Let It Be Cubits

In my fantasy role-playing, I have an aversion to anachronistic units of measurement and the out-of-character dialogue they encourage. Although I have nothing against the metric system, I find it unacceptable in the context of pre-Enlightenment settings. Alchemists did not measure their concoctions in milliliters and moneylenders did not weigh precious metals in kilograms. I find it hard to immerse myself in a medieval setting in which Robin Hood takes aim at a target 50 meters away and it's x kilometers to the nearest river.

I could always resort to the units of measurement still popular in the States (and used in Dungeons & Dragons and its ilk), many of which are appropriate to a medieval setting (e.g. ounces, pounds, feet, yards, miles, etc.), but this renders the rules a little less accessible to gamers more accustomed to the metric system. What to do?

The solution is to use a system that is equally unfamiliar to everyone. Allow me to reintroduce the cubit. Based on the average length from the elbow to the tip of the middle finger, the cubit has varied over time and from nation to nation (the ancient Egyptian royal cubit was between 20.6 and 20.8 inches, the Aztec cubit was 20.7 inches, the ancient Chinese cubit was 20.9 inches, the ancient Greek cubit was 18.2 inches, etc.), but it has commonly been rendered as 18 inches (or 46 cm), especially in the Old Testament, and this is the cubit we shall be using.

The 18 inch cubit is perfect for fantasy gaming use. It does not evoke mood-breaking modernity, yet it is easy for gamers to translate into units they understand. For the U.S. gamer, a cubit equals one and a half feet or half a yard. For most other gamers in the world, a cubit equals approximately 0.5 meters. If the rules were to use cubits, it would make them truly universal. International gamers would not need to be annoyed by movement rates of 120' and U.S. gamers would no longer need to argue about whether 12" was 120 feet or 120 yards and why it was being expressed in inches. (Yes, I know the answer to that, but I'm trying to make a point rhetorically.) For the sake of simplicity and sanity, let it be cubits.

1 cubit = 16 inches = 0.5 yards = approximately 0.5 meters

Do you need a unit of measure smaller than a cubit? The Old Testament cubit also provides the answer, being divided into 6 palms of 4 fingers each for a total of 24 digits.

1 cubit = 6 palms * 4 fingers = 24 digits

So, a palm equals 3 inches and a finger equals 0.75 inches. At any rate, when in doubt, one can always just use one's forearm, palm, or fingers to estimate!

Displacer Cake Insinuation

Not to alarm anyone, but I have made a minor change to the wand of wonderment (q.v.) [and the wand of surprise (q.v.)]. Previously, effect #53 read "The target becomes invisible for one day." This would not be an issue were it not for the fact that there are already two effects involving invisibility for varying periods of time, and the purpose of the random table is to maximize unpredictability (at least in the case of this magic item). Therefore, I have replaced that line with the following:

53. A displacer cake materializes before the target.

To those unfamiliar with displacer cakes, they are merely cakes (of any type) that always appear to be 1-3 cubits (or more) away from their actual position. Perhaps this is due to their "molecular vibrations," an uncanny optical illusion, or a special type of pixie dust. No one knows for certain. All that is known is that they appear to be as delicious as they are elusive.

Mid-NaNoWriMo Report

It is halfway through National Novel Writing Month and I am still in the game, although I confess I have fallen behind. [Excuses deleted.] At any rate, I am lagging, but I haven't surrendered. If I fail to meet the 50,000 word goal by the 30th, I will continue writing until I finish my novel and I will set a secondary, personal deadline of December the 31st.

The setting for my novel is evolving incrementally in the same manner as some of my past campaign worlds. One starts with the immediate vicinity, then one expands the details of the world as the player characters travel to new places and meet people from other lands. This, of course, is the opposite of another method of worldbuilding, which is to map and populate the world first, usually including topography, boundaries, roads, cities, nations, cultures, resources, etc. before the first adventure is even written. I have tried that method in the past, but I have found that it is often more of a hindrance than a help to my creativity. The very first sessions of proto-Dungeons & Dragons began as adventures within a single location (Castle Blackmoor), gradually expanding to encompass larger regions as those details were needed. It is a strategy that has worked well for me in gaming, and it seems to be working well for my novel, which is fortuitous as I intend this novel to serve the dual purpose of being the basis for my next campaign world.

