MIGHT DICE: New House Rule for Fighters

Everyone has a fix for the Fighter. Every OSR game. Every blogger. I have. You have. It's a veritable right of passage.

I have tried quite a few in my home games over the years. I like this one the most.

湯魚 (@yzk7rl)

But first, some explanation

Fixes fall in two categories:

• Making fighters better at combat maneuvers like grappling, shoving, and disarming.
• Giving fighters more attack opportunities, like an extra melee attack after felling a foe or a number of attacks against creatures up to 1 HD equal to your level per round.

I've tried implementing both of these fixes in some form or another in my games, and repeatedly faced the same problems.

Maneuvers slow encounters down and require rulings that add cognitive load to combat. Players should be encouraged to look for opportunities to use the environment and perform daring deeds, but we can do that in a lightweight OSR game without giving them a menu of options to pore over every combat round. My innovation, which is shared by ACKS, DCC, and probably a bunch of other systems is to fold maneuvers into basic attacks to make them not have to compete with the reliability of pure damage. But after years of testing, I learned that even with this intertwining of maneuvers and attacks I've determined maneuvers are best kept as edge cases adjudicated descriptively as the situation demands. Codifying them in a class ability works against the elegance of lightweight OSR combat.

Extra attack opportunities are fun but also slow encounters down, and are too situational to add satisfying distinction to fighters. The common Cleave house rule helps fighters shine when fighting hordes of weaklings but becomes totally irrelevant when facing off against a single powerful foe, which could be the perfect opportunity to have a fighter take the spotlight.

So why not just lean into the simpleness of the combat system and make fighters better at achieving the single most important outcome in combat: dealing damage?

Here's a simple, unobtrusive house rule designed to work with, not against, the streamlined harmony of BX-style combat:

MIGHT DICE

• When a fighter deals damage, they roll a d6 Might Dice in addition to their weapon's damage dice.
• If the result of the Might Dice is greater than the damage dice, the fighter uses the Might Dice to calculate damage instead.
• The amount of damage dealt cannot exceed the weapon's maximum. For instance, for fighters using a weapon that deals 1d4 damage, rolling a 5-6 on the Might Dice means they only deal 4 damage before adding modifiers.
• After rolling damage, the fighter may perform a Might Blow and add the result of the Might Dice to the damage roll. This exhausts the Might Dice, which may not be rolled for the rest of combat.
• At 5th level Fighters may perform two Mighty Blows before exhausting the Might Dice, at 9th level three.

Gustave Doré

Examples:

Brog Strongjaw buries his axe into a troll. His player rolls a d8 to determine damage as well as a d6 Might Dice. The d8 result is 5, and the Might Dice roll is a 3. Because the d8 result was higher than the Might Dice, Brog uses the d8 to determine damage and hits the troll for 5 hp.

Melanie Hellbreath throws a dagger at a cultist, hitting him in the chest. Her player rolls a d4 to determine damage as well as a d6 Might Dice. The damage roll is only a 1, but the Might Dice lands on a 4. Because the Might Dice is higher, Melanie deals 4 damage.

Oko the Big crushes a mutant crab with his war hammer. His player rolls a d6 for damage and a d6 Might Dice, each resulting in a 2. Because it's late in the session and Oko's player is ready to get this encounter over with, he decides Oko lands a Mighty Blow and takes the result of both dice, dealing a total of 4 damage. Oko is level 5 but has used one Mighty Blow earlier in the encounter, so he no longer rolls Might Dice for the rest of combat.

Why this works

• It works with the system, not against it. The BX combat sequence is a poor and misunderstood creature—which isn't to say it's perfect, but it has a few things going for it people don't often recognize, namely its speed. Cumbersome combat rules detract from this asset. Initially, I had thought to make a rule that helped fighters hit more often, but I realized that not only do fighters already get a better attack probability than most other classes, but that in my experience missing isn't really that big of a deal when rounds pass really quickly. Instead of making the success of hitting a target more frequent, this rule makes it more rewarding.
• Low/no overhead. Rolling two dice and taking the higher is fast and easy to understand.
• Tangible. Rolling a special dice that no one else gets to helps distinguish a fighter more than numeric bonus.
• Distinctive. Fighters typically have no unique feature; heavy armor they share with clerics and elves, weapon options they share with thieves and elves, their attack progression they share with dwarves, even being able to establish a stronghold at any time is a feature they share with the halfling. Those damn demihumans stepping on my fighter niche. Well no more! Furthermore, if you include fighter-like classes like rangers and paladins, this lets fighters preserve their role as the pure combat specialist.
• Active choice. The Mighty Blow option gives fighter players a big shiny red button to press every time they roll damage. This is partially inspired by Mindstorm's Buy the Boost system.
• Also gives space to other fixes. I must face the fact that maneuvers and cleaves aren't going away, and if you've been playing with them for years you're not going to stop on my account. Might Dice can give fighters another boost without breaking the game and they can fit nicely alongside whatever else you're doing to give the simple fighter some love.

