proper way to get it is to find out who owns it, and go take it from them - whether by through strength or through guile. Same goes for crafting them. If you were a good enough blacksmith to make magic items, you'd be doing that - not putting yourself in danger going down holes in the ground full of monsters. If your fantasy is pretending to be a skilled artisan, then all power to you. But maybe play a game that's about that.

But, from time to time, it's inconvenient to go and do the deed yourself. Especially if your first name is 'King' or 'Archpriest' or something like that. And likewise, if one finds a particularly lucrative vein of enchanted sandals, the average adventuring party only has so many feet to go around.

That presents two problems. One, people with money in search of magic items. And two, people with magic items in search of money. Which of course invites the existence of a third kind of person: the kind of person who will facilitate the obvious exchange of money for magic items.

That person, of course, is a dealer. They probably don't hold much of a stock. If you've got something to sell, they'll only take it up if they have a buyer in mind. Any dealer worth their salt knows lots of people who have money to burn, and what they're likely to spend it on.

Likewise, if there's something you want to buy, they probably know where to get it. Even if you don't like the answer. Almost anything can be bought for the right price. And almost anything can be stolen, given a sufficiently skilled team. The line between a fence and a dealer is awfully thin and blurry at times.

Of course, in any case you'll need to pay fair market value for the goods. Plus expenses. All strictly necessary, of course. Plus commission. Five percent for something easy. For something that takes a little more work, perhaps a little more. Or a lot. The better dealers take their profit margin on one end. The less-scrupulous, on both.

What they probably don't do is hold stock. If they don't have a customer in mind, they're not going to buy anything. They're not going to be stuck with two dozen Vorpal Cake Forks if they can help it. But if they come across someone doing battle with a particularly tough batch of shortbread, they'll know just who to speak to. Most of the time, if there's something you want, you'll have to wait. Perhaps a long time. Even if you're selling, you've still got to find them first. Depending on their clients, and their relationship with the law, that may take some time.

They're also full of story hooks:

• They'll gladly suggest that a low-level party might enter a certain ruin and recover a specific relic, and that they'd certainly offer a reward.
• They may require escort across a particularly dangerous area. Obviously they've got a bodyguard... but sometimes more muscle is needed.
• One of their clients neglected to pay the bill. The debt is now overdue to an embarrassing extent. A team of specialists is required to repossess the goods
• A rival dealer has been poaching their clients. Something needs to be done about it. And there are so many bandits about...
• A dealer necessarily has excellent connections to people with power and influence. Need an introduction? Your dealer probably knows someone.
• Having finally made your way to the level where you can afford their services, well, your gold is the same colour as anyone else's

Dragons; the view from below

Sea of Stars is hosting the Blog Carnival again:

https://seaofstarsrpg.wordpress.com/2025/02/05/beginning-this-months-rpg-blog-carnival-dragon-neighbors-how-do-you-live-with-a-dragon-nearby/

So how do you live next door to a dragon?

Well, if you're an ordinary person, it might not be all that bad. See, dragons and lords don't get on. If you've got a lord, they show with all their cronies – sorry, 'knights' – up talking nonsense about who can fish in what pond, demanding your best cattle, and all that kind of thing. Then their lord shows up, or Gods forbid the King, and you've got to show up at the castle, looking all happy to be a day behind on your fieldwork while you wait at table.

Seriously, fuck lords.

A dragon, meanwhile... sure, they take the occasional cow as well. But only for themselves, so it works out less in the long run. But they don't care who does what where. Or with whom, come to that. They collect weird shit. Gold mostly. But then so do some lords, and at least the dragons don't increase taxes over it.

Yeah, if you're a peasant, a dragon isn't a bad neighbour at all.

The trouble comes, once again, with lords.

See, those lords think they have a right to the land, and everything that came from it. They want as much as they can get, even if they can't actually use it. And that means they hate dragons. To a lord, a dragon is a fire-spewing flying monster that'll kill their 'knights', burn 'their' crops (guess who suffers then) and steal their gold.

