Monday, 31 December 2012

DCC House Rule: Character Age

Young/Adult:     No modifiers to stats as rolled
Mature:             –(1d3-1) Str/Agi/Sta, +(1d3-1) Int
Old:                   –(1d3-1) Str/Agi/Sta, +(1d4-2) Int*
Venerable:        –(1d3-1) Str/Agi/Sta, –(1d3-2) Int/Per**
Ancient:            –1d3 Str/Agi/Sta, –(1d3-1) Int, Per

* If a “1” is rolled on the 4-sided die, a -1 penalty occurs.
** If a “1” is rolled on the 3-sided die, a +1 bonus is gained.  Congratulations!   You've aged well.

Note that each modifier is rolled separately.  For example, an old character rolls 1d3-1 for Strength, a separate 1d3-1 for Agility, and a third 1d3-1 for Stamina.

Saturday, 22 December 2012

My Date With the Cinder Claws

Thursday night was the final gaming night before Christmas, and I ran The Thing in the Chimney for a table of six, two of whom were new gamers, and for whom TTITC was their “zero-level funnel”.  The other characters were the newly-levelled survivors from Fallen Tempesta in my home game….an online version of this adventure is being played out here.

The game started with the characters in the Great Hall, and then almost immediately split up.  Some went to the wood growing at one of the hall, some took the passage to the kitchen, and some stayed in the Great Hall to look around.

There was actually a surprising amount of party-splitting in this adventure, and it had interesting repercussions to game play.  I was surprised and pleased to note that the players immediately began to make a map, and they were not at all confused by the way the Cinder Claws’ home worked….they caught on mighty quick.  I suppose I should not have been surprised, though, as they have been steadily developing in the mapping department.

The characters decided not to disturb the cooks in the kitchen.  One of them stole a couple of cookies, to see if there would be a reaction, but there was none.  They then proceeded through both alternate doors, splitting the party up further. 

One group investigated the reindeer stables, but passed on quickly.  A shovel was taken here, that was later put to good use.

Meanwhile, another part of the group discovered the tinsel on the trees, and became aware of the large double-doors.  Throwing caution to the wind, the entered the wood, and met with the tinsel spiders.  One of the other groups came out of the reindeer area and was able to render aid…they fought 3 out of 5 spiders without any real incident.  They fought the other two when they tried to push the door open….and one of the characters, a halfling, got silver glop stuck on his left hand.

They pushed the door open, discovered the wasteland outside, and realized that they could not close it.  Ah, well, spiders don’t like cold.

Needless to say, players began having characters in the scrying chamber check the list to see if they were Naughty or Nice.  This led to one of the PCs (a thief whose occupation was “counterfeiter”) trying to change what the list said, to no avail.  They also, predictably, made attempts to steal the list, and the snow globe.  They were so focused on these items, though, that they ignored or forgot about the rubies on the snow globe stand.

They found the sleigh, and one character took the cindercrop.  Exploration of the enormous red velvet bag was not very thorough, and it was left behind.  The players originally thought that the double doors in the sleigh room and the Great Hall must connect.  Now they are not so sure, because of the events in the Great Hall, and they are considering not opening them.

Dealing with the fruitcake was relatively easy for them, as one of the PCs had previously gained the ability to create strong pheromones once per day, which were used to counteract the fruitcake’s lure.  Throwing the ancient, evil desert into the fireplace, they discovered the empty stockings for the first time.

They also discovered that tinsel spider glop cannot be removed by clerical healing. 

Most of the characters return to the Great Hall, where they decide to split up and explore the remaining two archways – half the party heads to the sweatshop, while the other half heads to the guard room.  At the guard room, four elf spears are cast into the front line, and the first character is slain.

At this point, all hell finally breaks loose.  The PCs headed towards the guard room flee, with six elf guards behind them.  The PCs in the sweatshop pass through the green door, and arrive in the guard room behind the other six guards.  Two snowmen are back in the hall where the door has been left open.  In the general melee that follows, one character is killed when a snowman throws a snowball at him, gets a critical hit, shatters the character’s forearm, and does enough damage to down him.  When the other PCs turn over the body, it is too late.

I rule that, due to the distraction of the other characters, the PCs coming through the green door get surprise.  Between two locations, elves, and snowmen, a great deal of fun is to be had.  Someone shouted “knock off their hats!” right away, but no one heeded this advice.  The PCs are battered and bruised, but ultimately victorious.

