In The Pudding

By popular demand!  The great unwashed masses (these are D&D players after all) have long clamored for an example of how The Alt-Right DM preps for a session of D&D, and unlike that perennial tease Peter Del’Orko, I ain’t afraid to lift up my skirts when you toss me a quarter.  (Seriously, you guys have been great with the whole Shitlord: The Triggering, and the short stories thing.  Selling you something instead of begging for cash is the manly man’s way of doing a Patreon.)

Unlike Pete, who sometime promises to show his prep, but always falls back on excuses like “muh handwriting” and “muh players read this”, your old pal E. Reagan Wright ain’t afraid to edumacate you on how little it takes to prepare to run a chop-socky run-amocky hi-octane session of God’s own version of D&D.

First, we need a map – steal one from Dyson Logos, preferably a nice big fat one with lots of little nooks and crannies and plenty of that sweet, juicy jaquaying in the design.  I normally do this next step in colored pencil, but this is the internet, so I took the time to do it digitally – it takes a little longer and makes no difference at the table.  I’m only doing this because this is a case study…and because I love you, dear sweet reader.


So what do we have?  We’ve got three to five five factions, depending on how you count it: gerblins, lizardmen, undead, a heavy hitter (Big Bruud the ogre and his sabretooth pet), and a weird wizard.  We’ve also got a few strange little one-offs tucked into the corners: an ooze in a hole, owlbears that wander the wilderness, even a lost friendly dwarf barricaded inside an inner chamber.  As a wild-card, we have an old tomb as well – it will just sit there undisturbed until the players start mucking about up there.  The weird wizard is studying the false tomb and suspects the existence of the true tomb, but hasn’t found it.  The lizardmen wander the halls from time to time – they leave their cool, ankle deep halls for the warmth of the hot springs.  Gobbos gonna do what gobbos gonna do, and the whole thing has just enough exploration and pent-up energy to last for a good many sessions.

Other odds and ends.  Each (L) is a locked door.  Each ($) is a big treasure horde.  These are the real objects of interest.  All those critters listed above are chump change in the XP department.  A smart party will try to minimize contact with them and focus on hitting those dollar signs to max XP.

With a good idea of who lives in these caves, this gives me a chance to make up a population table for the dungeon.  In this case we are looking at the following:


In addition to that census, we can throw in a couple of wandering additions:

  • One giant snake
  • Three hopping spiders
  • Two talking, clever cave apes
  • Four bugbears lost and looking for the gobbos

With all of that in place we can generate the all important Wandering Monster Table.  This is where it all comes together:


A lot of the dungeon workings are implicit in this table.  Lemme spell this out for you.  According to this table, certain monsters (the Ooooze, Nerkish’s guardians, the undead) do not wander.  The lizardmen retreat to hot springs when they get lethargic and get stronger for a short time having bathed in them.

Note that the wandering monster table operates in conjunction with the Census.  As the party kills wandering goblins, the numbers they are likely to encounter in the green rooms drops as well.  Once they have been driven out of the dungeon, they will be stripped from the Wandering Monster table, too.  (You can only kill Big Bruud once.  After that a result of 13 becomes “No Event”, unless something arises to take its place…like skeletons, see below.)

The Special Table is reserved for those big ticket items that change how the dungeon operates.  These are fundamental changes that need to be noted on the map, because I’ll never remember them otherwise.  The rationales for these events are vague right now, and will depend on what the players have accomplished already.  For example, once the seal on the Tomb is broken, the undead will start to wander.  If result (1) comes up, that means somebody else broke the seal, and I need to rework the original wandering monster table.


When it comes to those tasty $$$, I don’t have any hordes pre-generated.  They get made up on the fly using the following table.  The only exception is when I decide to have a multi-part treasure.  For example, the Helm, Armor, and Shield of a Historic Warrior might be located in three different places.  I love that trick – it keeps the players returning to the dungeon to complete the set.


Oh, wait, the players might want to hire a few henchlings.  Time to whip out the old Hireling Traits Table from Telecanter’s Receding Rules.

