Greywulf's Lair

Three heroes, four Hobgoblins. Two of the heroes are battered and bruised at 3/4 hit points and three or four healing surges remaining, while the Wizard is fresh as a daisy and spoiling for a fight.

In the room are the Hobgoblins – two Soldiers, an Archer and a Warcaster. There’s also two captives huddled in a corner – a couple of local farmkids who (unknown to the sergeant who sent our heroes on this wild goosechase) thought they’d impress the village girls by spending a night in the Haunted Keep. And yes, they’ve both pissed their pants.

There’s a locked iron box against a side wall and a rug in the centre of the room that hides a trapdoor down to Level 2 just in case my players want to continue playing 4e D&D, old style.

Now, I’ve used the Hobgoblin Warcaster before and he’s one tough critter who fights well above his weight. Like all Hobgoblins he’s got a chance to shrug off save-based effects immediately, has two ranged attacks that can either toss characters around like a ragdoll or knock them prone. Up close he’s just as tough with a Lightning strike from his staff which does a serious amount of damage and dazes the poor hittee until the end of the Warcaster’s next turn. Combine that with Force Lure and he can pull a foe toward him one round to Shock Staff him the next.

The downside to the Warcaster is that all of his abilities recharge on the roll of a d6. That’s a lot of in-game tracking for just a single monster. Instead of this, I decide the he can use his Shock Staff every other round, Force Lure twice in the encounter and Force Pulse just once. It’s easier that way.

The great thing about 4e Hobgoblins is that they’ve got something highly unusual for your typical monster-fodder race – training in the History skill. To my mind, they’re like Klingons – they have a strong and rich oral tradition and are proud of their past. I love that. These particular Hobgoblins are in the Haunted Keep searching for the mortal remains of The-La-Ka, a legendary “Hero” of their people.

Not that the players are interested in any of this, of course. They just wanna fight. Initiative is rolled.

“I rolled a 20! Does that mean I do critical initiative?”

The captives in the corner add an extra tactical wrinkle to the combat; they can’t just lob a Freezing Cloud into the room or it’s goodbye Farm Boys. This limits Mahkra’s options somewhat (bwahahahaha!) so instead he lobs a Cloud of Daggers at the Warcaster and tries to manoeuvre around the edge of the room to position himself between the villagers and the Hobgoblins.

Squidgee has the same idea, using Acrobatics to get across the room (wall running Halfling Jesters!) and Sly Flourish against the Archer.

Hairy Bob…. well, Hairy Bob just charges in. It’s what he does.

I’m happy to say that all of the Hobgoblin’s attacks in the first round miss (heck, my highest roll was a 4). Mahkra gets to the farmboys and unleashes Icy Hell Freezing Cloud into the middle of the room. The Warcaster takes 7 damage, then another 8 on his turn. The Soldiers fare equally poorly and the Archer takes damage once. Hairy Bob (who is also in the blast) makes his saves. Which is nice.

The Hobgoblins have been wrong-footed. The Archer is up close and personal while the Soldiers are at the back, faring poorly against Hairy Bob. The Warcaster is in the middle of the room and uses Force Lure to drag Squidgee toward him to use his Shock Staff on him next round. No such luck.

Our Squidg’ uses Deft Srike to position himself so the Warcaster is between himself and Hairy Bob. Sneak Attack. Hairy Bob then turns (ignoring the Soldiers for a second) and also Sneak Attacks. Ouchouchouchouchouch.

It’s over.

One Solider and the Archer don’t last much longer, and the last Hobgoblin surrenders, agreeing to tell the players all he knows about the lower levels and swearing that His People will never enter the Haunted Keep again.

In the iron box they find 60gp, 300sp and a Magic Item level 3 of their choosing (Treasure Parcels 9 & 4 from the DMG).

