Playtest

We have playtested the Rogue Class in my version of an infinite
dungeon. The dungeon is basically an infinite series of rooms that has
one entrance and two exits, each exit leads to a new room. Each room
is randomly rolled to see if there are any monsters, pussles, quests,
challenges and what types of exits there are.

My friend Jens played a single rogue with the following house rules.

House Rules
– The character start with 10 in Strength, Endurance and Agility.
– At character creation you can distribute 3 points to the above attributes.
– The total value in Endurance is your maximum life.
– The total value in Agility is the maximum amount of re-rolls you can
do per level.
– When all Agility points have been used the character can level up.
– The character can only level up when he is out of an encounter. Ie,
if he is occupied by a monster or any other challenge no leveling up
can be done.
– When leveling up the character get 1 point to distribute to either
Strength, Endurance and Agility.
– For every even level the character gains a new ability is learnt. We
discussed this during game play and decided together how to arrange it
mechanically.
– All challenges and difficulty tests were made with a roll of 1d20.
If the roll was lower than the appropriate attribute (Strength,
Endurance, Agility) the roll was successful. Agility points could also
be spent to reroll.
– Monsters in the dungeon used the Mage, Rogue or the Fighter template
to resolve combats. A snake used the Rogue, a Wizard used the Mage
template for example. This meant that I had to come up with rhyming
poems on the fly.

Abilities
The point of gaining an ability on each even level was to give an
oportunity to change the game play and not to just increase another
attribute in a linear fashion. We discussed some different things you
could do but only tested two abilities.

The first ability was to let the Rogue “pay” one pair of his dice in
order to make a second roll with the four remaining dice and so add
extra damage in that turn. For example: The Rogue roll three of a kind
(3 damage) and one pair (1 damage) which would do 4 damage in total.
He could then discard the one pair and make an additional roll with
the 4 remaining dice. In this way he would do 3 damage from the three
of a kind and plus the damage he rolls in the second roll after he has
discarded one pair. As soon as he has discarded one pair he could not
use any agility points to re roll.

The second ability I used when Jens was fighting a giant snake.
Whenever the snake was attacked the snake rolled 6 dice and reduced
the damage taken with the score he got. The Snake could not use any
agility points to reroll this defensive roll.

Special Cases
When Jens fought the snake he decided to try to point out the eyes of
the snake. Jens then made an Agility check with a 1d20 and compared
the result with the same check for the snake. Jens won and blinded the
snake. I then removed two dice from the snake’s available dice, ie the
snake could then only roll 4 dice to attack and defend.

Seventh: Class Edition

Introduction

Through some inspiration I decided to make Classes for this role playing system. There was one intention involved when spawning the ideas for the classes that will be listed below. An intention to create a system that is not streamlined. An attempt to bring back a naivety to role playing mechanics where everything does not have to be logical and made up of templates that fit all classes.

Overview

Each class uses a different method for resolving the success of combat and their specific class abilities. There are only three classes outlined this far: Thief, Mage and Fighter.

 

The Thief

The Thief uses 6d6 in order to determine the outcome of combat. The thief can roll all of the six dices once and the result of the six dice will have an effect as is outlined in the table here below.

Attacks	Dice combination	Effect
Normal hit	One Pair	1 Endurance reduction
Wounding hit	Two Pair	2 Endurance reduction
Bleeding hit	Three of a kind	3 Endurance reduction
Critical hit	Four of a kind	4 Endurance reduction
Severing hit	Five of a kind	5 Endurance reduction
Leathal hit	Six of a kind	6 Endurance Reduction

The Thief also has class abilities that are outlined below.

Skills	Dice combination	Effect
Thieving	Four in a row	Stealing and unlocking locks are successful
Lay/disarm trap	Five in a row	Arming and disarming traps are successful
Sneaking	Six in a row	You move unseen
Subdue	Full house	You make people act and talk to your will by influencing them.

The Mage

The Mage use poetry in order to cast magic. The power of his magic is depending on three types of rhymes and how many lines he use to cast a spell. The three rhyme types are: Alliteration, End Rhyme and Internal Rhyme.