That’s about it.  A map, a half dozen brief notes on static encounters, a population table, two wandering monster tables, and a lifetime of reading classic fantasy tales, and this dungeon is ready to go!  Sure, it has a lot of white space left – good!  I can add things or improvise them as needed.  Those rooms between Nerkish and the lizardmen?  Maybe crummy apartments for visitors.  Maybe dusty rooms that prove the lizards don’t mess with the Nerk.  Maybe

I’d guess that you could get thirty combats, a dozen RP encounters, and at least 60 hours of play out of this little dungeon, or about 15 of your standard sessions.  It should carry a party from first level up through most of third level by the time they clear out enough to make adventuring here feel like a trip to the post office*.  It took me about 90 minutes to draw all of this up.  That’s some serious gaming bang for your creative bucks.

And that’s how it’s done.

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I’m banned from the local Game Shop Game Night.

Things started off pretty normal this past Sunday.  My regular four man crew all showed up for the game.  A married couple sat down to fill in the empty chairs and got a quick debrief from everyone at the table about the style of play – dice speak in All Capital Letters, DM is referee not hack author, the usual.  They enjoy some DCC, so they don’t need any convincing.  Roll up new characters.  Gather supplies.  Hire henchmen.  Engage in some light banter.  The usual.

The party locks up the entrance to the Fishy Headed Mutant Level.  They fight off a carrion crawler in the earthen tunnels using a combination of front line torches and missile fire.  At the boundary between the earthen tunnels and Goblin Caves (Under New Management) they surprise a pair of orcish sentries.  They fight an orc patrol in the former Goblin King Throne Room (the one with the upper balcony) and capture one whom they pump for information about the orcs.

Because, kids, while having lots of cash is nice, knowledge is the treasure that they can never take away from you.  Mostly because it will help you get the kind of treasure that they can take away from you (hello, Family Courts!), but you get my point.  This table of players is savvy enough to scout the terrain before plunging in headlong.  I like that.

They question Orc-Mook and offer to turn him loose in the upper world if he makes with the skinny.  He agrees and tells them that the Goblin King is now Orcbama’s court jester.

*needle scratch*

[Editor’s note:  The following conversation is not reported verbatim, as the author is a man for whom the jist of a conversation is sufficient.  He – note the gender here – does not have an internal stenographer taking shorthand so that he can dissect every nuance of every phrase uttered by every party.  This is basically what happened without being accurate in every detail.]

Married guy holds up one hand.  “Did you just say, ‘Orcbama’?”

Uhh, yeah, the Orc chief needed a name, so I just made one up on the spot.  It was the first thing that came to mind.

Married guy’s wife puts on her pinch face, “And you thought Orcbama would be cute? *snort*  Racist much?”

Trying to keep it light, here.  Didn’t think it was that big a deal.  If that name bothers you, let’s say that’s his name in orcish, his real name is Cugel.  Okay?  Can we just play the game?

Somewhat mollified, the married couple sits with arms folded and permanent resting snit-face, but allow the the game to continue.  The characters follow Orc-Mook’s directions to a big set of brass double doors carved with bas reliefs of orcs over-running a burning town that looks a lot like The Town – the place the characters rest and refit and recuperate between sessions.  The doors swing inwards to reveal –

“You should really apologize.”

Sigh.  For the Orcbama thing?  That’s not going to happen.  As I was saying, the doors swing inward to reveal…

Over the next thirty minutes, nothing got done.  Nothing could get done.  The married couple had discovered that their DM was one of the unclean.  One of the great unwashed and untouchable hordes that hold the first foreign born US President in contempt, and despite the fact that they had no problem for two hours, that one small suggestion of anything less than total surrender to The Narrative was an aggression that could not stand.  It was pretty aggravating, but we artists sometimes have to suffer for our art.

A wandering monster check came up snake-eyes for the party, which is a euphemism for a series of catastrophic events.  In this case, two events occur at the same time.  The first event was a normal orc patrol.  The second event came up…the arrival of one of The Dungeon Specials.  I have a Very Special Table filled with unique encounters that reshuffle the chairs on the deck of The SS Dungeon.  Some of the items are good (Avatar from Ralph Bakshi’s Wizards arrives to offer guidance, healing, and stogies) some of the items are bad (a portal to the Clockwork Dimension opens up, unseen, and every encounter gets more mechanical as the Clockwork Dimension starts to take over the place [read: everything gets a +1 AC, and all non-coin loot is worth +25% more).  Well, this time represented the first appearance of The Troll.