We leave it there. We’ve played 4e D&D using nothing more than our minds, character sheets & dice and lived to tell the tale. It’s been a short adventure full of laugher, fun, stupidity and all the things that make D&D great, and it’s been a pleasure to be DM. This could have been any edition of D&D but the fact that it was 4e added something to the game. Every character class had options, both in-combat and out. I presented a Skill Challenge, and the players lapped it up.

Would I do it again?

In a heartbeat.

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It’s a 15′ square room. Inside are two bunk beds and a rather ominous statue of a humanoid figure with a rat’s head. Oh, and 12 Goblins. The room looks like That Scene from Gremlins.

In 4e D&D terms the entire room is 3 squares by 3. That’s not enough room for the Goblin miniatures, let alone space for the players themselves. But we’re not using a battlemat and tactical grid be damned. This is retro-D&D with the 4e rules, and we’re having a ball.

We’ve been playing for just short of 2 hours and I really want this romp to last a single session. We’re pretty much on target so far. To keep things simple, all of these goblins are Minions – Goblin Cutters. It might not be the pinnacle of Good Encounter Design, but that don’t matter. Minions are Great Fun. They halve the number of dice rolled during combat, meaning more time can be spent on the descriptive narrative. Minions turn D&D into a storytelling game. How cool is that?

So anyhow. This is a tough battle. The Goblins are using anything they’ve got to hand, tossing junk and stones from the top bunk for 3 damage, or going hand-to-hand for 4 damage. Our Heroes (Hairy Bob the Fighter/Thief, Squidgee Yellowpants the Halfling Jester and Parson Jeffries the Half-Elf Cleric) battle as best they can, but 12 chattering evil goblin-things starts to take it’s toll. As they’re Minions, by the book each blow should fell a Goblin, but instead I use descriptive leeway and keep a karmic tally instead. In one round a Goblin gets hit by a flying Juggling Ball and turns, annoyed, and cracks the Goblin beside him over the head with his handaxe. Talk about taking it out on your friends.

Now, I’m not a big fan of Clerics. There’s nothing wrong with the 4e D&D rendition at all – in fact they seem just as well put together as all the other classes – but the class has never grabbed me, regardless of edition. I’m just not a Cleric kinda guy. Don’s playing Parson Jeffries brilliantly though; he’s a dour Victorian-style aged preacher who wields a Mace and black holy book with equal fervour. Mind you, I do love Half-elves. Taking the lead from 3e, the Fourth Edition Half-elves are displaced wanderers who start the game with a free dip into another class’s Power list. They’re multiclassed right from the start by design, and that’s backstory heaven. Incidentally, that also means it’s possible for a Half-elf to effectively start at level one as a Triple Classed character – I’ve got a kickass 1st level Half-elf Wizard/Dark Pact Warlock/Rogue to show off sometime.

In Parson Jeffries’ case his dirty little secret is that he’s an ex-Warlord stripped of rank due to a seriously failed tactical decision. In other words – he’s taken Commander’s Strike as a per Encounter Power.

“Don, this next attack has got to count or you’re most likely dead next round.”
“Hairy Bob, you up for a Commander’s Strike?”
“I’m behind the Goblin? Flanking?”
“Yups.”
“SNEAK ATTACK!”

Now, let’s put this into context. This is a Cleric (who’s an ex-Warlord) granting a free basic attack on his turn to a Fighter (who’s a multi-classed Rogue). This is a Goblin Minion who’ll be killed with a straight blow to the head. The good Parson could probably just hit him with his Mace and it’s over, but instead be burns a per Encounter Power to let Hairy Bob do the honours. He in turn uses his per Encounter Sneak attack to unleash ungodly scimitar hell on the poor Goblin – 3d8+1 damage which neatly separates head from body in a fluid (literally) swipe.

Does this feel like World of Warcraft? Nope. Does it feel like D&D with the volume turned up to 23? OH BY THE GODS OF THE NINE HELLS YES!

Even with all this awesome, Our Heroes are fighting a losing battle and stage a fighting retreat with 5 Goblins to go. They’re low on Hit Points, down on Powers, and almost out of surges. Things are getting tough.

