Crowfoot

I made a new system!

It's a lightweight, flexible skeleton ruleset that's easily adapted to any setting. Runs on a d4 dice pool, because the d4 doesn't get enough love. 

Get the PDF now here. It's free!

An Experiment

Last Thursday I took over DMing for my long-running in-person game group. We'll be starting this Thursday with a fresh 5e campaign and I'm going to try something that I've not done before: An all human setting.

This world will have no humanoids except humans. Not as playable races or monsters. None.

There were once elves, dwarves, orcs, etc; and there are still humans with maybe 1/32 or 1/64 non-human ancestry, but currently there aren't any full-blooded humanoids around except humans.

The humans don't know exactly what happened to them. Some species had mysterious slow declines, others just vanished. Whatever happened, it wasn't a war or human action. (And that's true, not just human historical revision.)

Humans still use the other species' languages (with linguistic evolution over time) as everyday languages. It's a cultural artifact from when the other humanoids were around and is treated normally. A human's first language might be dwarvish or gnomish or ettin, it all depends on where they grew up.

My goal with this is to:

1) Avoid fantasy stereotypes. If a player wants their character to be a cheerful farmer-turned-reluctant-adventure who loves good food, great! They certainly can, but they'll be playing it because they want to, not because they're a hobbit halfling and that's what Tolkien said they're like.

2) Avoid fantasy racism. If two characters have a beef, it'll be over their deeds, not because one's a dwarf and one's an elf. (This could really be item 1.1)

3) Let the characters have equal experiences of terror. Everyone will be spooked by the things prowling in the dark. Everyone will be exhausted after being on the run for days and unable to sleep. There won't be the one elf with darkvision who can see just fine and doesn't need to sleep so they're fresh as a daisy.

4) Let there be mysteries. The mysteries of the past, magic, and the underpinnings of the world are actually unknown. Lost to time or only vaguely recalled in folklore, not a living part of an active contemporary culture. You can't pop back home to Elfington and ask your grandma what words were used to sing the world tree into being at the dawn of time, you need to adventure to learn it.

I'm curious to see how it turns out. The probabilities that it'll go as intended or mutate into something bizarre seem about equal; and it'll likely take a few sessions before I can get a solid idea of how my players will respond to the idea. My suspicion is that it'll be more of an exercise for me in remembering to not reflexively add dwarves (it's a habit) and that my players will adapt just fine.

1d20 Reasons the Squirrel Broke Into Your House

1) Deeply confused

2) Just incredibly high

3) *chittering noises*

4) It knows you have cashews

5) It knows you have an N64

6) For snuggles and scritches

7) Wanted to ride on the roomba

8) Something about injustice and the cruelty of automobiles

9) On a dare

10) As a distraction

11) To deliver a dire warning

12) On a mission from your arch enemy

13) Drunk on fermented pumpkins

14) You left the window open

15) You've been feeding it

16) You live in a tree

17) Stubbornly insists you're the squirrel and this is its house

18) Rabies! :D

19) You know why, don't pretend

20) No reason :3

Kilodungeon Definition

One of the things I like most about the OSR is how often old tropes are tossed by the wayside. Ask folks what a gnome is* and watch how many different answers you get. That said, I also like solid definitions. Having a clear category with specific criteria so I can say [a term] and whoever I'm talking to knows exactly what I mean. It makes exchanging ideas easier because everyone is already on the same page.

It's especially useful when describing game materials. Knowing that something is a megadungeon gives me specific information about scale, play style, how much of a commitment is required to use it (either as intended or hacked), and how much game time and enjoyment my players will get out of it.

Right now the terms I see used most often to describe dungeon sizes are:

One-page dungeon: Compact. Quick, light, and easy to use. Will probably get a session out of it, maybe two.

Microdungeon: A few rooms, maybe more than one floor. Quick to prep and run, but probably at least two sessions worth of stuff. Good for a site in a hex crawl.