Alliteration is when two sequential words in the same line starts with the same syllable. End rhyme is when the last word in two lines sound the same. Internal rhyme is when a word in the middle of a line rhymes with the last word in the same line.

The Mage can make up to four lines in total per spell with a minimum of one line.

At least one line of poetry needs to mention the target directly, synonymously or as a metaphor. If the target is a door the following are accepted: Door (directly), Gate (synonymously), the sealed opening (metaphorically).

The next table will show what the effect is, depending on the rhyme type and how many lines.

Number of lines	Condition	Effect
One	Alliteration	One Endurance reduction
One	Internal rhyme	One Endurance reduction
Two	End rhyme of both lines	Two Endurance reduction
Three	End rhyme of all lines	Three Endurance reduction

Here are some examples to clarify this.

The threatening gaze of this Dire Dog	“Dire dog” is Alliteration	One Endurance reduction
Now merely a sight of a harmless frog	dog’ and ‘frog’ are end rhymes	Two Endurance reduction
		Total Three Endurance reduction

 

Unlike most I am not scared of this ghost

most’ and ‘ghosts’ are Internal Rhymes

Total One Endurance reduction

 

You filthy lizard	lizard’ and ‘blizzard’ are end rhymes	Two Endurance reduction
I coveth you in	in’ and ‘kin’ are end rhymes	Two Endurance reduction
And all of your kin
A chilling blizzard
		Total Four Endurance reduction

 

The Fighter

The Fighter uses a combination of attacks up to a maximum of 9 combinations per round. An example can be that a Fighter first push, then kick and then slash with a sword. To determine the success of the combination attack the fighter has to roll 1d10 and for each subsequent attack in the combination the difficulty is raised. For the first attack he needs to roll 2 or higher, for the second attack he needs to roll 3 or higher and so on. This is also outlined here below:

 

Dice	Number of combinations	Required dice result	Effect
1d10	1	2	One Endurance reduction
1d10	2	2,3	Two Endurance reduction
1d10	3	2,3,4	Three Endurance reduction
1d10	4	2,3,4,5	Four Endurance reduction
1d10	5	2,3,4,5,6	Five Endurance Reduction
1d10	6	2,3,4,5,6,7	Six Endurance Reduction
1d10	7	2,3,4,5,6,7,8	Seven Endurance Reduction
1d10	8	2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9	Eight Endurance Reduction
1d10	9	2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10	Nine Endurance Reduction

The Daily Spellgraph

“It’s only old geesers who knows a bit of magic” Laurence Heartrate, in between puffs on an old and withered tobacco pipe, said. Would he had not had a shaven face one would think Mr Heartrate was the caricature of the fairytales. “A Wizard! No, that’s from the sagas” he rapidly responded when I first, and admittedly ignorant, greeted him with the title of Wizard.

 

He is an old and sagged man but age has not taken away his wits and his mind seems sharp as one of the young ones. I can’t help to get lost and baffeled by mystery when I read his face. For when you look at him you find yourself that it is not possible to only “look” and you find yourself discerning his features as if every little wrinkle and unshaven straw of hair has been part of something utterly important. Those important events that the normal mortals only dreams of.

 

“The young ones dream. The old ones regret they didn’t try harder. Only a few of us come to the realisation that we were just not meant to get into this intricate sphere of knowledge, which we in common tongue call magic.” Mr Heartrate pauses and gleams out the window from the cafe table, at which we are enjoying the intake of Mrs Waffles pancakes, and looks just like the professors we used to know at school. Only that Mr Heartrate has an air I’ve personally never seen in any professor. It comes naturally, then, that he is a professor in mystery. He continues after a quite long pause.

 

“But us few, I think sometimes…” he pauses again “Yes?” I promtly add to let him know that I am listening. “Ah forget that. Old man’s nonsense. Excuse my attention span, you tend to drift off to here and there in my age, you see. What was your question again?”