The Troll becomes a permanent Wandering Monster, and moves off the Very Special Table and onto the regular table.  He ignore the denizens of the dungeon, and always pursues and attacks the PCs on sight – no surprise and no reaction table for this guy.  Just pure rage.

The orc patrol wavered for a moment (they use the reaction table and got a perfectly neutral 7 result).  The party started to bluff their way past the orcs.  Then The Troll shows up and charges into combat.  The orcs, their spines stiffened by the arrival of an eight foot regenerating tower of HD, leap to support it.  Married woman snorts again, convinced that I’ve arranged this happenstance out of spite, because that’s what she would do if she was in my position.

I have no doubt she would.  That’s part of why I never sit down across the screen from a female DM.  (The other part is that the screen blocks my view of their chest.)  Even though it’s a low save at a mere 5, who wants to save versus menstrual cycle every game session?

I heaved a long sigh, sick of their lip, and added a little flavor.  The orcs, in their excitement rallied behind The Troll, crying out, “It’s Clintroll!  Hitlery Clintroll!”


Works on so many levels it’s the Empire State Building of bantz.

Boom.  Nerve touched, nerve agitated, nerve detonated.

Oh, you should have seen the theatrics!  Such wailing and gnashing of teeth, you’d have thought it was an Italian funeral.  Or that a tweet from the Marvel Milkshake Crew got three salty comments.  Or that somebody claimed to like a sci-fi book written by a white man.  It was all over for that game, but rather than just walk away, this dumpy dynamic duo couldn’t leave well enough alone.  They complained to the other players at the table.  They complained to players at the other tables.  They complained to the shopkeeper.  They damn near called the cops over two jokey little names.

Suddenly, injecting a little politics into the game space ain’t much fun, is it?

These two lardy winners passed  the exit to Double-Down and went straight to Triple Down City.  I helped ease them along by refusing to engage beyond a firm, “Go fuck yourselves.  You’re not welcome at this table.  Beat it.”  All of their accusations and demands for apologies and recanting fell on deaf ears, as did the polite requests and justifications from the store owner – really the poor sap on duty that night.  They caused quite the scene, but it cost them as much as it cost me.

On the one hand, my vulgarity and role in the situation got me banned from the store, which is really disappointing.  I’d hoped my banning would arise from something far more epic than a frumpy pair of Democrat (allow me to repeat myself) middle-aged escapees from the mental ward.  On the other hand, their tirade got them kicked out of the store forever, too.  Hoo did they not take that well.

In the final analysis, I pretty much fell on a SJW grenade, sacrificing myself for the good of tabletop players everywhere.  Those two bleating cowards won’t be polluting any more random tables at that store with their snit-faced tedium.  You should have seen their flapping jowls when they found out they were being banned, too.  They were stunned to learn that the store doesn’t automatically support people who throw temper tantrums just for a couple of lame jokes at the table.  They’ll probably organize a massive antifa march on the shop or something to protest this outrageous miscarriage of justice!

I’ll swing by the store later this week to talk to the owner.  I might only be banned forever for this weekend.  Even if I’m banned forever forever, it will still have been worth it.  Riling up those predictable jokers in this case was initially accidental, but then it got to be a lot of fun, and then it got hilarious.  I don’t recommend it, because it cost me a few hours of my one true love – Moldvay D&D – but if you ever find yourself in that position, just keep forcing them to double down over and over.  They start out so wound up it’s easy to get them to hit that point where their brains short-circuit because there’s no higher setting on their outrage dial.

Or maybe I’ll bang out a quick new dungeon and take it to the other game shop in town…

Say, that give me an idea – I should show you erudite and svelte-waisted readers how the Alt-Right DM throws together a dungeon.

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Not That Hard, People

Stop trying to outsmart the genius of Cook, D&D nerds!  For the love of all that is Holy Gygaxian, hex crawls are not that hard.  DMDavid now has a series of posts in which he tries to fix unbroken sandboxes and hexcrawls.

Since he started with sandboxes, we will take that one too.  DMDavid misdiagnoses the problem.  He doesn’t understand that sandboxes have edges and locations and information baked into the adventure-cake.  Players have to get fed enough information to get started, just as they do in a railroad.  Players have to be given options, but those options are merely the opening selections in an infinitely branching flowchart.  A DM builds the mounds and the valleys in the sandbox and drops in a few rocks and plastic monsters and then sits back and lets the characters explore and interact with the thing.