And beyond

Another quality of the Might Dice rule is that it's easy to riff on. Ok yes I said part of the benefit of this system is how simple it is but because I seem to have a gland in my brain that delivers pleasure every time I make something more complicated than it needs to be, I consider it a benefit that this system provides a game mechanism to mess around with. I am already working on a method for letting fighters use their Might Dice for special techniques. Here are some highly experimental and untested examples for more things you can do with Might Dice.

Swear Vengeance

A fighter who has been wronged by another creature can Swear Vengeance against them. Their Might Dice becomes 1d12 against that specific foe and they ignore their weapon's damage limit (so even if you're fighting with a dagger and you roll a 10, you deal 10 damage plus modifiers). As long as a fighter's oath of vengeance goes unfulfilled, they are unable to perform Mighty Blows against other targets. Fighters may only Swear Vengeance once per level.

Deflect

In combat, a fighter can roll their Might Dice and reduce incoming damage by that amount. Doing this prevents them from using their Might Dice the next time they roll damage.

Called Shot

If the Might Dice rolls a 6, a fighter player may declare they make a called shot targeting a specific nonvital part of the foe's body (hand, eye, leg, tail, wing, etc.). The attack deals damage as indicated on the normal damage dice (not the Might Dice, even if it is higher) and render the body part unusable for three rounds. If the fighter is at least 2 HD greater than their foe, the body part is instead severed, destroyed, or otherwise permanently disabled.

Encounter Motives Over Encounter Activities

About month ago I made a Bluesky thread (follow me) some people found useful, and I wanted to share it here. This isn't me cannibalizing my thoughts across platforms. This is an adaptation.

A lot of people conceptualize random encounters as the party encountering the monsters, but they make more sense the other way: the monsters encounter the party. Encounter activity tables/"what are these monsters doing" lists can be helpful tools in certain situations, but they represent a way of viewing random encounters that works against how wandering monsters function best in the game. 

Arnold K's seminal "WTF are these goblins doing?" table is the clearest and probably most popular example of what I'm getting at. 

This table works well for a number of reasons. 

1. It conveys a large amount of information about goblins and their lifestyle, habits, and behavior in a condensed form. Even without making explicit use of the table, it gives a GM a strong enough impression of what goblins are like that they can easily make them come to life at the table.
2. It allows repeat encounters to be distinct from one another. 
3. It gives goblins depth. If you run into a goblin in the middle of something it makes them seem like a living creature instead of a knife tied to a bag of hit points. 

Nowadays its even common to bake activities in to the encounter table itself. "2d6 goblins playing kiss the blowfish" is more exciting than "2d6 goblins." And you get two of the three benefits above without having to rely on a whole other table. 

But, despite these benefits, monster activities such as these have a number of downsides. 

First, they imply the monsters are stationary and not wandering. 

Monsters hang out in a hallways, sure, but stationary activities are generally the purview of room encounters—what you key when you're prepping a dungeon. Random encounters can happen anywhere, even when the players themselves are stationary. Think about what happens if a random encounter is rolled while the PCs are in an empty room. The monsters are the ones on the move, so they're not going to be engaged in activities like "playing knucklebones" or "repairing a trap." This is why, traditionally, random encounters are rolled on a "wandering monsters" table.

Additionally, such encounter activities imply the PCs are walking in on a group of monsters in the middle of something. 

While surprise is a possibility, it's not guaranteed for every encounter. Some games even deny the possibility that monsters can be surprised by a party carrying blazing torches through the inky darkness of the underworld. 

Above is from OSE, below is OD&D Vol. 3: THE UNDERWORLD & WILDERNESS ADVENTURES

Since in most circumstances monsters are aware of the party's presence, it's reasonable to assume they'd have stopped what their doing by the time the party sees them. 

Most important, encounter activities don't tell you WHY monsters are interested in the PCs. If encountered monsters are preoccupied with something else, careful players have little reason to engage with them, and it's harder to contrive a reason for why monsters should care. 

When that happens, encounters run the risk of becoming just the DM describing monsters engaged in an activity and then the players going "ok cool, let's move on."

Saying "just ignore nonsensical results!" doesn't work here. If a tool assumes we will be regularly ignoring what the dice tell us to do (at the table, specifically; I contend prep is different), we could be using a better tool. 

Are these kinds of encounter activities always bad? Absolutely not. But there's something else we can use to add color to random encounters.

Wandering monsters already have an activity baked in (wandering, of course), but we can add more dimension by determining their MOTIVE. The expanded reaction table that's been floating around for a while is a good example of what I mean. A monster's needs inform the encounter.

Please tell me if you know who made this

Determining wandering monsters' motive doesn't just tell you why they're wandering, it—crucially—tells you what they want from the PCs, and how they'll go about getting it. That's a lot of bang for your buck! 