Well, sometimes it's daughters, but really that's just a roundabout way of getting gold.

Anyway. To a lord, a dragon is something that needs to be killed. Sending 'knights' out is a fool's game. Dealing with dragons means sending out a small, hand-picked team of experts. They're damn good at it, at least if the lord forks out for good ones. But Gods, those lot - they call themselves 'adventurers' - are arrogant, self-entitled dicks. Worse than the lords, somehow.

Then, after they've come through (and usually burnt someone's house down), they need paying. So the taxes go up. Or worse, one of them gets made a new lord.

Did I say that 'adventurers' are the worst? I was wrong. They get even more intolerable when they have land and a castle.

But the worst case is when the dragon doesn't get killed. Then you've got a pissed off dragon out to deal with a threat. And a pissed off lord who wants to get rid of the problem they created. And who suffers for it?

You know damn well who. The ordinary person.

A Fighty Pile Of Slush

Blech. I've been trying to come up with a variant Fighter class for B/X derivatives.

Trouble is, so has everyone else, and all my ideas are either (a) ones that someone has already tried or (b) difficult to implement sensibly.

So instead of turning them into a coherent class, here's a mini slush pile. Some of it leans quite heavily on posts at Methods & Madness, particularly this one and this one, as well as Chainmail – whose Fighting-Man was clearly supernatural.

Hey, if we've got someone in their dressing gown chucking fireballs around, and someone else in a leather waistcoat climbing sheer walls, I think the person who's good at fighting should be really good.

Bump hit dice up one size. This was based on the idea that a Normal Human has 1 HD, rather than ½ HD, while sticking with the d8 standard. This lets Mages be a bit stronger than standard rules, with d6 hit dice, but still weaker than your average peasant. Thieves get a d8. And Fighters get a d10.

Attack Bonus: Fighters add their full level to attack rolls. Clerics and Thieves add three-quarters, and Mages add half, rounded down.

Multiple Attacks: Each round, a Fighter can attack a total number of HD of creatures equal to their level. Against creatures of equal or higher HD, only one attack can be made.

Morale Effects: From Chainmail. A 4th-level Hero gives allies a +1 benefit to morale checks, and the Fighter isn't targeted by humanoid enemies of 2 HD or less while in company with allies of 2 HD or less. Chainmail uses the term 'Ordinary Man', obviously a better one is needed.

At 8th level, when the Fighter charges into melee, the group of enemies receiving the charge must make a morale check or flee.

Strike Down Foe: Another cool effect from Chainmail. At 4th level, a Fighter has a chance to knock a dragon or other flying creature from the air with a bow (or presumably other projectile weapon). At 8th level, that chance improves. In Chainmail, the cutoffs are 10 and 8 on a 2d6 attack roll, but this doesn't work as well in a d20+mods vs. AC system. More work needed.

See Invisible: One last Chainmail feature. The Fighter gains the ability, perhaps at 8th level, to see invisible creatures within 30 feet.

Progression: +1 to attack and +1 HD per level. Don't know about XP at high levels, but then isn't high level play a myth? Anyway, I'm very into the Boasts mechanic from Wolves upon the Coast at the moment, which kills off XP entirely.

Game Report: Scurry, Session 1

The Goblovna¹ has always been a bit sceptical of the whole 'roleplaying game' thing. In part because being handed a 300-page technical manual to read isn't her idea of a fun time.

Strange I know.

But evidently I've been doing something right as an ambassador for the hobby, because she asked me to run a game for her and two friends - themselves gamers. We settled on Scurry! from Stout Stoat games, because (a) the actual rules fit on one page, and (b) the allure of playing as a cute woodland creature was strong. Although, as things turned out, 'cute' may not have been quite the right word.

Characters were:

Helizabeth: A hedgehog poulticepounder, apparently unaware she is a hedgehog. Married to Weatherwarts the toad for three years, bearing him two children before he absconded.

Wee Bobbins: A robin mapmaker. Had an on-again, off-again casual relationship with Weatherwarts the toad. Apparently it's all about the tongue. It's now been off for entirely too long.