That doesn’t mean staring across a DM screen and asking the players what they do first.  You still have to establish that the sandbox consists of a desolate desert or a valley shot through with caves inhabited by a wide variety of monsters.  You have to feed them some information about the lay of the land.  Where are the blank spaces?  Does anybody in Town want something done out there?  What’s the difference between heading east and heading west?

As the players explore the sandbox, they will be presented with additional choices.  Do they ally with the kobolds?  Do they follow the map to the lost temple?  Do they believe the priest who told them about the woman locked up somewhere in the caves?

Even the Caves of Chaos had too much box text and the all-important Rumors Table.  Even if you started as suggested – at the mouth of Monster Valley – you had ten choices before you in the form of ten very different kinds of cave mouths.

Consider the sandbox of a simple, locked dungeon door.  You tell the players the door is locked.  They now have choices.  They can do whatever they want, but first they probably need more information: How heavy is the door?  Are the hinges on this side?  Their choice to pick the lock leads to a new decision matrix that requires different choices.  Is there a keyhole?  Is there a padlock?  Is it locked on the far side, by like, a bar or something?

That’s how a sandbox works!  If your players stare at you gape-mouthed because you haven’t given them three clearly defined options for how to deal with the locked door, then you should get out of the retard factory and find better players.

As a player, if your  DM kicks off a campaign with the words, “You are in town, what do you do first?” then it’s on your shoulders to ask for more information.  You have to seek out the adventure.  It’s out there, I guarantee it.  And if it takes two hours of fumbling around before you finally stumble upon the one opening to the one adventure your DM expected you to find?  Abort!  Eject!  He sucks, move on, find a new table.

Not rocket science, people.

When it comes to hexcrawls, the issue is much the same.  The system of this downs is a constant info-decision feedback loop, and when you have a DM that doesn’t know how to dole out the info, the thing breaks down.  Now, to be fair, some of these guys provide the right advice (“better info”) they also tend to give a lot of bad advice (“just give the players the adventure”) too.

“There is nothing interesting about yet another forest of hexes.”


If there’s nothing interesting about that hex, it takes all of two minutes to resolve it. Then it’s time for the next hex.  The interesting hexes take a lot longer due to, you know, the interesting things in them. If you’re wasting time in an empty hex…don’t blame the system.  YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG!


Oh look!  It’s an AngryGM campaign – see how obvious the adventures are?

“Picking one of the six surrounding blank hexes is not a choice with meaning.”

– Robert Conley

As the DM – part of your job is giving those six hexes meaning. At a minimum, one takes you farther from your safe haven, and one takes you closer.  That’s a really important (and one would think really obvious) difference.  In some cases you can see the surround hexes. In some cases you can see the features in hexes ten hexes away. Maybe you see a peak on the far side of a forest, so you mark it in pencil and blunder your way through.  You got it a little wrong and come out of the forest a few hexes away, but now you’re closer.  When you get to the mountain, you find a monster at the top, kill it, and now have a great view for ten hexes in every direction.  Cool!  More information – you fill in a big chunk of your map and spot three hexes with interesting things in them that you can look for later.  Is that a crumbling tower over there?  That lake in the woods has a strange red glow coming from it.  Woah, did you see those trees wobble like something massive passed through?   That really tall tree over there has a giant nest at the top – bet it has valuable eggs in it!

Also, the following is garbage advice:

Most sandbox campaigns fail. Why? Because of the lack of a good initial context. Many mock character histories and background but if you going to get a sandbox campaign you are going to need a least a half page of specifics for each players and a half page of general information for the group as a whole.

Nobody cares about that stuff.  It’s doing the work backwards.  It’s building the map and the destination and then hoping the game time can adhere to the architecture that you’ve designed.  It completely negates the bulk of the fun of the game – there’s no mystery, no blank spaces, nothing to learn, and little to explore.  Don’t do this.  Instead, don’t allow any back stories from your players until they’ve learned enough about the world to make up a backstory that fits the sandbox.

Alternatively, make the backstory utterly irrelevent.  In the majestic X1 the players crash on a lost island.  What they did “Back There” matters not one jot when the only safe place is behind a thick wooden palisade with the jungle savages hiding from dinosaurs.  Yeah, your character can be the king Back There, but out here?  He’s just another piece of dino-chow with a pointy stick and a big, blank map.