 

“No need to apologise Mr Heartrate. No need at all. What I, and our readers, were interested in to know was if you think we learn magic or if some are just “blessed” with the ability to make magic?”

 

“I see. There is a problem with that question. Do you know of Hem Barley?”. I confirmed I did not know. “Hem Barley was a wonder child, the story goes and people say. He grew up in Hinloc as the only child of very poor parents. The father worked in the field and his mother was like a domesticated cat. You know how it goes. She kept the old shack spotless, so clean even rats were repelled by it. Keeping a dirt floor clean is not an easy feat, but she managed and only Lord knows how. She loved Hem to the bones, some say, and always kept that motherly eye on him but she never let him play, afraid of ruining her daily cleaning. If you’d know how that shack of theirs looked like you would smile as I do. Terribly comical.” I nodded and indeed he had a smile close to laughter on his face. “But you see, when we are children we don’t want to sit still, and do this and that in order to not get that and the other. We want to play. Hem was no different, of course, and naturally his mother’s hygene neurosis got the better of him as well. What I have heard, the poor kid was always ill. Just minor things but there always seemed to be something wrong with him. Or maybe it was just his mother’s protective imagination. In any case. One night Mr and Mrs Barley woke up by a KABOOM and their shack was in flames. The mother protector immediately ran to the bed of Hem’s but did not find him there. Should it not had been for Mr Barley’s entire life of working in the field, Mrs barley would surely had burned in. He carried her out, with great force you’d imagine, and both were unharmed. Well outside Mr Barley stared helpless at his burning home while holding the mother in his bear arms. Hem was nowhere to be seen and because this all happened in the dry season it took only minutes for their shack to burn to the ground. The little possessions they once had were now gone. But Mr and Mrs had matters of the heart now: little Hem where gone.

 

It was not until a week later that they started hearing the first signs of their son. But at that point they disregarded them becuase they did not think those signs were of their little boy. You see, it was reported that some maniac, a pyromaniac to be precise, was rumaging the are burning down the woods. At that point Mr and Mrs where looking in the opposite direction, so to speak, you could guess they had had enough of things burning. The pyromanic had supposedly burnt down great areas of forest and people where of course baffeled. No idea, did they have of why or even how any idot could do such a thing. Another week later or so, a patrol, an angry mob you could imagine, searched the trails of the pyromaniac and at its end they found a boy. A skinny little bow with sooted skin and red eyes, lying on his back unconscious. It took a while, for them all to realise that this boy was not a victim but indeed the manic they were hunting. A great dilemma, they had to admit, and the boy was simply taken to the nearest village to be taken care of. After some days rest and caring tendance the boy woke up. He didn’t even have any energy left to complain, he just lied there with barely open eyes. Water was shoved down his throat and he soon recovered, however sligtly. The village elder took his responsibility and did what had to be done. Can you imagine? Accusing a little boy close to death for burning down an entire forest? The matters of the heart has never been easy. But as an elder he had to and to his relief the boy was not offended and did not get angry. The boy admitted it outright but what was strange to every man, except Hem probably, was completely confused by the boy’s unremorsive response. “I had to. I had to because I could” the boy said according to the tale and added with some pride “I burned it all down and it was masterful. Did you see the fire?” he asked the elder interrogating him “You must have seen the fire and I did it all. I thought the trees should burn and they did. Just like that they started to burn. They wanted to burn and I wanted them to burn”. The elder did not know what to say and neither did anyone else, for that matter. In the end though, little Hem was taken back to his mother and father who was crying with joy and relief, of course. This time around though, the mother kept an even sharper eye on her boy and it was not often at all that Hem Barley were given the slightest space without his mother. She was close at all times. Father Barley couldn’t really complain, for he didn’t want to see another home being burnt down. Well, so it goes, the story of Hem Barley”

 

Suddenly Mr Heartrate has the air of someone drowning coming up to the surface or someone waking up from a terriffic sleep.