“We need the Wizard.”

Next time: Mahkra!

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Our heroes wend their merry way through the corridors of the Haunted Keep and find themselves at Room 8.

This is the text, as per Moldvay Basic D&D:

Room #8 (15′ square): This room was once a guard barracks. The floor has collapsed and the ceiling leaks. The result is a 3′ deep pool filled with scummy water. A partially waterlogged bunk floats in the water. A rusted iron statue of a beautiful warrior maiden lies at the bottom of the pool. The water is safe to walk through and the status is harmless and worthless.

….. nah.

Dunno about you, but if a room looks like that, it just screams Skill Challenge to me.

“This room looks like it was once a guard barracks. The floor has collapsed and the ceiling leaks, flooding the room below completely. The result is a 20′ deep pool filled with scummy water and no easy way around the edge. A partially waterlogged bunk floats in the water, and you can just make out a rusted iron statue of a beautiful warrior maiden immersed at the bottom of the room below. It appears to have some kind of large octopus-like creature draped around it. The only exit from the room is in the North wall, and it’s going to take a Skill Challenge to get there.”

Here’s my Golden Rule when it comes to designing Skill Challenges: Don’t. By nature I’m a Lazy GM. You can guarantee that if you spend an hour working out all of the possible permutations and uses for skills to tackle a particular challenge, they’ll think of others that work just as well (if not better), so why do the work? Set the challenge, design the difficulty level and sit back. Let the players do the work instead. Sure, think of a couple of likely skills that will come up, but don’t commit anything to paper or pixel. Instead, join in the discussion, push when they need pushing and make the Challenge what it should be – a fun brainstorming session instead of a “guess what skills the GM wants us to use” frustration.

So, the challenge is “How to get to the door” and they need 5 successes before 3 fails. The octopus exists to provide a bit more of a challenge and dissuade the players from spending too much time in the water. Hairy Bob, being the most direct problem solver in the group, decides to swim across to the bed. As soon as he enters the water the octopus detaches from the statue, the water turns black and Bob feels suckers touch his leg.

“Uhhhh…. I make a Swim check.”
“Athletics, DC15.”
“8. I don’t make a Swim check. Uhhhhh…… help?”

That’s one fail, and Bob is now 5 feet underwater in the inky blackness.

As an aside, the 4e D&D rules for drowning are not great. OK. They’re downright rubbish. Outside of strenuous situations, any character can hold their breath underwater for 3 minute regardless of CON, Size or whatever (DMG159). In a combat situation, they have to make a DC 20 Endurance check at the end of any round in which they take damage – so a Wizard could theoretically keep himself at a distance underwater and lob Magic Missiles to their hearts’ content, or a Fighter could mix it up mano-a-mano and, so long as he doesn’t get hit, he doesn’t even need to make a check, ever. Daft.

All hell breaks lose. Squidgee tries to leap onto the floating bunk bed (Acrobatics DC25) and makes it, just. That’s one success. Parson Jeffries casts Divine Glow at the Octopus, firing blindly, and hits (I love you, Close Blast 3 in a 15′ room). They can now just about make out the squirming form of Bob in the darkness. Another success.

“We need the rope! Who’s got it?”
“….. Bob.”
“BOB WE NEED THE ROPE!”

They’re up to two successes against one fail, and Bob tries to make a Strength check to break free (DC20). He fails, miserably. I ask him to make a DC20 Endurance check or lose a Healing Surge. Repeat after me: Healing Surges are the new Hit Points.

He makes that (it doesn’t count towards the Skill Challenge though), but he’s still pulled down another five feet by the giant octopus. Squidgee paddles the bed so he’s over the glowing octo and thrusts his hands into the water. I call for an opposed Strength check, him versus the giant octopus to see who wins the Tug o’Bob. Now, Squidgee is STR 11, and I’d guess this Giant Octopus is STR 20, so that’s d20 versus d20+5. Not good odds…………..