Ditto above

When designing encounters, think about activities that can answer these two questions:

1. Why are these monsters wandering?

2. What would these monsters want with the PCs? 

These questions don't need to be elaborate answers. You don't have to be particularly clever or creative when coming up with monster motives. In fact, simpler answers may be better because the players catch on faster. 

"Looking for food," "guarding territory," "hunting for treasure" are all suitable motives. Acclaimed Canadian Levi Kornelsen points out: "In human complexes where work is done, a *huge* amount of the time, what wandering humans are doing in the halls is moving things around. Food, waste, furniture (it me!), bodies, materials, messages. Any hive of activity is constantly shuffling stuff around." 

Not only do motives give immediate explanation for what monsters are doing and why, they tell you what kinds of decisions they would make when encountering the party. 

The TICHENORTIME

Puttering around the dungeon on its little bowed legs, the TICHENORTIME appears! 

A dozen lifelike hands radiate from its circular clock-face body, each with a number of fingers equal to the hour they are positioned at. The clock body is supported by three slender human legs. It has three clock hands: hours, minutes, and a special silver hand fixed at 12. 

The Tichenortime is a curious automaton found deep within the halls of the Inverted Palace. It appears harmless at first, tottering after party at a safe distance, keeping time with a soft tick-tock.

What it Does

When combat breaks out, the silver clock hand ticks to one. Time compresses. 

Instead of rolling initiative each round, both sides act simultaneously the first round and every round after. 

On the second round, the silver hand moves to two. two rounds are compressed into one. Declare two rounds of actions, and both resolve at the same time. On the third round three rounds resolve at once, on the fourth four, and so on up to 12. 

How to Stop It

That's the challenge. 

• Breaking it works. The Tichenortime has AC -1, 80 HP, saves as a 8 HD creature, and casts Slow on anyone who damages it. It runs away after losing 20 or more HP, but can appear again as a wandering monster. If destroyed, it's body is worth 10,000 sp to a wizard or antique collector and weighs 500 lbs. 

• Thieves can attempt to mess with its internal components. If the Tichenortime is grappled or otherwise immobilized, thieves can attempt to Remove Traps. If the roll succeeds, the Tichenortime is deactivated for the rest of combat. 

• Removing the silver hand does nothing, as it's just there to show how many rounds are being compressed. It's worth 5 sp. 

• Pausing combat for a full minute (six rounds) resets the Tichenortime back to it's original state. 

• It won't follow you if you leave the dungeon floor. But it will be waiting.

What else

If you successfully rout your foes while the Tichenortime is active, it chirrups a few times and rewards you with one of its humanlike hands (starting with the one with one finger extended, then the one with two, and so on). Whoever's holding it sees the extended fingers are articulated and can be closed. 

Closing a Tichenortime's fingers into a fist gives you FREE TIME. For every finger the hand has to close, you get one full turn where you can do whatever you please without the effects of time passing. This doesn't "stop" time, rather the effects of time progressing are ignored—wandering monsters aren't checked, torches don't burn down, magical effects aren't exhausted, etc. So if you survive 11 combat encounters with the Tichenortime and it gives you its hand with 11 fingers, each finger can be closed to give you a total of 11 free turns. 

Once a hand has been given, the silver clock hand starts combat on the next number; so after the "one" hand has been given, combat starts with two rounds compressed into one, after the "two" hand has been given combat starts with three rounds compressed, and so on up to 12. 

If the players manage to survive 12 encounters and get all 12 of the Tichenortime's hands, it's body opens up to reveal a reliquary containing the HAND OF VECNA... or some other thematically appropriate reward. 

The Tichenortime that inspired this post is a sculpture made by Pedro Friedeberg.

Vivid Worlds Will Kill You

The question “How do I make a fantasy setting feel real?” is one people never really ever stop grappling with. Especially in games.

There is a lot of good input on this topic: have things change over time, create interactions between aspects of the world that don’t involve the players, and borrow judiciously from the real world, which of course everyone has been told is stranger than fiction. 

 

In old school D&D, making an environment feel real is a solved issue, as long as the environment is a dungeon or can be navigated using the dungeon exploration rules. Movement speeds, 10-minute turns, and random encounter procedures are like the enzymes that turn grid-paper maps and sparse room keys into vivid, realized locales—it’s the magic trick that gets so many people hooked on the OSR. 

But dungeons aren’t the same as full settings, and the deeper layers of abstraction used to map and explore an overworld make it harder to bring outdoor environments to life. This is especially the case with imagined environments that have only loose connection to the real world. 

Two non-game works that prominently feature settings of particular vividness: Scavengers Reign, the 2023 sci-fi HBO show known by many of you to be a rare mainstream cultural product inspired by Jean Giraud that has merit beyond just being inspired by Jean Giraud, and Fantastic Planet, a 1973 French and Czech animated film that most of you probably first watched stoned and/or in college.  