Dungeon: The standard unit of adventuring space. Needs at least one read-through before running it, two if you're a conscientious DM. It's got multiple levels, plenty of rooms, maybe a distinct ecology of its own, and loot. Sweet, sweet loot. It's large enough to keep a party occupied for multiple sessions, but eventually they'll clean it out and move on.

Megadungeon: This place is your whole campaign. It's a world unto itself, an endless roil of brick, stone, and earthen chambers burrowing ever deeper. If you are lost inside, you'll never emerge. If by luck you find one of the scattered enclaves of safety and life, your descendants will grow never having seen the sun. A megadungeon is a huge commitment for both the DM and the players. Your game is here. You're exploring this endless maze and not going anywhere else. Granted, megadungeons tend to have a lot of variety in the form of factions, different underground ecosystems, and magically warped areas. It's still a lot.

The jump from manageable, discrete dungeon to sprawling, bottomless megadungeon is too extreme; especially when compared to how close in scale one-page and microdungeons are to the dungeon. It's more than a logarithmic step up in scope. We need something in between.

So we have the kilodungeon. A neat, logical step from the main dungeon unit to the mega-.

Let's define it. There's a lot of range between dungeon and megadungeon to cover, so we should give kilodungeons a distinct size/complexity band to fall into. Make it clear where they exist instead of leaving them in a gray haze of being either a massive dungeon or a tiny megadungeon.

The criteria required to be a kilodungeon is:

• 5 to 7 levels
• Multiple paths between levels
• At least 12 rooms/areas per level
• At most 60 rooms/areas per level
• Multiple exits
• A single cohesive theme

So the bare minimum needed to be considered a kilodungeon is 5 levels, 60 rooms, and 2 exits. The maximum possible while still in the range is 7 levels, 420 rooms, and as many exits as you can shake a stick at.

How did I come up with these numbers and requirements?

The level and room counts: I thought about the relative sizes and complexities of the dungeons I've run/been run through and aimed to have the amount of stuff in an average dungeon be roughly equal to one level of a kilo dungeon.

For example, Skerples' Tomb of the Serpent Kings is a solid-sized dungeon. It has 3 levels, 52 keyed rooms/locations, and 4 exits. Ignore the levels and flatten it down into 52 rooms, then make an area like that into 1 level out of 5 to 7. That's the step up in size I'm looking for when going from dungeon to kilodungeon.

The number of levels came from 1) looking at how many levels a dungeon usually has (1 to 3 is what I've seen most, sometimes 4) and wanting to go beyond that, and 2) just being realistic with my upper bound. Once you pass 7 levels or 420 rooms, it might as well be a megadungeon.

The multiple paths and exits: That's just good design. Can you imagine how boring a completely linear delve would be on this scale? Ye gods.

Also kilodungeons are large, but you can find your way out of them eventually. If you die or disappear in a kilodungeon, it's because you fell foul of a monster, trap, or your own poor planning; not because you had to settle down and make a life there after getting lost. It would be like deciding you live at the mall now because you forgot where you parked your car.

A single cohesive theme: The way I see it, a kilodungeon is a distinct, purpose-built structure. It has a specific role or job it was created to fulfill and it does that and only that. The role might be a necropolis, a stronghold, a mine, a magical research facility, whatever. The important thing is that the whole place is dedicated to its single purpose.

Megadungeons can have a wildly varying patchwork of interlocking cities, biomes, and architectural styles that make them feel like underground worlds. You won't find that in a kilodungeon. Kilodungeons have their own distinct flavor and stick to it.

Apart from size, that stylistic difference is what distinguishes a kilodungeon from a megadungeon in my eyes. When something is on the boundary between the two, ask yourself "How much is going on here? Is there one main theme?" If yes, it's a huge kilodungeon. If no, it's a small megadungeon.

*For the record gnomes are 12 foot tall, spindly, fungal beings with leathery skin that eat primarily tar. They are usually very well-spoken and famous for their complex, regionally varied tea culture. You can find them pretty much anywhere, but they're good at hiding, which is strange for something 12 feet tall that smells like hot tar and Earl Grey.