Next time: Will Bob stopping Bobbing? Stay tuned!

Parson Jeffries, Good Half-elf Cleric-1
Str 13, Con 10, Dex 12, Int 8, Wis 14, Cha 15
HP 22 bloodied 11 surges 5×7/day
AC 16 (Chainmail), Fort 11, Ref 11, Wis 14, Speed 5

Mace +3 vs AC 1d8+1, versatile
Lance of Faith/w +2 vs Ref, Righteous Brand/w +3 vs AC
Commander’s Strike/e, Channel Divinity/e, Turn Undead/e +2 vs Will, Healing Word/e, Divine Glow/e +2 vs Ref
Cascade of Light/d +2 vs Will

Diplomacy +9, History +4, Insight +9, Religion +4
Pelor’s Radiance
Dilettante (Warlord), Dual Heritage, Group Diplomacy, Healer’s Lore, Ritual Casting
Rituals: Gentle Repose, Make Whole

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We’re playing The Haunted Keep mini-dungeon from 1981 Moldvay-era Basic D&D using 4e D&D. We’ve got three characters (plus a backup Wizard), and they’re about to enter…….

Read on.

The entrance corridor into the Haunted Keep is 15′ long, 5′ wide and contains a pit trap. DMG87. Easy. Passive Perception checks all fail, no one’s watching out for traps and Hairy Bob (Thuggish Fighter and thief wannabe) fails the Reflex save. We’re off to a great start. Down he goes, taking 6 damage for the sudden landing. I briefly consider adding a pressure plate to the bottom of the pit which triggers a pendulum blade to scythe out of the wall at waist height a round later….. but that would be too cruel. Save that one for later.

He climbs out, massaging his (hairy) ego and the others leap across the pit easily to face the inner doors to the Keep.

“They’re blown apart, as if some great force from within wanted to get out very, very suddenly. Pieces of wood are even embedded in the stonework to either side.”
“What level are we again?”

By this point it’s worth mentioning that this is 4e D&D, but we’re playing without miniatures or battlemat. This is pure in-your-head gaming from start to finish, and y’know what – it’s working. Partly that’s because we’re experienced gamers doing what comes naturally, but mainly it’s because we’re playing D&D like D&D. Smaller locations and cramped conditions make for less tactical wiggle room, so less need for absolute positioning. Lesson learned: if you want to play D&D without a battlemat, play it small.

Heading through the door and the players have a choice of left or right. They head left, briefly explore the (empty) Room 1 then enter Room 2 which contains a Crab Spider attached to a tapestry. I replace that with a mated pair of Deathjump Spiders reduced to Level 2 (MM246, -2 attack, AC & defences, -16HP, bite 2d6+2, 4 poison, 125XP each). These shouldn’t tax the players too much but one lands on Hairy Bob’s hairy head, and he runs outta the door screaming. Wimp.

“Getitoff! Getitoff! Getitoff!”
“Stay still! How am I supposed to hit it if you keep flailing around like that?”
:rolls dice:
“There. Got it. Bob? Bob? BOB?”

Thanks to the pit trap, spider bite and two rounds of poison damage (not to mention being hit by Parson Jeffries’ mace), Bob is down to just 2 Hit Points, and the party decide to take a short rest before moving on.

I do what all good GMs do in such a situation, and roll for a random encounter…………

Next time: Goblings!

Here’s Hairy Bob. His name is Bob, and he’s Hairy. After his spider infestation though it’s likely he’ll be changing his name to Bald Bob real soon. As a Fighter he’s armed to the teeth with a Scimitar, Shield, Daggers and Crossbow. As a Thief wannabe he’s pretty good at stabbing you in the back with any of them. Except maybe the shield.