If you’ve seen both you probably came to the same conclusion I did, that the latter almost definitely informed the former, at least in terms of setting: they both take place on alien worlds where the worlds themselves, specifically the interactions between organisms and their environment, are more distinctive and memorable than the plots and characters. 

In watching Scavengers Reign when it was airing, and then rewatching Fantastic Planet more recently, I kept asking myself why these settings worked so well. Sure, the camera lingered on weird creatures and landscapes long enough to fix themselves in you mind, but the same can be said for, say, the Star Wars sequel trilogy but not nearly to the same effect.

It turns out it's not the settings themselves but the kinds of stories they support. Scavengers Reign and Fantastic Planet are both survival narratives, and it’s specifically the survival aspect that makes the ecology of the setting hit harder. 

In other words, each work uses the context of survival as a framework upon which elaborate, imaginative settings are built; the settings convey meaning by way of ecological interactions. Because survival fiction inextricably ties plot to the basic facts of the environment, the genre conventions are well-suited to bring to life fantasy environments in ways no other genre can quite accomplish.  

Let’s take a look at how. 

Scavengers Reign

Scavengers Reign follows survivors in the far future shipwrecked on an alien world. When the show begins, separate groups of survivors are eking out meager existence on the planet Vesta after their ship, the Demeter 227, experiences an ambiguous disaster. In the first episode, a pair of survivors activate the Demeter’s emergency landing protocol, and the disparate survivors witness what remains of the craft slowly make its way to the planet's surface. Each survivor decides to journey to the wreckage, and their adventures through lush environments make up the substance of the show.

Much of the series is spent on the complexity of interrelationships within Vesta’s ecosystems. Character moments and plot beats are interspersed with brief scenes of symbiosis, parasitism, and predation, portrayed in such a way as to highlight the rationality of flora and fauna’s adaptations while underscoring the alienness of the environment. 

In one episode, a brief montage shows the lifecycle of a species of a sort of tree. It begins with a hypodermic tendril extracting DNA from an unsuspecting herd creature, then the gestation of a vegetal simulacrum in a hanging birthing sac, which joins up with the herd only to detonate in an explosion of spore-like seedlings, producing a new stand of trees fed by the bodies of the exploded herd. All of this is shown as lead up to a main character getting stuck by the hypodermic tendril and later a tense scene where his traveling companion is confronted by his plant clone. 

While much of the ecology the characters encounter is incredibly dangerous in horrifying and elaborate ways, the show makes explicit that not all flora and fauna pose a direct threat. Some instances depict the environment as wondrous and even beneficial to the characters’ survival. In one scene, a character suffering from a skin disease seeks respite in a pool of water. Suddenly, the viewer sees a pack of dark fish approach from the depths, and there’s an “oh shit” moment where you expect they may attack. But the tension is immediately resolved once the fish begin harmlessly nibbling at the infected flesh, assuaging the character’s ailment. 

This tension around what is and isn’t a threat is central to the flow of the narrative, which simply wouldn’t work if everything was overtly dangerous. The point is not that Vesta is dangerous but that it is alien—everything has its own logic, which can only be discovered through observation and experimentation. 

This experimentation and observation is the key to every character’s survival, which they go about in different ways: each must adapt to the environment by learning how they may integrate themselves into the ecosystem—figuratively for the most part, as most characters navigate various hazards, but literally in the case of one character who physically and mentally merges with a psychic predator, and also literally in the case of a robot who experiences a strange one-ness with the planet after mysterious golden mold integrates with their circuitry. Those that fail to adapt all perish.  

More importantly, this experimentation and observation in a survival context is key to making the world feel vivid and distinctive. If the alien world was a setting for a different sort of story to take place, say like Pandora in the first Avatar film, Vesta might be remembered only as a series of lush backdrops with maybe a familiar merchandise-friendly animal popping up here and there, as opposed to the layered, puzzle-box ecosystem it is given the space to be. The workings of the planet are not set dressing, they're the source of conflict and driver of change in the narrative.

Fantastic Planet

As mentioned above, immediately noticeable to anyone familiar with Scavengers Reign and Fantastic Planet, is their shared fixation on showing the natural workings of their respective alien ecologies. 

Fantastic Planet takes place on an alien world dominated by a race of giant blue humanoids called Draags. Human beings, brought from Earth some time in the indefinite past, are treated as animals and sometimes kept as pets. The story follows a human pet who escapes his home and joins a community of wild humans who eventually rise up against the Draags, voyage to the “fantastic planet” orbiting the Draag world, and win freedom for all mankind. 

Unlike the world of Scavengers Reign, with its sort of naturalistic indifference, the world of Fantastic Planet is overtly hostile. The sparse, brutal locales of the film’s setting are home to nightmarish flora and fauna, each designed to feel as cruel and inhospitable as possible. They clamp, whip, and slice senselessly as fragile humans scurry through the narrative. 