Idle Thought on the Eve of NaNoWriMo

It is less than an hour before National Novel Writing Month begins, and I am faced once again with the question of whether I will (or can) participate. My proclivity for perfectionism would seem to preclude this activity (in an earlier attempt, the word count of my notes was equal to that of my novel in progress), but it occurs to me that if I force myself to take a much lighter approach, I might be able to accomplish this task (which is to write a novel of 50,000 words or more within the month of November). A lighter approach would be much easier if I could approach it from the angle of writing a novel that would be of use to me in another area of interest, such as, say, gaming. Not only would the novel be a source of material to use in my gaming by way of creating adventure seeds, non-player characters, and background information for a campaign setting, but gaming itself could inform the novel. I'm not proposing to convert specific experiences at the gaming table into a novel, but I am contemplating the possibilities of thinking about my novel from the point of view of what I as a gamer would enjoy if I were playing it instead of reading it.

This plan is so crazy, it just might work!

Magic Item: Wand of Surprise

My first improvement upon the wand of wonder, the wand of wonderment (q.v.), increased the number of possible effects from 19 to 100. The wand of surprise not only doubles this, it offers the wielder a modicum of control determined by the wielder's technique. The following article was originally written as a system neutral randomizer, but has been adapted for use with dice and the Original Role-Playing Game (as well as its offshoots).

Magic Item: Wand of Wonderment

Some of my players are partial to magic items that have random effects, and one of their favorites is the infamous wand of wonder. The wand described in the original AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide had only 19 different randomly determined effects. My version has 100 different effects, because variety is the spice of adventuring (and because the greater the chaos, the greater the entertainment value). The following article was originally written with no system in mind and was meant to be used online, but has been adapted for use with actual dice and You Know What Role-Playing Game (and its relatives).

Magic Item: Nighty Nightcap

Also known in more pedantic circles as the cap of perfect repose:

Nighty Nightcap

This cap, when donned, will lull one into a deep, restful sleep lasting precisely eight hours, after which it will slip off, allowing one to awaken fully refreshed and alert. During the magical slumber, the wearer will be utterly oblivious to all sounds, smells, lights, jostlings, or other incidental stimuli occurring in the vicinity including earthquakes, hurricanes, meteor bombardments, clog-dancing, and other bothersome disasters. The slightest deliberate attempt to wake the sleeper, however, even if it is the merest whisper, will rouse the wearer instantly, causing the cap to fall off his or her head and cancelling the rejuvenatory effects of that slumber. To place the cap on a subject who is aware of the attempt and actively resisting, the instigator must make a successful "to hit" roll. The subject is not entitled to a saving throw, but can be roused quite easily by anyone attempting to do so.

Magic Item: Gloves of Rude Gesturing

This magic item could have comedic or tragic consequences (or both) for its owner:

Gloves of Rude Gesturing

These gloves (or gauntlets, in some cases) function in all ways as normal apparel until such time as the wearer encounters an intelligent being. The gloves then force the wearer to make a rude gesture in the being's direction. Any being to whom the gesture is directed and who sees the gesture will be affected as if by a curse unless a successful saving throw vs. magic is made. In addition, the GM will add +3 to rolls made on the Monster Reaction Table to reflect the hostility inspired by such a gesture. The gloves will force their wearer to maintain the gesture until the object of their insult witnesses the gesture or the wearer is able to make a successful save vs. magic, which may be attempted once per round. Saving throws will be required each round until the being sees the insult or is no longer visible. The gloves may be removed only by means of a remove curse, a wish, or immersion in a suitable enchanted oil. (Normal butter is also effective 50% of the time, although the procedure takes 1d30 rounds.)