Stevie: A stoat willowweaver. Certainly not to be called Stevie the Stoat. Had a one-night stand with Weatherwarts the toad. He promised the world, and the next morning was nowhere to be seen. The bounder.

Our three heroes were on their way to visit the (allegedly) immortal, (allegedly) unknowing tortoise Sekani at the underground city of Summit, seeking information about their shared ex-lover. Nearing the city, they were approached by the magpie Cinead. Barred from entering the city as his guild - the all-magpie Knowers - were barred, he offered a trade of favours: if the party would have an ancient scroll left by the Titans (now-extinct humans) translated, he would aid them in finding Weatherwarts.

The party, of course, agreed. They were, however, dismayed to find that there was a lengthy queue to enter, as the city's Crestguard registered all visitors. And, to the horror of Wee Bobbins, even sealed the wings of birds with wax, to prevent flight in the burrows. Given that time was a factor, this wasn't going to work.

Helizabeth reconnoitred the area, finding a back gate where large animals brought carts of supplies for trade, though not before the group insulted a road-weary fox from south of the Twice-Built Titan Wall. With a judiciously placed honeyed oatcake, they were able to stop one such cart, and (with a certain degree of difficulty in Helizabeth's case) snuck into its bed, concealing themselves among its cargo. After easily evading a cursory search from a badger of the Crestguard, they were soon deposited at the loading dock of the Scribes Guild.

Stevie exited the cart with rather more speed than elegance, leading to one of the workers dropping a parcel which burst, spreading rags around the room and filling the air with dust. The party took advantage of the chaos to dash for cover, with Helizabeth's sensitive nose directing them towards a storeroom.

After a short period of moving from room to room, the party found themselves with a choice: take a doorway into a foul-smelling room, or climb one of two shafts - one smelling of baking pies, the other of dust. Wee Bobbins, their wings unbound, flew up the dusty shaft, dodging a scrunched-up sheet of paper to find a small room at the top, barely large enough for one beast. One of its three doors was just closing, showing a large space beyond filled with bookshelves and desks.

Deducing that this must be the library, the rest of the party followed. Helizabeth rolled across the library, establishing that the doors on the other side were locked. Stevie, meanwhile, found the library's inquiry desk. This, it was agreed, was a much more useful source of information on the whereabouts of Sekani.

The party also realised that nobody in the library knew they had bypassed the security on the gate. So long as Wee Bobbins concealed the fact that they hadn't had their wings sealed - easily achieved by wearing their raincoat - this ought to remain true. And as it turned out, they were right. The tortoise was in fact in the guest chambers through an adjoining door.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the party had been under a missapprehension about the knowledge of Sekani. The tortoise was certainly wise, but not in fact all-knowing - they had no knowledge of Weatherwarts himself, but offered a number of insights about the nature of men. Sekani then translated the Titan scroll, explaining that it contained instructions for the operation of a device used by Titans to hear voices over a great distance. Thereupon, they instructed that the vents should be opened, allowing cold air in so that the tortoise could hibernate for the winter.

On departing, the party saw the same fox whom they had offended arriving in the visitors lodgings, although she did not notice them. One of the librarians, however, asked the departing party if they had seen the Russet Queen, visiting from south of the Twice-Built Titan Wall - this, they realised, must be the fox.

I'm sure nothing bad will happen there.

Before leaving the city, Helizabeth visisted the Poulticepounders to obtain the ingredients of some poison with which to 'deal with' Weatherwarts. Wee Bobbins visited the Mapmakers to find a map showing the location of Blueberry Pond, the presumed home of Weatherwarts. And Stevie visited the Willoweavers to see the basket exhibition and to obtain some crafting materials.

Helizabeth and Stevie's visits went without problem. The clerk at the Mapmakers guild pointed out to Wee Bobbins, however, that her wax seal appeared to have fallen off... a thing that sometimes happens, no great cause for concern - just make sure to visit the nearest Crestguard post to have it reapplied. Which, of course, Wee Bobbins did, discovering that her identity needed to be cross-checked against a registration number.