One scene that’s particularly illustrative of this hostility: the protagonist and another human are making their way through some tangled overgrowth. Looming above is some sort of plant or creature that looks like a pumpkin-shaped head sporting a long branching nose supported on several stalks within an organic cage. A bird creature flaps toward the head and lands on one of the nose-branches. The branches then close around the bird, shake it violently, and then toss it to the ground where the camera lingers on dozens of other bird corpses littered about. I clipped the scene and included it here because it's too good to describe with just words.

The lingering on the corpses subtly demonstrates that Fantastic Planet should be understood as a film about its setting, with the plot simply there to justify moving from one ecological scene to another. Whereas in Scavengers Reign human stories are told through how survivors interact with alien ecologies, the alien organisms and bizarre natural scenes cover far more of what Fantastic Planet is as a work of art than the plot or characters.

Fantastic Planet establishes itself as a survival story upon which such a distinctive, resonant setting is built through how it features humanity in relation to the environment. Human characters are depicted as tiny ants against harsh barren landscapes, fragile as paper dolls when they are pulled and plucked by curious Draags or hungry predators. This use of scale and severity highlights the hostility of the world, amplifying to a grotesque degree what is at bottom a very basic story about how humans use ingenuity to overcome our status as squishy subjects in a dangerous world. 

What else? (SURPRISE it's Hundreds of Beavers)

A third work, much different from the previous two, brings home the point. 

The 2022 slapstick comedy Hundreds of Beavers represents a third approach to worldbuilding through survival. The film follows Jean Kayak, an applejack brewer whose life is upended after beavers destroy his home and farm. Jean finds himself alone and naked in the wintry wilderness, where over the course of the film he develops the skills and wherewithal to become a legendary trapper.

The film differs from the previous two examples as Hundreds of Beavers take place not on an alien world but right here on Earth, though a black-and-white comedified version. The looney-tunes logic is essentially as novel to Jean as it is to the viewer, who despite inhabiting the setting prior to the events of the film still must learn the workings of the environment through observation and trial and error.  It is exactly this sort of logic that establishes the character of the setting, and that Jean exploits to go from incompetent to a master of his world.

Much of the film's comedy and worldbuilding comes from introducing a phenomenon, such as a bird that attacks Jean early in the movie, prompted by him whistling when a nest full of eggs is within reach; reintroducing the phenomenon in a new context, such as when Jean, later in the film, is attacked by the bird who appears from seemingly nowhere when he makes the same whistle in an unrelated circumstance; and then reinterpreting the phenomenon into an exploitable facet of the world, such as when Jean, late in the movie, puts his distinctive hat on an unsuspecting target and then issues the now-familiar whistle, summoning the bird to attack the disguised victim. The bird example is only one instance of many of these phenomena constantly being iterated upon and intersecting in novel ways. 

Though Hundreds of Beavers has different aims as a work of art and as a speculative setting than Scavengers Reign and Fantastic Planet, the ecology is foregrounded in the same way. The work is not as focused on the environment as such, rather on the comical interactions between Jean and the wilderness’s inhabitants, but the way these interactions are mediated is through a similarly “alien” set of rules and sideways rationalities. In this way, Hundreds of Beavers shares a common thread with Scavengers Reign and Fantastic Planet in how they both focus on people reduced to a primitive state, Scavengers Reign in particular how survival is secured through observation and experimentation with the local ecology and Fantastic Planet with protagonists’ drive to transcend through knowledge their circumstances as subject to the whims of a world they are not suited for. 

Putting this to use

These three survival stories tells us what any OSR person already knows, which is that it is the constraints inherent to an environment that makes the environment feel vivid. For dungeons we already have darkness, traps, stuck doors, and the like, but for some reason it has been much more difficult to apply these same principles to overworked exploration. 

The closest I've seen anyone come to this is Ms. Screwhead with the excellent laws of the land. 

By putting difficulty first, we establish impediments to survival which in turn help players build meaningful relationships with the setting. 

A good rule of thumb for challenging regions is that they should have clear answers to about two or three of these questions. Any more and the area risks becoming prohibitively difficult (which is not always a problem but something to keep in mind).

1. Why is resting is difficult?
2. Why is finding food is difficult?
3. Why is travel difficult?
4. Why is not getting lost is difficult?
5. Why is fighting difficult?
6. Why transporting cumbersome goods or treasure is difficult?

Instead of trying to invent a new system to generate survival ecosystems, I'll lay out a pair of lists of biotic and abiotic factors in an ecosystem with baked-in difficulty. Consider these as levers to pull to answer the above questions. 