Hairy Bob, Unaligned Human Fighter/Rogue-1
Str 12, Con 13, Dex 13, Int 9, Wis 8, Cha 6
HP 28 bloodied 14 surges 7×10/day
AC 15 (Hide & light shield), Fort 14, Ref 13, Will 10

Daggers (x2)+5 vs AC, 1d4+1, usable off-hand, range 5/10
Scimitar +4 vs AC, 1d8+1, High crit
Crossbow +3 vs AC, 1d8+1, range 15/30, Load minor
Cleave/w +4 vs AC, Sure Strike/w +6 vs AC, Tide of Iron/w +4 vs AC
Sneak Attack/e +2d8, Steel Serpent Strike/e +4 vs AC
Comeback Strike/d +4 vs AC

Athletics +5, Endurance +5, Intimidate +3, Streetwise +3, Thievery +5
Sneak of Shadows, Backstabber
Combat Challenge, Combat Superiority, One-handed style

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We’re sat around the table, and they’re watching me, expectantly. They know this isn’t going to be our usual session as we’re short a couple of players. Little did they expect….

I hand out blank sheets of lined paper with my mostest evilest grin on my face.

“Ok. Roll stats. 3d6, in order.”
“What are we playing?”
“D&D. 4th Edition.”
“You gotta be kidding me!”

I wasn’t. The four of us (me included, I’m generating a character to use as the spare in the event of Sudden Character Demise) start generating characters, only we’re doing it old style. We’re pouring over the books (2 PHBs between the four of us) and there’s not a single laptop, iphone or anything more technical than a pencil sharpener in sight.

Here’s what I rolled:

STR 9, CON 9, DEX 5, INT 12, WIS 5, CHA 7

Hmmm. Maybe there’s a reason why I’m a GM with rolls like that. Thankfully we’re old hands when it comes to Reading The Stats. Inspiration hits.

“I’m playing a Wizard whose mind has been shattered by reading too much Lovecraft late at night.”

The players are rolling equally…. um…… randomly. But y’know what? Random is good. Things have a habit of working out.

“Ok Steve. What you got?”
“11 10 15 11 6 12. That makes me the Rogue then. A very foolish Rogue. I know! He’s a Court Jester!”
:laughs:
“Mike?”
“Oh man. I was gonna be the Rogue. 12 13 11 9 8 6. I’ll play the Fighter then. He’s a Thug for the Thieves’ Guild.”
“Cool. Don?”
“13 8 12 8 14 13. Cleric. An old, senile pulpit bashing Cleric.”

Steve decides his Jester is a Halfling – that +2 DEX & CHA was too tempting, and the image of a Halfling in a Jester’s suit just cemented the deal. Mike goes for a Human and takes a +2 to DEX, and snarfs Sneak of Shadows as his free Feat (Thief Wannabe!). Don plumps for a Half-Elf for his Cleric, and I stick with Human for the backup Wizard.

They’re all characters that won’t win any prizes on a Character Optimization Forum Thread, but we love ‘em already, warts and all.

In all, chargen takes around 20 minutes, and that includes my Wizard and the Mike’s Fighter both rolling for their Powers. Yes, rolling for ‘em. Why not?

I scribble the Wizard’s name – Mahkra – on the top of his sheet, and we’re ready to play.

Incidentally, I love the 4e D&D Wizard class. It’s my second favourite after the Warlock (with it’s three-classes-in-one sugary goodness); of all the classes the Wizard has the most out-of-combat potential thanks to at-will Cantrips. In 3e, the out-of-combat king was the Rogue due to his high skill count. Now all of the classes are skill-capable and the excellent Skill Challenges mechanism means they all get to play a part when solving a puzzle, trying to get past the Kings’ Guard or whatever.

The Cantrips give the Wizard an extra ace up his sleeve, and really put across the feeling that this guy, even at 1st level, Knows His Stuff. The Wizard can conjure up a rose to charm a lady, whisper paranoid delusions into the ear of a Duke, cast Light on an arrow to be cast over a battlefield (or on the helmet of a foe to mark a target), summon a spectral hand or soil the Fighter’s pants (always good for a laugh). Flavourful? I’ll say! The Wizard that is, not the pants.

Next time: The game is afoot!

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