Here’s the bottom stat-line.  This is a game of exploration above all else.  It’s a way to explore blank places on a map.  That’s your hook.  There’s your motivation.  Go find the fun – if you’re DM is worth the pants he wears, he isn’t hiding from you, he has left a whole string of information out for you to follow to get there.  And yeah, you might miss a few nuggets tucked away that can only be found by sheer dumb luck.  That’s part of exploration, too.

As a DM, if you’ve got players that don’t want to perform the basic task of exploration, you’ve got bad players.  They are doing it wrong.  Get new ones.

p.s. That picture is an edible cake that some degenerates eat because “tee-hee, it looks like poo”.  Probably the kind of degenerate that plays fourth edition.

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Dungeon Level H8

The Game Shop Gang rolls again!

We missed a few weeks due to low player turn out and my busy schedule of screaming at alt-reichtards* on Gab.  But this week?  This week I managed to host the eighth session of his highly acclaimed and much sought after dungeon delving campaign called, with the astonishing level originality commonly referred to as Scalzian, The Dungeon.

There’s only one, kids – delve or delve not.  There is no try.

Oh my, was this was one painful.  The two old hands didn’t show up.  The only returnee to the House of Wright with any experience playing Big Boy D&D was a follower.  To make matters worse, he blew his Morale check for his retainers (read up on what that means here – it’s harsh), so some of the loot from the last adventure that he was counting on went bye-bye.  He had to start over recruiting from scratch.

The most experienced player at the table was fully invested in Happy Fun OMG Slumber Party D&D, “Like, my character has a pet raccoon, so random!  Can I play a bard in Moldvay?  No?  Okay, so my fighter carries a didgeridoo that he plays to inspire his henchmen, and I’m not going to buy chain mail so that I can buy more retainers!  Oh, I’ll call him General Greaves and say he has a heart condition to explain away his garbage CON score!  LOL, like a Star Wars character!  So random.”

Did I mention this was a thirty-six year old father of three?

To make matters worse, the guy’s dice were on fire.  His Storm Guard, who had to be kitted out in white armor with black skull helmets – seriously, there’s a table playing some lame non-WEG (but I repeat myself) version of Star Wars right. Over. There – couldn’t hit squat with their bows, but tore up The Dungeon with two ranks of side-by-side spearmen.  Four guys with spears can shove their way through a lot of dungeon, but you rarely see parties use that tactic because of the special snowflake syndrome.  General Greaves amounted to little more than a torchbearer, but his henchmen henched like henchsupermen.


Think, a less weeby version of this.

I’ve never wanted to kill a character so bad in my life.

Still, the fates as decreed by the dice are sacrosanct at my table, and the Girl D&D juggernaut rolled through The Dungeon for two hours.  It helped that they were running mop-up operations on the depleted goblin tribe.  Once new guy and a couple of drop-ins got the skinny from the experienced, they assumed there was some big scores relatively undefended in the goblin caves.  They locked up the fishmen again using their well-blocker, and set to work scouring the earthen tunnels and the goblin caves for survivors of the last session holocaust.

Three quick encounters, and they’d dealt with all but the goblin king, his best guard, and a last few mooks.  Even the king’s royal guards went down, but they bought their leader enough time to summon reinforcements in the form of the orcish hordes.  The players don’t know what’s going on at this point, only that the goblins are working with the orcs.  They fought the goblin king (a 2HD beast of a goblin) and his new found friends, who ran once the going got tough.  Then they got caught looting the last of the goblin gold by a wandering orcish patrol, one of whom ran for help.  They exercised a pretty good fighting withdrawal, opening the well and dropping a rock to wake the fishmen on their way out the door.

They hope the fishmen will fight the orcs, but they don’t realize those two factions have a detente.  In fact, the fishmen have a secondary entrance to their caves through the orc caves, but the orcs never let them use it to hit the goblin caves – the orcs liked keeping those two separated as much as possible.  That’s no longer a concern, though, and I’m not sure how things will play out on that front, only that it won’t be good for the players.

The denizens of the dungeon may not like each other all that much, but they are all on the same side.  Whatever happens, it’s going to make life for the party more complicated.