Which she didn't have.

Fearing discovery, she cried out, flashed her red breast², and swooped away while the newt guard investigated what seemed to be some commotion further away. The party reunited near the city gate, where Wee Bobbins informed her companions that they'd need to provide details to the guard to get out.

After a certain amount of bluffing from Helizabeth, another shriek-and-dash from a poorly-hidden Wee Bobbins, and some flirting from Stevie, the party departed the city hastily and with the impression that their return would be unwelcome, and found a quiet spot to await the return of Cinead. Once concealed, Wee Bobbins used her paints to make a copy of the translated Titan Scroll.

Cinead agreed to arrange transport Blueberry Pond in exchange for the translated scroll, and would return the next day to finalise the deal. Overnight, Helizabeth brewed her poison, and Stevie prepared weapons.

Did I mention that Scurry! has no rules for combat, or indeed for character death?

The transport turned out to be Tallfellow, a stork, who would fly the party to their destination. Cinead offered the possibility of extra work - he could help the party find Weatherwarts, and then they'd owe him a favour. This proposal caused them to distrust him, not helped when they insisted on retaining control of the scroll until they reached Blueberry Pond. Cinead, apparently not trusting the party, implied that they might not reach their destination - after all, the scroll would survive a fall, but they might not.

He, and they, appeared not to consider that this was a rather ineffectual threat to Wee Bobbins. Instead, the party determined to pre-emptively poison Cinead in self-protection - a plan which succeeded. Tallfellow, apparently not wishing to incur the party's displeasure, gladly agreed to take the party to Blueberry Pond. After all, there was good fishing to be had there, and Cinead was no friend of his - he only owed a favour.

Tallfellow made a couple of low swoops over Blueberry Pond, sending the residents fleeing for their lives, before landing to drop the party in the village square, Charlie's Angels style. The hunt for Weatherwarts is on.

Blog Carnival: The Bridge Between Worlds

The RPG Blog Carnival for this month takes The Worlds Between as its theme. Bridges always feel like a liminal space to me. You're neither on one bank nor the other, but floating in between. Especially when it's foggy, or dark.

The Bridge Between Worlds takes this to its logical conclusion.

Obviously, a properly constructed bridge is anchored in reality at both ends. But in the proper conditions, where one end loses sight of the other, those anchors can drag. Those journeying across the bridge may not arrive in the usual place. You may just wind up in a foreign land. Or perhaps Faerie. Or the deepest circles of Hell. It is difficult to be sure.

And if you should leave the bridge, you had better be quick about your business. If the fog lifts, or daybreak comes, or the bridge otherwise becomes properly anchored in reality... well, good luck finding your way back. It can be done, of course. But it is not without danger.

This only has to happen once or twice before superstitions arise. In this village, there is a great bonfire lit at either end of the bridge, to drive off fog. In that town, there is a curfew between dusk and dawn. And the City of A Thousand Bridges addresses the problem with artificial islands and very short spans.

And where there are bridges, there are bound to be rivers. Where there are rivers, there are boats. Some of these boats are occupied by the Traders. They have mastered the arts of navigation between realities. Always secretive, often strange, they trade in the most remarkable of goods, and take payment in the oddest forms. Consult your favourite table of fey bargains, goblin markets, or devilish contracts.

But there are also pirates and raiders. After all, the margin between 'hard bargain' and 'armed robbery' can be a thin one. If your victims can't pursue, and you're not planning on coming back... Well, how sure are you that those traders aren't just taking your children's future in exchange for some shiny gewgaw?

Hit Points as an ability score?

I like thinking about alternative ability scores for D&D-like systems. Taking a bit of inspiration from Call of Cthulhu's Sanity score, here's an alternative take on character survivability.

Characters have Hit Points. For the sakes of a D&D-like system, this can range from 1 to 20, but is initially determined by rolling 3d6 modified by Constitution. A character with 21 Hit Points (theoretically possible only by rolling 18 HP and 18 Con) is a Conan-type superhero, as close to invincible as it comes. A character with 1 Hit Point is as close to death as can be imagined. A character with 0 Hit Points is dead.

