Gelatinous Icosahedron

 Yesterday, I read this post at DM David, talking about the evolution of the non-human player character races in D&D. (He focuses much more on 5E and modern sensibilities than on anything I'd call old school, but generally has interesting things to say, even if not always directly useful to an old schooler such as myself.) Of course, I have some observations and opinions of my own on this topic. On the one hand, we have D&D's most prominent founder, Gary Gygax, whose preference for a human-centric game prompted him to impose strict limits on the demihuman races. On the other, we have modern games, in which almost anything distinguishing dwarf, elf, halfling, or other fantastic folk from humankind is to be spurned as too restrictive to player freedom, if not somehow a manifestation of real-world racism.  I reject both those views. I can certainly respect Gygax's affection for human-centric fantasy, emulating some of his favorite literary sources (which, as I underst

 So, I'm doing some thinking about project Unlikely Heroes. Having made the decision to abandon the quixotic quest to create my ideal version of D&D, I'm feeling completely liberated from D&D's rules and mechanics. They may inspire, but the no longer bind me. And what better way to put the exclamation point on that newfound freedom than by jettisoning one of the most iconic features of the game, the sacred Six Ability Scores? It's certainly not a terribly radical idea. Despite ability score generation being the very first step of character creation, mechanically, ability scores aren't a core part of the old school D&D engine. They're a bit of color and flavor; that's all. The game would play just fine without them. It might even play better without them. You wouldn't have to worry about players who roll dismal or mediocre ones, nor those who hit the jackpot with every score above average. You don't have the player of the fighter with 13

 We interrupt this series of classic monsters to bring you a new one. Clockwork Beehive Hive                                                      Bees Armor Class: 5                                  0 Hit Dice: 4                                          1 hp each Move: Nil                                           Fly 180' (60') Attacks: Nil                                       1 swarm Damage: Nil                                    1d4 + paralysis No. Appearing: 1                            50-100 [(1d6+4)x10] Save As: Magic-user:10               Magic-user:1 Morale: N/A                                     6 (12) Treasure Type: Special                  Nil Alignment: Neutral                        Neutral These very rare constructs consist of a hive wrought of brass and bronze and a swarm of mechanical bees. The bees can be instructed to forage by the owner of the hive, and are able to distinguish between different varieties of plants. Thus they are extremely useful for collec

 Did I say we'd reached the end of the Bs? I spoke too soon, because I somehow missed the Bugbear. They're sneaky, those bugbears. The English word "bugbear" is considered synonymous with "bugaboo," "bogey," and "bogeyman." In classic D&D, bugbears fit that archetype, being giant hairy goblins with an awkward gait and penchant for stealth. They surprise opponents on a roll of 1-3 on 1d6 (compared to the standard of 1-2.) I picture them being gangly rather than hulking, and enjoying not just attacking by surprise but scaring the hell out of their opponents. They won't just jump out and stick their spears in you, they'll jump out making hideous faces and laughing like unhinged demons, and then stick their spears in you if you don't drop dead on the spot of a heart attack. Bugbears are definitely the high end of the goblin hierarchy, with a robust 3+1 Hit Dice. Their AC is quite respectable, equal to mail armor, though a clin

 At last, we come to the end of the B monsters, appropriately enough in the (B)asic Set, with the ever-popular Boar. At least, they were popular with me, being a dangerous but non-fantastic creature for when I wanted a wooded or wilderness area to seem dangerous but not too gonzo. With 3 Hit Dice and dealing 2-8 points of damage on a successful attack, boars are tough enough to be a real threat to low-level characters; even a single one could end up killing a PC or two, and their Number Appearing is 1-6. They're also fast enough, at 150'(50'), that simply outrunning them is not a viable option for adventurers on foot. As if that's not enough, their morale score of 9 indicates a pretty tenacious foe.  Adventurers would be wise not to piss off boars if it can be helped, but unfortunately, they're described as bad-tempered and might attack just because they don't like the look of you. Fortunately, they're animals, driven by fairly simple instincts, so they can