Biotic factors

1. Large territorial predators
2. Coordinated pack hunters
3. Camouflage or mimicking predators
4. Mesopredators or prey with deterring, fear-inducing, or hypnotic self-defense mechanisms
5. Habitat-modifying (i.e. burrowing, dam-building, etc.) creatures
6. Behavior-altering parasites or pathogen vectors
7. Swarming insects
8. Plants with harmful self-defense mechanisms
9. Carnivorous or trapping plants
10. Highly active decomposers

Abiotic factors (you probably want no more than two of these per region)

1. Extreme temperature (intense heat or cold, sudden swings, microclimate pockets)
2. Extreme wind (gales, tornadoes, downbursts) 
3. High water variability (drought, flash floods, ephemeral rivers)
4. High terrain instability (tremors, rockslides, fissures)
5. Toxic or corroding chemicals (hazardous soil minerals, acid pools)
6. Combustion (wild fires, flammable peat)
7. Low visibility (haze, fog)
8. High verticality (cliffs, overhangs, ravines, sinkholes)
9. Anomalous weather (icicle-knife hail, magnet storms, rain of frogs)
10. Harmful air (poison smog, spores)

As a fun exercise, you can quickly hack together a rudimentary system of ecological relationships by explaining adaptations the biotic factors have as a response to each other and the abiotic factor. Perhaps in the future I'll make this a more robust and usable tool.

Here's an example: 

I rolled 9 and 2 for biotic factors and 8 for an abiotic factor: 

• Carnivorous plant
• Pack hunter
• High verticality

Specific adaptation the carnivorous plant has to living in a region with high verticality: 

Long, corded tendrils that dangle over ledges, contract when agitated. Unsuspecting creatures are constricted and slowly pulled up to the plant to be consumed for nutrients. 

Specific adaptation the coordinated pack hunter has to surviving in spite of the carnivorous plant:

Bipedal hunting lizards with two edged spines protruding scissor-like from their tails. Use their spines to shear through the tendrils otherwise too thick to claw or chew apart. 

You can layer in more biotic and abiotic factors as you please. 

State of the TRAIPSE 2026

 Join me, dear reader, as I indulge in some self-reflection...

2025 Retrospective

This past year was a quite a solid one for my home game. We completed our 24th session after about a year and a half of playing. My players, all people who entirely new to D&D, have taken to the game swimmingly, graduating from groping about in the dungeon to groping about in the overworld. Standout sessions from 2025 include an impeccable raid on an Owlbear lair where for maybe once ever everything went exactly to the players' plans, a mass combat battle against a hobgoblin warband involving me finally getting to use a table-sized whiteboard I found in an alley, and a high-stakes stealth mission in a pig man fortress which culminated in hijacking an alchemically powered battle wagon right from under their snouts.

The PCs went from nervous pushovers to fantasy JSOC guys, in the sense that when they're not performing highly tactical and morally dubious infiltration missions they're partying recklessly, fencing stolen goods, and generally being a menace to the local townspeople who nonetheless have to tolerate them (I've been reading Seth Harp's The Fort Bragg Cartel recently; highly recommend to see what is essentially murderhoboism applied in the real world and all its horrifying consequences). 

As for the blog, I've continued my cozy rough-monthly posting scheduling and felt great doing it. This past year's hottest post was The 10 types of special rooms, which a decent number of people found useful.  

The current blogging meta seems to be tools and resources for prep, as opposed to houses rules and setting posts, which seemed way more common when I was first getting into the OSR. Something to consider for those of you who want to raise your blogging game. 

On to 2026

This year I want to up the posting cadence a bit. 

When this blog first started, it was during a time when there was a dramatic drop in the kinds of posts I enjoyed reading throughout the OSR sphere. This was due to a number of factors (notable controversies, end of G+, etc.) but in my mind can mostly be chalked up to the '10s era of the OSR drawing to a close with no real direction for what comes next. 

I started posting as a little side hobby to get my disparate ideas about the game into a more polished and shareable form. As such, I didn't have much aspiration to participate in what I understood as the larger "scene," which was really a bunch of siloed communities scrambling to define and defend ingroup identity. 

Now it's fair to say a new iteration of the OSR is in swing. There is a wide variety of people doing a wide variety of cool and interesting things. Posting's BACK. 

I feel like I have more to contribute in this new era, so I intend to be more active. 

On that note, I started a Bluesky! Follow me there. It's not a perfect platform but in my mind it's a nice medium to have more back-and-forth conversations with people without being as cloistered as forums or as fleeting as Discord. 

That's all for now. See you in the future. 

Headband of the Phrontisery

A magic item inspired by Josh's version of Phlox's version of the Periapt of Wisdom.

The idea is to take a traditional passive stat-boost item and turn it into something active. I'm game. 

Here's my take on the classic Headband of Intellect. 

The Headband of Intellect is a band of rich cloth embroidered with a swirling pattern of violet, green, and blue. The inner lining has a pair curious golden eyes stitched into the fabric. 