 

“So, magic is something some are born with then?” I ask our gentleman. “No. No. No. Magic is not something some are born with. It just happens that one person every eon or so that makes it impossible for us to be sure. Hem Barley was maybe five or six years old and he managed this devastating feat on his own. How on earth could that be? As I said, it’s only us old ones that knows a little bit of magic and we dream of doing things like what Hem Barley did. The differnce is that we study our entire lives, hoping to find that pussle piece that would give us that kind of power. We just don’t know, that’s all.”

 

We sit in silence for a while, sipping our coffe and pipe. But it is enough and I think I know what Laurence Heartrate means. Maybe I’ll ask him for another interview at a later time.

 

John Cravatt

New adventure

I have started a new adventure, however, it takes place in another imaginary world than seventh and uses another rule set, namely the d20srd.

The adventure can be followed here: http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-prankster

Click on the adventure log to read the adventure in its entirety.

Uma – Updated

And here is the latest publication of Uma, the antonym of Nof.

Read it here

Nof – Updated

Nof has expanded, not physically, but, forget it. Nof has been updated and has been published to the below link.

Nof Published

 

As soon as we update the original document, this link will be updated as well. No idea if it is possible to set RSS feed on this.

The World Market

“Place your goods in the box here, please” a stern and experienced hand showed Dolores where to put her goods, her trading goods. She de-shelved her backpack and started to unload her planed tradeables. It was a figurine she had found in the woods nearby. It had now value to her, not functional nor sentimental. Perhaps it held a trading value which was a lottery for her which is why she had also brought some raw materials, she knew would fetch some good few coins to trade for. “In here madame” the hand pointed instructionally again. “Your name here, please” a finger directed at a line on a paper tag. She signed in clear letters, as far as her ability to print would allow he, and finally flipped it into the container. Dolores noted, as she had previously done, that the goods guard spoke one language with his hands and another with his face. His eyes went in the opposite direction keeping a suspicious look at whoever might be moving too fast or looking too anxious. The expression he displayed was also of a different language, that of an ingrown scholar with an attention almost broadcasted. “Step forward, please” he instructed further pointing his hand in an angle for Dolores to move forward in the line.

 

The goods were to be taken to the inspection house. A set of veteran traders, or lore masters as they would refer to themselves as, would now inspect the goods. A price would be set and Dolores would be handed a proportionate amount of coins. Coins she later would be able to trade for, goods that would be either or both functional or sentimental.

 

In her place waiting, a man at last came out with a purse of coins. She received it and opened it. Heavier than she thought, she found herself surprised. Positively surprised. She counted ten times the coins that she expected. The figurine was obviously more valuable than she thought. She has no memory of how it looked and would not be able to give any record of it from memory alone. Her curiosity disappeared.

 

Her soul was revived, as it always is when work actually pays off for profit. She immediately hoped on the greenhorn recurve bow she for long had yearned for. Yearned was accurate in the context, the item had indeed emanated an emotional bond between them. If Tormu was in a good mood she might afford some of his arrows to go with it. She did almost not dare to think the coming thought, but it was unstoppable. She might persuade him to learn her the craft and skills to produce the arrows herself. He had on no prior account revealed the materials of the arrows and on her mentioning the arrow head he had instantly, almost anticipatingly, switched subjects. At their next meeting he had allowed her to try the bow And the arrow. He produced a target putting it in medium range from the trading counter, lent her the bow and unwrapped one of the mysterious arrows and delivered it to her with both his hands. Her heart was in trance but as soon as she gripped the bow and had drawn the string she transferred the trance to her mind instead. With focused attention she softly let go of the bow string, breathing out the little air she had left, cocked her head and strained the arrow. She thought she could hear a note, perhaps several notes at once; a chord, as soon as she lay the arrow in its position. She drew the bow string to maximum force, quick enough for her to not produce fatigue in her physique. Eyes around her saw, not recognised, an artfully skilled draw and a coordination few are born with or can attain. She aimed for a second, no longer than a second and a half and she let go. The arrow produced the chord again, she thought, but then it went silent and her gaze became a cone with the arrows flight in the center. “Thump!”. The red dot on the target was pierced and the arrow was nowhere to be seen. Tormu ran past the target and came quickly back with the same arrow, wrapped it with care and put it away. He looked anticipatingly at Dolores who uttered “Straight through!”. Tormu nodded and reached for the bow. Dolores complied and handed it over, without hesitation. She had still a feeling that this bow and arrow was not for her, yet. She needed to earn it, she thought. A projectile set like this, finds its owner when it is ready. The owner was at that time not ready.