 For the last seven-ish months, I've been playing in a semi-weekly old school-friendly game group. Yes, actual face-to-face tabletop roleplaying. We've been using Old School Essentials and Shadowdark RPG, depending on who's DMing any given session (in separate campaigns, of course.) So far, things have leaned toward a high-heroic tone. Magic is plentiful and potent. Characters are very competent, and have fairly exotic backgrounds (randomly rolled, but of the dispossessed scion of a noble house/orphan raised by werewolves/on the run from organized crime range of the spectrum rather than the "unremarkable peasant boy/girl picks up a rusty sword" sort of origin story).  At the same time, and for the last several years prior, my Goblins & Greatswords fantasy heartbreaker project has gone basically nowhere as I spin my wheels back and forth between making bold, sweeping changes to fix things that bug me and shying away from those changes because they stray too far

 Crikey! Today on The Dragon Hunter, we're going in search of the elusive Blink Dog from the wild outback of the D&D Expert Rules!  In case you didn't know, blink dogs are magical canines that look just like Australian wild dogs, i.e. dingoes.  Me, eat your baby? But I'm Lawful! *Lawful hungry... * The first thing that jumps out at me from the stat block is that blink dogs are surprisingly tough for slender-looking canines, with AC equal to chain armor and 4 Hit Dice, comparable to black bears and dire wolves. Chalk it up to their magical nature, I guess. Another thing is that they're rather slower than their sleek physiques might suggest, a leisurely 120'(40') compared with 180'(60') for normal wolves and 150'(50') for dire wolves. Maybe they just haven't developed their conventional movement that highly due to their reliance on teleportation abilities? Of course the blink dog's namesake ability is to "blink" in and out of

 I've always had a weird fascination with the oozes, slimes, and jellies of D&D, and jumping back now to the Expert Rules, we come to the very top of the slime food chain: the Black Pudding. At a hefty 10 Hit Dice and dishing out 3-24 points of damage per attack, these things are nothing to mess with for any but the most seasoned adventurers. That's not all they've got going in their favor, though. "I eat it." -- some smart-arse British player, right before the DM tells him to roll up a new character, probably. One of the things I wonder about all the oozy monsters is the consistency of their substance. Black puddings, having an AC a point better than leather armor, seem like they must be tough and rubbery, or maybe just with a tougher outer skin (a bit like the American dessert which bears no serious resemblance to its British namesake). As a defense, this is nearly moot, though, because almost any attack from a weapon or spell simply splits off smaller 2 HD

 Another "B" of the Basic Rules, this time the ever-popular Berserker. Although later editions have merged elements of the berserker archetype with the barbarian PC class, at this point it was strictly a monster/NPC type, and for good reason. "My love for you is like a truck BERSERKER!" According to the description, berserkers are simply fighters who go mad when in battle. Their reaction rolls are made normally, and it's likely they are not immediately recognizable as berserkers until battle is joined. Once in combat, berserkers always fight to the death, sometimes attacking their own comrades, and gain +2 to attacks against humans and humanoid creatures. Their 1+1 Hit Dice imply something a bit tougher than an ordinary 1st-level fighter, as does their AC of 7. In Norse legend, berserkers fought naked, or at least unarmored. In D&D, I picture them wearing ragged clothing and carrying shields, with an extra point of AC for sheer ferocity in battle, though you

 Taking a break from the Monsters A to Z for some pondering on what you can do with some new old-school friendly combat mechanics. One of the strongest signs that Old School gaming is not simply about nostalgia is the extent to which old schoolers have embraced ascending Armor Class, in conjunction with class-based attack bonuses, over the old descending-AC-and-attack matrix or THAC0 system. It doesn't just streamline the math and eliminate a whole layer of fiddliness, though, as much as those effects are to be hailed. Within the ascending AC and attack bonus framework, you can do some pretty cool things that would have required some real mental gymnastics in the traditional system. The magic of this approach really lies in the use of an attack bonus stat rather than lines and columns in an attack matrix, which allows everyone to use the same target number for the same target.  To illustrate the point a bit more clearly, consider a 5th-level fighter and a 1st-level magic-user in B/