Girl D&D thanked me for a great game, but said he wouldn’t be back.  So his character and all his henchmen leave the game, too.  Along with all of that goblin loot.

It’s the same old story.  You show a girl a good time.  You shower her with cash.  Next thing you know, she walks out on you for no good reason other than you took out a restraining order against her mother and built a meth lab in the basement.  Sometimes my D&D art hews a little too close to the masterpiece that is my waking life.

At least I have Game Shop Game Night to look forward to every week.

*Seriously, you guys.  You’re shooting at fish in a barrel and missing.  Stop trying to make a foreign failed political regime that died before my grandfather was born happen.  Like ‘fetch’, it’s never going to happen.


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Who Said That?

Oh, yeah!  That’s right, it was meI said that.  I told you D5D was totally gay, but some of you didn’t believe me.  Well, here it is in black and digital white from those paragons of upright honesty and integrity*, Kotaku:

“Wizards of the Coast is making D&D more gay.” [Emphasis mine.]


Strahd never looked more intimidating.

Once again, it’s left to old E. Reagan Wright to spell this out for you lot.  All the weak kneed surrender monkey conservatives out there are falling all over themselves trying to explain themselves and why they aren’t really X-ophobes, they just don’t see why WotC had to do this because blah, blah, blah, me so reasonable massah Antifa, please don’ dox po’ little ol’ me, I’s not agin’ they gay, I’s just wants to plays mah Dungeons and Dragons without the gay – not that there’s anything wrong with the gay – at mah table.

Bear in mind, this little announcement is not a change in direction.  As Kotaku hastens to admit, “Every adventure since Curse of Strahd has included one or several queer characters.”  WizAIDS of the Coast didn’t make this announcement because of any desire to actually DO anything, they just wanted to let everyone know that they are good people, please do not Antifa our offices.

This – like the toppling of (a select few) historical statues** – is not about increased representation or “having people in the games that look like me”.


Seriously? D&D needs more in-game characters like this?  Gygax wept.

This isn’t about making sure the left wing crazy cakes feel better about gender swapping a few NPCs so that their fantasy game can include the fantasy of a stable and healthy gay marriage.  This is about making sure that people who aren’t left wing crazy cakes know exactly who is in charge here.  This isn’t about allowing some gay into some tables, this is about ensuring the gay at every table.  Even yours.

Now, they will readily admit that it’s easy enough for you, in the privacy of your mom’s basement, to gender swap gay couples to make them normal again.  For now.  “Weaving queer plotlines into D&Dgames is not hard to do,” the Kotaku article admits.  But when it comes to any sort of organized public play, your hands are tied.  You will choke on this tabletop dildo and you will like it or you will be considered anathem – forcing normal people out of the hobby is the only way to ensure its growth.

Hey, it worked great for Marvel!



The other common refrain that nobody has an answer to (until now) comes from the bleating left, “Why not?”

There’s a little thing called opportunity costs.  Everything is limited.  Time, money, energy, everything.  When you spend time and energy focusing on one thing, you cannot spend that time and energy focusing on something else.  Marvel is learning to their financial chagrin that focusing their time and energy on diversity means taking time and energy away from things like characterization, plot, story structure, art quality, proofreading, PROOFREADING for God’s sake!  Those are all kind of important things for stories, and Marvel has taken eggs out of those baskets*** to throw them all into the diversity basket, and the results are obvious.  Both subjectively in the quality of the works they sell and objectively in the sales figures.

And this is the future WotC has chosen.

They are converging at a stellar rate.  The mission of foisting their bizarro world views onto the general public is far more important to the leaders at Wizards of the Left Coast than listening to fans, increasing market share, increasing sales, and chasing after the almighty dollar.  They’ll get away with it for a while – heck, Paizo is still in business – because this sort of *ahem* business *ahem* decision takes a while to metastasize into full blown diagnosable cancer.

And as usual, as is the way of sinful behavior everywhere, those responsible for contracting the easily avoidable social disease that is leftism will scurry about like rats blaming everything under the sun EXCEPT for their own obviously terrible decision making skills.  They’ll blame external market forces.  Changes in publishing.  Pressure from “upstairs”.  Anything, ANYTHING! but their own short sighted stupidity.

And as usual their response will be to double down.  They’ll redouble their efforts to appeal to a smaller and smaller user base through increased visible signalling, more rainbow flags, more condemnations of badfans, and stricter control over organized play space.