There is no such thing as a Hit Die. Maybe Fighter-types roll highest 3 of 4d6, and Magician-types roll the lowest 3 of 4d6.

When a character takes damage, they must roll a Hit Point check, 1d20 under their current Hit Points. On a failure, they take a high amount of damage. On a success, they take a low amount or none. This may be expressed as '0/1' - for some minor nuisance - or something like '1d6/3d6' for a deadly threat.

If a character takes more than one-third¹ of their current Hit Points in damage, they must make a Constitution check or suffer a lingering wound.

If a character gets a full day's rest, and does not have any lingering wounds, they may make a Hit Point check. On a failure, they gain one Hit Point. They may not do this, and make a Constitution check to recover from disease, on the same day, meaning that disease prolongs healing, and wounds prolong illness. Or maybe Hit Points are entirely non-renewable, in which case characters will not live long...

Hit Points do not scale with level in this system. I'd suggest using this alongside an armour system where better armour reduces the damage taken, rather than one which reduces the rate of hits. This allows for diegetic advancement.

This isn't entirely compatible with my earlier thoughts on wounds. It's not fully thought through either. But there's probably some merit in it somewhere.

Beyond Vancian Magic: The Magic of Poetry

A late second entry for Beyond Vancian Magic, that came to me while sick and watching kids movies.

Freeform casting. That's not unique. But how about... you can cast anything you like. But you have to be able to express it in rhyming couplets.

Maximum number of syllables per line is equal to your casting ability – level, or something else, as you see fit. Interpretation up to the referee, who should be consistent with the player's intent and their power levels. More able casters should be able to use their increased number of syllables to create more powerful or more precise effects.

At second level, Be gone/Long one will dispel a snake. Lightning, thunder, all around/Soon the rain will hit the ground may summon a thunderstorm, but needs a powerful magician.

And portable illumination at first level? That needs imagination. The obvious one is.... Rather scatological.

1d6 Celestial Phenomena

Eldritch Fields requested 1d6 celestial phenomena for the OSR Discord's 2024 Secret Santicorn¹. Also, the Goblette (Goblina?) has reminded me that it was, in fact, her idea that the Christmas elves should form a trade union. So whoever's drawn that one... the credit is not due to me.

1. All three moons - the Red, White, and Black - are full.

All that stuff that happens on a full moon? It happens eightfold. The tides are so high that ships are sailing on the market square. All wolves are werewolves, and all men bitten are turned. All emotions are heightened (roll 1d12 instead of 2d6 for reactions and morale). Wilderness encounters at night have a 50% chance of being rolled on the table for daylight.

2. Meteor storm.

The emphasis here is on storm. The sky burns bright with bolides. Find cover, and quickly; it'll sound like a cross between hailstones the size of grapefruits, and the biggest thunderstorm you've ever heard. Find cover quickly. Soft objects - livestock, crops, wooden boats, the cheaper sort of house - will be destroyed over the course of a bombardment that lasts 1d6 hours. If caught outside, save vs. breath or take 1d6 damage per turn until you find protection. Your shield counts - once. 

3. Eclipse.

The sun is blotted out. Total darkness reigns for 2d4 minutes. During this time, any food prepared is poisonous (save vs. death or suffer consequences). All creatures aligned to Chaos have advantage on their rolls; all creatures aligned to Order have disadvantage. Rituals to summon demons etc. automatically succeed.

4. The Killing Star

A bizarre, polychromatic star is visible in the sky for 1d12 hours. 50/50 chance whether it rises at dusk or sets at dawn. Either way, anyone looking at it must save vs. death or be driven into a murderous rage. until the star is no longer visible. When in this state, they are overcome by bloodlust and cannot rest while any creature within sight remains alive.