Wearing the headband provides no benefit, but pull it over your eyes and you find yourself in a cavernous hall filled with books. Thick volumes brim from lofty shelves, piles of manuscripts cramp the corridors, boxes of scrolls and vellums litter the floor. You are greeted by a crow with golden eyes who introduces himself as Meero. 

Within the library you can find the answer to virtually any question on an academic subject (such as history, theology, biology, and whatever else is in the sage specialization list from the AD&D DMG). But it takes time to sort through all the clutter. 

General questions take 2d6 minutes to answer, specific questions 2d6 turns, and exacting questions 2d6 hours. The DM determines whether a question is general, specific, or exacting before you roll. Rolling doubles increases the time increment—general questions take turns, specific questions take hours, and exacting questions cannot be answered. 

Meero offers to aid your research. He'll remove any dice of your choosing to shorten research time and undo the effect of doubles. He can take more than one dice; if he takes them all he just tells you the answer outright. 

His help comes at a cost: for every six dice Meero removes, the library gets more disordered. Shelves collapse, piles grow, and the text themselves get more circuitous and nonsensical. Add an additional d6 to research time rolls. 

Rolling triples exposes you to a cognitohazard. Unless Meero removes dice, you lose 3% of the experience earned since leveling up as your grasp of reality slips away. But your brush with forbidden knowledge gives you +1 Intelligence while wearing the band, max +3. 

Other details:

• While your mind occupies the library demiplane, your body remains in the material world in deep meditation. In the library you can hear others vaguely if they're shouting but otherwise are oblivious to your real-world surroundings.  
• Removing the headband or having it pulled off negates any progress you made so far. 
• You don't bring anything with you into the library. Even though it feels like you're physically there, it's all just in your mind.

Once the research roll would raise above 6d6, the library becomes too disheveled to use. Meero loses any interest in speaking with you and instead attempts to pick out your eyes should you visit again. 

---

If anyone wishes to join in on this, the Gauntlets of Ogre Power, Gloves of Dexterity, Cloak of Charisma, and Amulet of Health are up for grabs. Claim one if you dare!

Lords of Nevelorn

Recently, my players have turned their attention away from the dungeon and began exploring a bit of the overworld. They opted to embark on a few rather self-contained adventures these past few sessions, but it's beginning to be time for me to actually get my act together and start filling out the hex map. I'm preparing my body and mind by pouring over the amazing work Idraluna Archives and the Blog of Forlorn Encystement have done with their own recent hex mapping endeavors, picking through the original Wilderlands of High Fantasy, and attempting to subliminally imprint the entirety of Tales of the Dying Earth into my brain. 

I've always been captivated by OD&D's castle generation rules, so I started with Nevelorn's strongholds. The goal is to get enough detail down that I know the general "shape" of each NPC and their stronghold and can fill in more details later or improvise on the fly should the need arise. 

For convenience's sake, every NPC here is 9th-level

The King of Axes (Neutral Fighter). Ross Mandale, a legendary veteran of the Seven Wars, resides in a low hill fortress overlooking a village of 650 residents, mostly retired mercenaries and their families. He is the chosen bearer of the Master Axe, discovered only after being on the receiving end of a blow from an unworthy wielder. The axe head remains lodged between his eyes to this day, and while it’s there no axe deigns to do him harm. The Dead Company, a band of 8 daredevil myrmidons, defend the castle along with 140 men-at-arms. 

The Barbarian Queen (Neutral Fighter). Nara Skybreaker dwells in a keep surrounded by a village of 160 barbarians. She seeks to unite the clans of the barbarian hinterlands. Her friend and protector is a dire panther which she rides into battle. Her lands are protected by 90 berserkers. She is served by 6 heroes who ride upon giant tuatara lizards, each the eldest son of a barbarian chief she bested in combat. 

The Violet Lord (Lawful Fighter). Dragomir Ulrum claims descent from the lost kings of Nevelorn, and dwells in an old sprawling stone castle guarded by 110 men-at-arms overlooking a town of 930 residents. His domain is protected by the Violet Knights, a fraternity of 4 solemn Champions riding juvenile rocs with striking lavender plumage. A spectre haunts the castle, the manifestation of an ancestral curse plaguing the Ulrum bloodline for generations. 

The Lord of Banes (Chaotic Fighter). Siegbrand von Skor lives in a menacing fortress encircled by a moat of tar. He commands a force of 160 bloodthirsty brigands who terrorize the surrounding locale. Skor despises weakness and deems anyone incapable of protecting themselves worthy only of death or subjugation. He is aided by a vicar of Rintrah who consorts with a pack of seven fearsomely mutated lycanthropes that stalk the forested lands around the fortress. 