It’s a death spiral for the official brand, and one they cannot escape.  Wizards grabbed the urine-bottle throwing tiger by the tale, and they cannot now hope to let go or else they will be eaten alive by the very people they so desperately seek to placate.  They don’t know that this is a game they cannot win.  They don’t know that sooner or later some bush league locust woman will view the WotC scalp as the perfect trophy with which to adorn her wall.  (And it will be a woman.)  She will view taking down the house that Gygax built as a prime stepping stone to a bigger and better organization to destroy on her way to a fabulous life of middle management in her middle-age surrounded by a middling number of cats.

I bear no ill will towards Wizards of the Coast.  This whole situation doesn’t anger me at all.  Instead, I feel a profound sense of loss and pity.  Watching a loved one die of an easily preventable communicable disease is never pleasant.  But recognizing the self-inflicted nature of the death is important if one is to avoid falling into a similar trap.

Are you watching, Goodman Games?  Frog God Games?  Learn the steps of prevention and inoculate yourselves now – before it’s too late!


*Satire, ladies and gentlement.  I can haz it.

** MLK opposed gay marriage – that’s a hanging offense these days.  And yet, his statues go unmolested.

*** Those milkshakes aren’t going to pay for themselves, people.


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Congratulations to the Hoggo Award Winners!

Wait, that was last week?  Huh.

It’s really awesome the way that you wrote a thing and had a vagina all at the same time.  It’s all anyone can talk about this year.  You wrote a story, and you’re female and everything.  It’s so cute.  Yeah…polish up that shiny trophy, toots.  Your cats are going to love knocking it off the shelf on the regular. Any bets on how many of those silver trophies have already been fitted with batteries?  (If you know what I mean, and I think you do!)


Apparently there is a weight limit for these things – a minimum one!  Maybe winners get a free all-you-can-eat coupon at Sizzlers, that’d motivate these writers.

It’s also worth noting how few of the articles covering your win talked about the high quality of what you wrote.  Instead they enthused about your plumbing – except for the ones that talked about your token black purse puppy.

You noticed that, didn’t you?  Just like you noticed how Nemisin won’t play in a playground where her lack of support among SFF fans might be exposed for the sham that it is.  Oh, she may enter the Dragon Awards someday, but not until they’ve been fully Converged and can serve as a nice protective purse guaranteed to shield her from the harsh realities outside the SJW bubble.

Enjoy your ‘wins’, ladies.  That trophy will be of great comfort to you in your dotage.  The rest of us will just have to settle for our three kids and sixteen grandkids caring for us and continuing to make our lives meaningful long after that plastic rocket has tarnished and been forgotten.

I like to think that I played a small role in helping Uncanning Magazine‘s win.  We are really tight, the editors of Uncanning and me – we share a lot of emails.  I mean…a lot of emails.  At least for my part.

Meanhile, I’m not just hungry for a Hoggo.  I’m hungry, and that’s a good sign.  It looks like I need to gain about 20 more pounds to make the cut.  It’s going to be really uncomfortable next years when I’m on stage accepting one of these things for my high-larious and oh-so-literary short story, Hugo Bait.  Not emotionally, just physically.  Sitting wedged in between other writers in San Jose, it’s going to feel like a United Flight to the fat farm.  World Con?  More like Hamplanet Con, amirite?


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The Dungeon: Lucky Number Seven

Somehow I’ve cobbled together a genuine crew of regular players at the FLGS Sunday night game meetups.  Five regular dudes, plus a rotating noob chair.  We’re really clicking now – one of them is an old OSR hand, so he fits in seamlessly, two have been in this campaign since the start, and two are still learning the Moldvay ropes.  We didn’t have a drop-in, so the empty chair was filled by a fat cleric (high CON/low STR) NPC and a bevy of henchlings.

During the usual pre-flight checks, one player asked for lumber, chains, and a lock.  A little odd, but whatever.  He wisely used these items to craft a hasty barricade that he chained over the top of the little well to the fishdude level.  The party was heading for the goblin caves, and didn’t want to worry about anything sneaking up behind them.