5. Lights in the Sky

The heavens are illuminated with the shimmering lights of the heavens in motion as the spirits of the deceased dance overhead. Divine spells cast during this time are treated as though the caster were one level higher than their actual level. Prayers made have a 1% chance per level of being granted. Any character raised from the dead does not suffer from weakness, but has vivid recollections of the joyous time spent among their ancestors and experiences a longing to return to them.

6. A Child Is Born.

A great comet appears in the sky, its tail pointing the way toward the place of the Chosen One. Unfortunately, sages are divided on what, exactly, the One was Chosen for. Those seeking them should beware false prophets, inflated profits, and very naughty boys. Should they be found, it's sure that they'll be in need of an entourage.

Beyond Vancian Magic: Skills for the Magic-User

As I mentioned in my last post, I've been messing around with the Thief. Actually, I've been thinking about character classes generally, and that includes the Magic-User. Magician. Mage. Wizard. Whatever you like to call them.

Which ties neatly in with the December RPG Blog Carnival theme, Beyond Vancian Magic.

I'll be honest, I actually quite like Vancian magic on magic-users¹, although I do still need to read some actual Vance to fully appreciate the nuances. But the classic old-school D&D magic-user suffers a little, in my view, from trying to make everything a spell.

Why is that a problem?

Well, when everything is a spell, everything depends on being able to cast spells. Hence the question of what use a Magic-User is without any spell slots. Later editions of the game solve this with zero-level spells that don't require any resources. That's certainly one way to solve the problem. Not necessarily a good way, but definitely a way.

Another is to have the Magic-User do useful but non-magical, as suggested on I Cast Light! several years ago. And I'm sure by countless people who didn't have blogs over the preceding forty-plus years. Which is, again, perfectly viable. And whilst spell scrolls contribute, they don't entirely solve the problem.

But there are a couple of things that Magic-Users probably ought to be able to do, which most OSR games require a spell for, or just don't permit.

Read Magic

Seriously, what use is a magic-user who can't read magic? How are they learning spells, deciphering inscriptions, and so forth otherwise? Just give it to them as a free ability. Level 1, straight out of the gates, no resource required.

Yeah, there's a risk that they can cast their one freaking spell and then move onto scrolls at Level 1. The great thing about scrolls? They're one and done. If it's a problem, stop leaving so many scrolls lying around in your dungeons.

Detect Magic

This one needs a bit more care. It's a bit more powerful than read magic, but it still feels like something that a magic-user should just be able to do. I'm on the fence about whether this should just work, or require a roll. My instinct is that it just works, but it takes an entire exploration turn. Instead of searching for traps, or listening at a door, the magic-user can attune to the ambient magical field to find any magic items within 60 feet.

If that's a bit too powerful, you could make it require a roll - on my 2d6 system, an ability of +3 in Detect Magic, modified by Intelligence, feels appropriate. Alternatively, rule that if any spell is actually cast within 60 feet of the magic-user, the disruption to the local magical field is so intense that the ability is temporarily ineffective. The magic-user might even be rendered incapable through the magical backlash.

Counter Spell

This is, unaccountably, entirely missing from the OD&D and B/X magic-user, yet feels like a core part of the fantasy archetype. A magic-user ought to be able to (or at least have a chance to) prevent the casting of a spell by an opponent. Fortunately, Chainmail² does have such rules. And with a little tweaking, they work quite well.

When in combat, a magic-user may name a target, and declare that they are going to attempt to counter its spell, rather than cast one of their own. A Counter Spell roll is then called for, with a skill at 1st level of +3. Modifiers to be applied are

• The counterspelling magic-user's Wisdom modifier. Yes, Wisdom.³ 
• ±1 for each level by which the magic-user's level is above or below the target's level.

This roll takes place regardless of which side wins initiative. There's therefore a risk/reward calculation: the player will certainly be unable to take any other action, but has a chance (and likely not a bad one) of preventing their opponent from acting.

Spell Casting

One of the innovations from 5e that's actually quite elegant is the concept of 'upcasting'. Rather than the power of a spell such as fire ball being determined by the level of the magic-user, it is instead determined by the level of the spell slot employed.