The Lady the Engine (Lawful Fighter). Lady Amberine resides in tall walled palace constructed as the topmost section of an ancient buried megastructure. Surrounding the palace is a tranquil village of  640 residents who are kind yet distrustful of outsiders. Lady Amberine wishes to avoid the conflicts of Nevelorn and prevent anything from entering her domain which may disrupt the peace. In addition to 130 brightly uniformed men-at-arms, her land is protected by the 10 Men of the Engine, living statues salvaged from deep within the megastructure. They are constructed a peculiar metal-ceramic alloy and can shoot jets of blue flame from their fingertips.

The First Inevitable (Lawful Cleric). Resides in the The Basilica Aeterna, the clockwork bastion of the Aeternum. Locked within the basilica are dozens of magic items horded by the Aeternum deemed too dangerous to be used. Though petrified, the High Inevitable can still move and speak, and has rumored to be over 1000 years old. The bastion is protected by 120 silent men-at-arms and 6 towering siege golems decorated with the faces of saints. 

The High Adjudicator (Lawful Cleric). Lives in the Holy Fortress, a fortified cathedral defended by 100 templars. He leads the Justiciars, an order of 10 heroes riding hippogriffs who enforce order throughout the land. The High Adjudicator militantly enforces the strictures of Law, taking an uncompromising approach to bringing outlaws and heretics to justice. 

The Red-Eyed Deceiver (Chaotic Cleric). Dwells in the Burning Tower, a wide column of ruddy stone. Red light pours from each window and smoke billows from its peak as 220 masked prisoners toil endlessly in the furnace-lit chambers toward inscrutable ends. They are guarded by a group of 80 fanatical warriors who worship The Deceiver as a prophet. Her lover is a demoniac wyvern whose scales she replaced with plates of fell iron. 

She of Limpid Mercy (Lawful Cleric). Oversees The Hall of Contrition, a wide castle of white stone where the mutated, diseased, and corrupted faithful find refuge. There are 700 such afflicted living in the village outside the hall, which is protected by 130 men-at-arms covered in white bandages. Guarding the domain are five hulking flesh golems each composed of hundreds of sinews braided in a sacred pattern, each originating from a deceased afflicted who wished to continue to serve She of Limpid Mercy and the Church beyond their death. Rumors of heresy draw unwanted attention from the Aeternum. 

Vyla The Necrope (Chaotic Magic-User). Dwells in a many-spired castle of darksome green. There, she practices foul arts to learn the secrets of life and death. She demands a nearby village of 450 weary residents give her their deceased in exchange for her protection. She has risen an army of 150 skeletons, and has pulled 11 grotesqueries, gargoyles with muscular human bodies and monstrous faces, from abyssal Sheol to do her bidding. She seeks the formula of the potion of longevity, wishing to live forever.  

The Lady of Rain (Neutral Magic-User). Her domain is hidden within a ring of terrible storms, but through the torrential downpour is an idyllic grove washed in light rain where her gleaming citadel stands beneath a perpetual rainbow. Nymphs, driads, and wildlife of all sort play and frolic in the fields. The Lady has bound an elemental of air and one of water to her service through the use of a Censor and a Bowl of Elemental Control. She seeks the Brazier and Stone to complete her collection. A force of 90 men-at-arms patrol her lands, composed mostly lost travelers allowed to live on the edge of her domain in exchange for their service. Those who are slack in their duty or disrupt the grove's tranquility are remediated through the use of a Charm spell. 

Nimbril Longfinger (Neutral Magic-User). Lives in a narrow tower of cyclopean brick. Nimbril's inquisitive nature has led him to pursue the synthesis of life. From his vats he has produced all manner of piteous short-lived things. His greatest success was a pair of monstrous chimera, who nearly destroyed his tower upon first waking. Through guile and persuasion he trapped them in cages of bronze and hung them from the long balconies of his tower, where they may be unleashed upon intruders. The chimeras are kept sedate, lazily scheming how they may get revenge upon their creator. In low hovels at the foot of his tower are 100 tottering homunculi who fight as standard men-at-arms. They expire at just the rate he manages to replace them. Nimbril seeks a spell to carry him to the world of Carcosa, which is said to contain the secret of synthetic life. 

Skalder the Cold (Neutral Magic-User). Resides in a hollow statue carved into a mountain face. Defending his stronghold are 80 berserkers from the barbarian hinterlands. Skalder has learned many secrets of the Mourning Mountains from the they frost giants who live nearby, who may be called upon for aid in times of need. 

Kalindho of Caztaan (Chaotic Magic-User). Dwells in a low manse at the edge of the Many-Colored Moor. A band of 60 gnolls protects Kalindho's manse in exchange for a recreative narcotic of his own devising. He keeps a demon (10 HD) bound in a domed cupula which changes position at odd times. The demon defends Kalindho's manse and advises the wizard, but secretly he guides his master down a path of elaborate ruin. Kalindho currently wishes, either by force or subterfuge, to gain access to the great engine beneath Lady Amberine's palace. It is said Kalindho provides travelers the means of safe passage through the Many-Colored Moor, but he demands a heavy price.