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.

Arcane Practitioners of the Sunset Isles

This month's RPG Blog Carnival, hosted by Forsaken Garden, takes Haves and Have Nots as a subject. This actually aligns with some of my setting thinking for the Sunset Isles, which I envisage as an intensely class-based society - almost, but not quite, a caste system. Manorialism and seigneurage - the systems which create what is described as ‘feudalism’ - are order of the day. The setup owes a certain amount to Skerples on the Three Estates, though my treatment differs from his.

For the purpose of this writeup, I'm largely concerned with human society. It's an unapologetically humanocentric setting. I've not decided yet whether to run this setting using race-as-class, and I'm not even entirely sure which demihumans are even present. But for the sake of discussion, and where relevant, this assumes the classic seven B/X classes.

Likewise, the Faith isn't yet fully defined. It's probably polytheistic with an emphasis on orthopraxy over orthodoxy. See Practical Polytheism for some thoughts on what that means. It's not trying to root out schisms and burn heretics, though, which is a little boring. There again, the god of thunder hurling actual bolts of lightning might make up for that, and it opens the door to all sorts of cults¹.

There's a lot to unpack here, so I'm going to focus on magic. There are three real routes to arcane magic in the Sunset Isles. Through the Faith, through apprenticeship, or through witchcraft. But first, let's briefly discuss divine magic.

Burn the Cleric!

First off, divine magic - that is to say, Clerics - is considered dangerous blasphemy. It is not the place of mere mortals to treat directly with gods. And, moreover, it is downright dangerous. If myths have taught the people of the Sunset Isles anything, it's that when people come to the attention of gods, it goes Very Badly Indeed for the world. The mythology isn't in any way worked up yet... but look at what happened when Paris was merely asked to settle an argument between Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. Sure, observe the proper rituals, offer the correct powers - but if you talk to the gods, and they talk back, you'd better be scared.

As a result, anyone professing to have dealings with the gods is likely to be persecuted by the Faith. In extremis, things like autos-da-fé are quite possible. If anyone were foolish enough to practice divine magic openly, that is. Instead, Clerics and their ilk do one of two things. They conceal their magical abilities. Or, they pretend to be Magic-Users, usually either Sanctioned Wizards or Witches. Since meaningful magical power isn't commonplace, the average person isn't likely to know that purify water isn't a spell known to wizardry. They'll just be grateful they've not got dysentery.

Which brings us around to the meat and potatoes of this. Magic-Users.

Sanctioned Wizards

The Faith is easily the most socially acceptable source of magical learning. It's really quite respectable, even. They have whole monastic colleges dedicated to the study within the great Universities of the Isles. The Faculty of Arcana sits alongside Theology, Law and Medicine as one of the respectable subjects for a scholar to study, having completed their mastery of the Arts.

Sure, you have to make a suitably large donation to the college - a couple of manors or something similar will usually do - even to be accepted as a novice. Then you have to deal with the junior orders making your life miserable. Because what kind of boarding school-cum-cum-monastery would be complete without hazing. But eventually you get to take your vows and actually start learning magic.

At least, in between copying out spells, preparing reagents, and (for some reason the Archmage won't explain) sweeping the cloisters anticlockwise in 6/8 time. In time, you will progress through the degrees of Arcana, hopefully culminating in recognition as a Doctor of Arcana. This qualifies you to practice as a Sanctioned Wizard, with the full approval of the Faith, and committed to a life of secluded learning and worship within the college - unless, of course, their abilities are needed elsewhere in the service of the Gods.

Sounds great, doesn't it?

Wizards Anathema

Well, not for everyone. Every now and again, a Sanctioned Wizard wraps up their spellbook in a spare robe, dons a pointed cap, and sets off into the wider world looking for adventure. Having turned their back on the Faith (or at least their college), these wizards are declared Anathema, and adventure usually finds them. Equally usual is that they discover that, actually, adventure involves long hours, constant danger, and little reward. Whereupon there are plenty of nobles who are quite willing to provide generous rewards, a nice safe tower to work from, and ask only for the occasional casting of locate object when a passing dragon has pinched their favourite crown. Sure, they can't exactly quit, on account of all those nice men with shiny armour and pointy spears who come find them if they wander off. But the bars on the windows are lovely and gilded.

Once in a while, a Wizard Anathema discovers that they're actually quite good at the adventuring thing, and it's not nearly so horrible once you've learnt the tricks of the trade. These fortunate individuals have a tendency, in time, to build their own towers. This time, with no bars (though the gilding is often present elsewhere), and the armed guards are looking outwards. It's all rather civilised, even if they're not exactly in the habit of explaining what the tower is actually for.