 

This day, at which she had traded for the figurine, she felt different. She was worth the bow now. She had earned it. Not because of the coinage she had obtained, but because of the sustenance her soul had been fortuned with through her own adventures, her own living. As a lonesome nomadic ranger, she had had to be autonomous. “Proper autonomy” she told herself, but immediately refused the thought as she remembered what she had been taught when she was still dependant on her tribe.

 

“Acknowledge the world,

remember the nature,

be true to the trees,

respect the wolves,

be careful of the wind and protect from the sun when she’s in good spirits,

tread cautiously in the soil and smell even the clearest water before you taste it.

Complete independence is betrayal.”

 

The assurance of her worth was renewed after citing her peoples poem. She had still not betrayed herself and hubris was at bay, she in the desert.

 

With slightly increased pace her feet took her to Tormu. He was there and from the current distance he looked to be in a good mood. Her heart raced again. “Can I have a look at The bow again” she readily said with an excitement she was not able to hide. She had to stop trying to hide it, her excitement was too overpowering “Alright, I am overly excited today” She informed Tormu “I have more coins today” “I am sorry Dolores. No bow. Sold it last week!” her face lost all colour and her body obtained posture similar to that of a dying animal. “Just kidding! I have it right here” Tormu quickly responded. Dolores shone up again and a second after her eyes could have shot fire, if she would have such an ability. That passed as well and she retrieved the bow from Tormu’s hands. “You’ve got the Arrows as well?” She attempted to fake her angry eyes but failed and instead the two of them broke out in laughter. He unwrapped an arrow for her and guiltily handed it to her. “The target is up. Take your shot”. This time without testing the bow she placed the arrow, aimed and released. The shot was true. “Still 10 coins for the bow?” she asked keeping her look fixed at the bow limbs. “Still ten, and I give you an arrow with it. Just for you Dolores” She could hear the guilt in his voice being still there. Without her not having to do anything, the bad joke had played in her favour. She would now get the bow And an arrow. She managed to resist asking to be taught how to make them, she could not risk pushing her luck at this point. The bow and one arrow for 10 coins was a once in a life time opportunity and she would have to take it. “Deal” she affirmed and Tormu handed her the arrow in its wrappings while she handed him the 10 coins. “A pleasure to finally do business with you, Tormu” “It is mutual, Dolores” was the reply. Dolores carefully opened the arrows wrapping and found a folded note. Before she could inquire what the note was, she found, by unfolding, that it was a “recipe” for the singing arrows. She felt a kind of love towards Tormu. A love cousin to the loves she had felt before.

 

The World Market is a restricted and heavily guarded area where merchants of the world sell exotic goods. It is usually unique items they sell and the buyers are constantly there to see what is new on the market. The market is inconveniently located in the Yellow desert, above an underground sweet water lake.Participants who whish to buy need to bring items that are tradeable on the market, which can be seasonal and always occacional. The items brought are then exchanged for coins, World Market Coins, which can only be used inside the restricted area. This is due to that at exit from the area each contender need to be thoroughly examined and all left-over coins need to be returned.

 

New Adventure: Storytellers

A new adventure has been started. This time in a framed narrative where a story takes place inside the story.

You can find it here

An abstract but wonderful adventure

The 5th of May I changed roles and took the perspective of a player instead of a game leader in my own system. It was my good friend Anders who had an idea and wanted to shape it into an adventure. Anyone who has seen The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus might see resemlance in the absurdities.

In any case, I hope someone else than us can enjoy reading it, which is why I now decide to publish it.