Aggravating, because it forced me to revamp my Wandering Fun Table on the fly, but smart.  After a moment, I realized that revamping the table was a cheat on my part, so I didn’t.  Instead, whenever the wandering monster check indicated fishmen were coming, I sort of treated it as a ‘no’ result.  That kind of clever play should be rewarded.  Specifically, if they neutralize a threat like that, the threat should actually be neutralized.  Replacing it with another monster would be no different from fudging a die roll.

Instead, I mentally checked off each time the Fishmen result came up.  Each time it represented the fishmen trying to wander around and finding the well blocked.  The first time was free, the second time, they would return with reinforcements, the third time they would leave to go get a shaman or some tools to clear the barricade.  The fourth time they would boil out of the well, hungry for revenge.

As it went, they only came up twice, but that was still two “Get out of jail free” cards that the players sorely needed.  They were focusing on the goblins again, making good use out of the things they had stolen in previous runs – even though most of the party remains first level, they have inherited some pretty decent look that allows them to punch above their weight.

It also allows them to punch some wights.  They were ready to infiltrate the goblin caves, but first had to deal with the guardian wights chained up in the earthen tunnel section.  The thief found them, undetected, and fat cleric dropped a silence spell to cover the sound of combat.   Not really combat, as the party drew back from the furthest extent of the wight chains and pincushioned the wight guards using missile weapons.

This allowed them to bust into the main goblin complex unannounced.  Had they not covered the well, wandering fishmen would have appeared to ruin their day – the sound of combat would have drawn the goblins from the surrounding areas and turned a regular fight into a disaster.  I even told the players this:  “Wandering monster check is good.  And I rolled for the fishdudes, but they are locked up, so nothing happens.”

It might seem odd to tell people what doesn’t happen, but only if you are an idiot that doesn’t understand how people work.  If you want your players to play smart, you can’t hide rewards like that from them.  You have to tell them that being smart has rewards that go well beyond smug satisfaction.

Anywho, the party used their previous map (also inherited from those who had come before, Gods rest their souls) to hit the largest goblin barracks.  A second silence covered the resulting slaughter.  There must have been something like 20 goblins in there, with another six showing up halfway through the fight.  The wizard popped his sleep to keep the accidental goblin reinforcements from ruining things.  The front line fighters in the barracks were backed by spear wielding henchlings, and together they were able to hold off the hordes of goblins.  This left the rear unprotected and vulnerable, save for the 1d4 thief and magic user.  They dropped five of the reinforcements with a spell, then double teamed the survivor to keep him from sounding the alarm.

Oh, I should mention, the silence was dropped on the doorway – the players were specific about wanting to know if the spell blocked all sound or if sound passed through it.  I’ve always played that it blocks all sound, like a cork in a bottle.  And what about that spell cast by the wizard?  He stepped back out of the radius to cast the spell into the silence.  It blocks sound – not math.  (You do know Vancian magic is just pure hyperadvanced math, right?  If not, hie thee to Appendix N and learn from the progenitors, youngling!)  So it doesn’t block spell effects, just the ability to cast spells.

These are the sorts of tactical decisions my players have begun to make, anticipating trouble before it arrives.  Makes me need to pause to wipe a tear from my proud papa eyes, it does.

So they came out of the fight in pretty good shape.  A little hurt, but raring to keep cleansing the caves of goblin kind.  They hit a wandering patrol, then had two forces converge on them for a fight that went much less well than the fight in the barracks.  The tides of lady luck turned and all the bad rolls started showing up late in the session.

They pulled back at that point.  Before more reinforcements could arrive, they cut out.  On the way past the well, they noticed that their barricade had been damaged, but was holding.  After peeping down the dark well, they unlocked it, and took it with them to repair it for reuse.

They were a little chagrined that they had killed so many goblins, but only came out with a few coins to show for their trouble.  What they don’t know is that they’ve killed nearly 75% of the population of the goblin caves, and all of their best guardians; the dogs, owlbears, and goblin-wights.  There’s only a dozen or so left, and the goblin king is terrified.  He knows the fish dudes are no threat – they stay down in the well and rarely raid his territory – but he doesn’t know that the fish dudes are furious about being caged up and blame him for it.  All he knows is that once the orcs find out he doesn’t have the manpower to resist them, they’ll move in and take over.  He also knows that one big push by the PCs will be enough to wipe out his little tribe.

If the players are smart, they’ll hit the goblins while they are reeling.  And my players are smart.

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