In either case, while secretive about their knowledge, Wizards Anathema also love showing off how clever they are. Which means either picking fights with other Wizards (this is about as safe as playing dodgeball with hand grenades) or picking an apprentice. Apprentices have the great advantages of (a) being easy to impress, and (b) being free labour. All you have to do is feed them and teach them a few minor enchantments. Eventually they either wander off to have their own adventures, or show enough promise that some other noble offers them a tower of their very own.

Of course, if lots of one's former apprentices go on to good jobs.... well, that just means you taught them well. So successful Wizards Anathema can wind up having a lot of sway at court. They get more pay. Taller towers. And fewer spears pointed at them. All of which is to say, being a Wizard Anathema can be really quite rewarding, once you've got past the 'dead and/or captive' part.

Witchcraft

Contrary to popular belief, not all witches are old women living in huts in the woods. The converse, however, is likely to be true: a disproportionate number of old women living in huts in the woods are, in fact, witches. That's mostly because living that way without magic on your side is a good way to be eaten by a hungry owlbear.

In fact, witchcraft is just an oral tradition of arcane magic. Its practitioners are mostly ordinary people - peasants, artisans, the occasional merchant or noble. And, as a result, both the Faith and the nobility -and often successful commoners - hate witches. Exploiting the labour of others is much harder when they turn you into a newt, after all. 

The result is that witches form themselves into a decentralised network of covens, each having at least three members, and no more than thirteen. New recruits to the craft are brought up within their coven, learning from their elders. As they learn, it is commonplace to move from one coven to another, gaining new contacts and techniques. Social pressures do mean that there are more female than male witches, perhaps in a ratio of two to one - men with an interest in the arcane have an easier path towards wizardry. But they are equally likely to be found in towns as the countryside - in fact, it is easier to organise a coven in a town - and there is no particular age preference for entering the craft.

Since most covens have connections to at least one other coven, the social ties within the community of witches are broad, but shallow - individual covens are communes of equals, regardless of social status. With no hierarchy, individual witches are do as they see fit, moving freely to wherever they are needed - or where they need to be. Which means that there's a reasonable chance (not high... but appreciable) of encountering a wandering witch, something which can't be said of wizards.

This even applies to the most powerful witches. Occasionally, some will seek to hoard knowledge and power, becoming reclusive - these are generally known as hags - but overwhelmingly, the greatest witches are at the centre of covens of those who benefit from their mentorship. Of course, these witches and their acolytes also attract the enemies of witchcraft.

Oh, and Elves?

Elves are weird. Best way to conceive of them is that the average Sunset Islander reacts to meeting an Elf about the same way you or I would react if Lancelot or Guinevere wandered down the street in full Arthurian regalia.

One aspect of this is that - quite unlike humans - it is expected that an elf will be capable of magic. Precisely how this skill is gained remains unclear, for elves do not appear to memorise spells in the same way as humans.²

It is understood that their arcane abilities are inherited, rather than learned, but that tutelage from another elf is required to fully realise them. Thus, the occasional elf raised outside elven society may not display any magical ability at all.

This is, if anything, even more unsettling to the Sunset Islanders. Because what is the point of a legendary being if they don't even have that which separates them from ordinary people?

Thinking Ahead to 2025

Taking a leaf from Messages from the Far Havens, I thought I'd talk a little about the games I'd like to run in 2025. Partly to pin down some ideas, partly in hopes that by telling the blogosphere I might discover some accountability.

• Some kind of Old-School Essentials campaign seems pretty much inevitable. I have ideas coming out of my ears for one. Really just need to get a reliable table together - my attempts at regular gaming this year have been cursed by availability. Partly my own, to be fair. The idea of getting an open table going for a bit of dungeon crawling, wilderness exploration, and maybe eventually domain play is seductive... but one must learn to crawl before climbing a mountain.
• My wife is keen for me to run Scurry for her and some friends. This one just needs putting in the calendar, to be honest.
• I'd meant to run some Dungeon Crawl Classics one-shots this year. Seems unlikely to happen now, but the system is good fun and well suited to a beer-and-pretzels type game. Not that any game I run is likely to feature beer, and pretzels aren't my snack of choice. But you take the point I'm sure.
• The early mediaeval setting of BEOWULF: Age of Heroes really pushes my buttons, as does the amount of work that's gone into it. This one could well be a monthly(ish) game, and the design as a duet game helps with the whole scheduling issue.
• The simplicity of the Year Zero Engine is really appealing. Forbidden Lands has a reputation for being brutal, and the assumption of the system seems to be campaign play. But with a little thought perhaps a short campaign might work... and not depress everyone too much.
• Will this be the year I start my 5th Edition Grand Realms Campaign? Probably not. This might be my white whale.
• More board games with my wife. We have more than enough of them. 

What's actually going to happen? Who knows. But 2024 has been a bad year for me for gaming. Hopefully 2025 will be a better one.