Read it here

THE TRULY SAD STORY OF ROMAN WELSH

In the civilised society of Porrheim work, governance and everyday life was as in most other civilised societies. It worked! The huge wheel of labour that the humans had put into the system that held the people together was spinning. Each day and each month the wheel was tended to, assigned people made sure that it was well oiled and that no obstacles were in its way. Is is usual, of course, that this is not always as easy as the theory suggests. For there where, again of course, obstacles to take care of. One and another who wanted to abuse the loop holes of the societal fabric and two or the same, anarchists who felt the need to express their dissaticefaction with the system. But these were small problems that were easily handled with and rarely posed a real problem, or a real threat to the fate of the spinning wheel.

And so, it seemed to the civilians that they lived freely, as it were, together in a society that worked for each and everyone. This was also a virtue of their civilisation, at least in the minds of the inhabitants. For it was not acceptable to discriminate or to intentionally hurt others. Neither was it allowed to abuse others and most importantly, not to abuse the system. They had arranged for this of course, each and every day tending to the problems that arose. Laws were protecting the rightious and good citisens and the laws worked well. So well, in fact, that new laws were created all the time and the population welcomed it, as the laws really did kept the wheel spinning.

Roman Welsh was brought up in Porrheim. His parents never took him elsewhere and there was really little need for such travels as everything a man could desire really was available in Porrheim. His upbringing held good standards, Porrheim standards mind you, and in his adult life we was successful and was able to make a family all on his own together with his wife. They produced two healthy young children and loved them and cared for them as much as any other parents would.

The truly sad story of Roman Welsh begins in his thirties. He was invited out on a hiking trip by some new friends he and his wife made during their pregnancy. It was a hiking trip destined to the mountains, the Yawning Cleft more precisely. For Roman this was exciting, he did not know why but he figured that because he had never really experienced anything outside Porrheim, save for exotic trinkets, food and literature imported into Porrheim, this was to be something of an adventure.

The group of friends set off by transportation on wheels at first, just to arrive in safety and to keep up to good anticipation of mountain hiking. As soon as they arrived at the feet of the Yawning Cleft they started trecking and their spirit was high. It was all new for Roman and he enjoyed it to the fullest, even the exotic leafes on the trees made his senses explode with admiration, and needless to say; there were many leaves in the Yawning Cleft.

Eventually the group arrived at something that was new to them all, not the object they say itself but the look of it. They had arrived at a well and the look of it was ancient. There were no other word to describe it. It had a inherent mystical feel to it and not long after they saw it they started to make up stories of what this well was used for when it a long time ago was used regularly. It was proposed by Roman’s travelling companion that Roman should go down into the well to see what was down there. After all this was an adventure. Roman saw nothing wrong with this and admittedly he was excited, almost aroused. But as it was is companions idea he could see no reason as to why he himself should take responsibility for what would happen down in the well so he immediately produced a note paper and a pen and started to write proficiently:

“I Shandor Ifelt, take full responsibility for all consequences and reactions that are produced in the event that Roman Welsh will descend down the Ancient Well located in the south east in the the Yawning Cleft.

Shandor Ifelt signs here after to agree with the terms of this agreement:________________”

Shandor, the travelling companion, saw no flaws with this contract. It was as regular as ever when you came from Porrheim. He signed it quickly and they shook hands. There after he fastened a rope in the roof of the ancient well for Roman to cling onto during his descent.

Roman stepped up on the rim of the well and looked down. It was completely black and the only sound coming from down there could only be described as silence. It smelled ancient, however that smells.

He took a steady grip around the rope and slowly transferred his feet from the rim to the rope. He held fast and started slowly to descend. He was better at it than he thought. However, after only a few meters down the well upon when he shouted up that he had not yet reached the bottom, his grip around the rope loosend and he fell. Shandor did not hear a sound from a landing, such as s thump, but when he shouted down to Roman, Roman never replied. Shandor was too scared to go down after him and instead he headed back with tears and emotional ache, to Porrheim to find help. For he was sure who was to be held responsible for this and when such responsibility is aquired, he thought, it is required that appropriate measures are taken.