Why Resurrection Is Bad for D&D

As presented in Dungeons & Dragons, spells that restore life to the dead—actual life, not an undead existence—would have catastrophic effects on any world if taken to their logical conclusion. The primary culprits are the clerical spells raise dead and resurrection. Unsustainable population explosions are often cited as one side effect of this boon. Another, likelier, byproduct of such spells would be the inevitable rise of theocracies wherever there are clerics with the ability to cast them. Surely the ultimate tool that could be used to win converts would be the allure of eternal life. Surely the primary form of corruption would be the fleecing of the wealthiest to ensure their resurrection. The highest level clerics would inevitably become either the power behind the throne, effectively reducing all monarchs to puppets, or they would rule outright. Who would deny their legitimacy at the risk of losing the opportunity to be resurrected? In such a world, the primary concern of all people would be to earn the right to be resurrected. All wars would be religious wars, because every nation would be under the direct control of a specific religion. The ultimate form of rebellion would be the deliberate rejection of resurrection and those who control it. All of this is fine for an alternative dystopia, but it utterly fails to reflect any fantasy world I've seen depicted in literature or gaming.

Apart from the vast global implications of resurrection spells, what about the personal implications? If I am playing a lawful good cleric capable of casting resurrection, how could I not spend the rest of my days restoring life to every corpse brought to me by a grieving relative? Do all clerics rise in level to become resurrection factories? How can one be selective without being consumed with guilt? Whether the scale is large or small, raise dead and resurrection as standard clerical spells simply fail to support the emulation of any fantasy world I've ever read about, gamed in, or seen. That is why I would abolish them.

I would be willing to consider resurrection as a unique power that might exist in a single relic, or which might be granted by a god under extraordinarily rare conditions (perhaps once per century... or millennium), but as a spell, most emphatically no.

Reincarnation is another matter.

Liberated Clerical Spell Selection

I confess I'm not very familiar with editions of D&D past 1st edition AD&D, so the following may not be the first time this idea has been expressed. (I'm fairly certain it has already been expressed in some capacity, if not an official one, by someone. I'm just recording some thoughts on the subject.) It seems to me there ought to be more to differentiate clerical spells from magical spells than their source. I addressed the idea of changing the nature of verbal components to reflect the communicative role of clerics (spreading the faith), but I think the nature of spell selection lends itself to modification as well. If magical spells are selected and memorized as a matter of forethought and strategy (an intellectual exercise), perhaps clerical spells should be chosen only in times of need (an exercise in faith). Unlike magic-users, who owe their powers to academic study, clerics owe their powers to their deity and their faithfulness in serving that deity. (This is not to say that clerics do not engage in study, but that their study is of a theological nature rather than quasi-scientific inquiry.) A cleric should not have to guess which spell may or may not be useful in advancing his or her patron deity's divine plan. Rather, when the time comes for divine intervention through the agency of the cleric, the right spell within the cleric's capacity should be available for casting. In other words, a cleric prays daily for his or her due allotment of spells based on his or her level, not for specific spells. When the time comes to cast a spell, one spell slot of the appropriate spell level is marked as having been used for that day. If the cleric's mission necessitates that three cure light wounds be cast in a single day or one cure light wounds, one protection from evil, and one light, so be it. It is the deity's will. Clerical magic should, after all, be miraculous. It is a little less than miraculous for a cleric to be forced to admit, "Well, remove curse would have been useful, but I'm afraid I picked locate object instead. Sorry." Aside from falling short of inspiring awe, it doesn't even resemble how divine magic is presented in mythology or literature. The cleric's deity should either enable the clergy to predict which spells would be needed (in which case the referee is choosing the spells for the cleric each day), or the cleric should be able to invoke an available divine power when the need arises. The latter more accurately reflects a priest's decision of which prayer to say or which verse to read on a given occasion (and this ties into the idea of reciting an extemporaneous prayer when casting a spell). Does this unbalance the game? Does this flexibility make clerics too powerful? I haven't playtested this yet, but I think the fact that clerics must act strictly in accordance with their religion or lose their spellcasting ability is a strong limitation. Certain deities may even render the casting of a spell impossible on a case-by-case basis if it is judged to be a frivolous (or maybe selfish) use of divine power. Magic-users, of course, have no such restrictions.