For the purposes of adapting to OSR rulesets, I'd suggest determining spell effects as at the lowest possible level (e.g. a 5d6 fire ball), then increasing the effects by two levels' worth for each level of upcasting. This probably needs adjusted with playtesting.

Employed alongside traditional Vancian spell preparation, this weakens the magic-user somewhat at higher levels by directly reducing the power of low-level spells, and increasing competition for higher-level slots. 

If you wanted to chuck on some minor magical effects, I don't see why you couldn't. Cantrips with appreciable mechanical effects undermine the resource management aspects of the game. A magic-user should be appreciably less effective once they're out of spells. But something like 'heat a bowl of soup to a pleasant warmth' or 'create a dim glow, similar to a lit match' isn't game breaking.

Oh, and you can't move and cast a spell on the same turn.⁴ All the gesticulating, you see.

Spell Recovery

There's still the problem of magic-users getting back their spells far too quickly compared to hit point recovery. Allowing one spell to be regained per night's rest works out about right; the magic-user will regain all their spells more quickly than the fighter regains their hit points, but only by a factor of two or so. Here, I'd say that spell recovery should generally respect level progression, with lower-level spells recovered before higher-level ones.

More Linear?

Taken together, I think this gives a magic-user that better embodies the fantasy at low levels, through the Read Magic, Detect Magic, and Counter Spell abilities. The power is reined in slightly at higher levels, resulting in magic-users who are slightly less world-changing.

Yes, it's still basically Vancian. Which feels like a bit of a cop-out. But the flavour of the classic magic-user feels basically just right - just a dash of seasoning and a little garnish needed to make the dish what it needs to be.

¹: Clerics are another (more complicated) matter.

²: The counterspell mechanics from newer editions are either uselessly clunky (3.5e) or too powerful (5e).

³: Or Will, when I get around to my take on ability scores.

⁴: Getting the impression I'm B/Xifying Chainmail and OD&D yet?

Thoughts on a Skill System

 As is tradition, I've been redesigning the Thief¹. Probably nothing novel, I may or may not post it the end.

But I'm drawn to a 2d6 skill system. Why? Partly because of the pleasing bell curve effect - a novice might succeed, a master will almost always succeed. And that eases itself into allowing some advanced thief abilities, i.e. the notorious 'climbing upside down and horizontally, voice skills such as mimicry and ventriloquism, and other skills of deception'. Yes, I have thoughts in that direction.

But there's another reason. Building on Dyson's d6 and 2d6 Thiefin' for Basic Dungeons & Dragons, the 2d6 range lends itself to adding ability modifiers to the roll. Specifically, for a roll-high 2d6 system:

• A 1-in-6 chance requires a roll of 10 or higher
• 2-in-6 requires 9 or higher
• 3-in-6 requires a 7 or 8 - there's no clean way to get a 50/50 outcome on 2d6
• 4-in-6 requires a 6 or higher
• 5-in-6 requires 5 or higher

Why are those numbers important?

Well, if one uses the B/X ability score modifiers, the maximum modifier applied is ±3. Which means, if trying to roll a 1-in-6 chance, even a particularly inept character (with -2 in the relevant ability) can succeed on a natural 12. And if trying to roll against a 5-in-6 chance, a particularly adept character (with a +3 in the ability) is guaranteed to succeed.

Placing success at a modified roll of 10 or more works pretty well with Dyson's table - converting his target numbers to skill modifiers - and also with Open Doors as a skill modified by Strength. Those who are foolish brave enough to delve in dungeons will tend to have some aptitude in this region - a +2 works out about right.

This means that while ability scores are helpful, skill matters more. Even a particularly inept 1st-level Thief, with a +5 to Climb Sheer Surfaces but a -3 to Strength²has a +2 - i.e. about a 3-in-6 chance - of success. They may be feeble, but they know some tricks. 

Yes, I know that skill systems create all sorts of issues. We'll get there. But B/X has a skill system anyway. It just doesn't tell you about it. If you're going to have a Thief, you need to address those issues. We shall get there.