(As a side note:  The PC whose forearm was broken, and who subsequently died, was a cleric who pushed his luck, had to roll 5d4 for disapproval, and then was found (thus far) to be pretty much a man of the world.  This was the “worst” disapproval rolled at my table yet, or the “best”, depending upon your point of view, but it really reinforced my enjoyment of the system.)

Of course, being players, they had to open the other double doors (giving the sleigh access to outside), and fought the snowman with the ukulele.  I played Burl Ives singing Silver and Gold and Perry Como singing Winter Wonderland to simulate the snowman’s singing.  “Wait a minute….is the snowman really singing that?!?”  “Yes.”

At this point, the night was getting late, and I was ready to fill their stockings.  However, because they kept splitting the party, and there were always folks in the Great Hall, there was no chance for the Cinder Claws to come immediately.  One of the players tried to put the fire out with the snow, but the fire was too great for what she could do with the shovel.  So, she decided to take coals from the fire and burn the wood down instead.  With the resultant smoke and heat, the group scattered out of the Great Hall, and I was able to stage the final encounter.

(That was a pleasantly unexpected action for a player to think of.)

The hands were very effective.  The long, flexible arms were great.  That the Cinder Claws was strong they already knew from the doors; that he was stronger than eight people trying to keep his arm from going back up the chimney was a new, and perhaps frightening, revelation.

When the Cinder Claws actually appeared, though, Fate takes a hand, and the dice roll very hot for the players.  There are a number of critical hits as the Claws pulls itself from the chimney, resulting in its being severely damaged by the beginning of the first round.  It lets out a Ho Ho Ho! and two icicles fall.  The players like that it has a chance of being hit by this.  One PC is hit and killed by falling ice.  And then the PCs remaining lay into the Cinder Claws, and he retreats back up the chimney in a bloody mess.

But that first round has a terrible cost for one PC.  Using my “Slippery Slope of Arcane Doom” house rule, one character tries to learn magic shield on the fly.  He succeeds, but his Mercurial Magic is unfortunate – each time the spell is cast, someone he knows dies.  The Tempesta start includes everyone (apart from the party) in the PCs’ homeland being slain….and the PCs are now on another plane of existence from where they began in any event.  The magic, I rule, utilizes the life force of someone you know to grant the bonus – and one of the PCs dies. 

That’s about it.  They grab their stockings, and flee through the portal.  Luckily, they remember to take their moon rover with them.

But that’s another story.

I am thinking of doing another one for next year:  Revenge of the Cinder Claws.  What do you think?

(BTW, if you like bygrinstow's illustration of a sugar plum faerie, above, please drop by his blog and tell him so!)

Monday, 17 December 2012

The Thing in the Chimney

With special thanks to Bygrinstow for illustrations, and to Joseph Goodman for okaying an un-licensed adventure, I proudly present something to ruin the holidays for you forever:

The Thing in the Chimney

Completely bookmarked.  Crappy hand-drawn maps at no extra cost.

Best of all?


Monday, 10 December 2012

Rules that Tie the GM’s Hands

A while back, I espoused what I thought was a fairly simple concept.  Although I know it is not for everyone, I strongly believe that it will make the average GM better.

While I've written longer essays on the concept, it can be embodied in three simple rules:

1.   If you don’t want something to rely on chance, don’t roll for it.  I.e., if your game absolutely requires that the PCs succumb to sleeping gas, don’t allow a save.  Certainly don’t allow a save with some penalty under the belief that no player will roll a 20!  Likewise, if you absolutely cannot stand by a roll that gives a PC 24 points of damage, don’t roll 4d6.  Or make the roll “4d6, to a maximum of 20”, etc.

2.  If there is something that you can’t accept occurring, don’t make it a possibility.  Most of the time, this will mean not making something a consequence of failure if you cannot accept it occurring, so that you don’t change events to “force” a PC win.

3.  If you do roll for it, abide by the dice.

It is my thought that, if you follow the first two principles, following the third will be easy.  There should be no reason to fudge a roll if the result is one you can accept. 

Now, my thinking on this concept is that there is an implicit contract between the players and the Game Master that the decisions of the players will matter.  And, in order to make those decisions matter, the Game Master will present a world, present options, and allow the results of the players’ choices within the options presented to play out.

I believe that this is the second most fundamental contract between the players and the Game Master.  The Game Master will not change the scenario so as to thwart the players when they make good decisions.  Nor with the Game Master change the scenario to cushion the consequences of poor decisions.  I will go further and say that the Game Master should not ameliorate the consequences of good or bad luck, either, as (1) luck has a tendency to ameliorate itself, and (2) total failure does not generally revolve upon a single unlucky roll – the players made decisions that led their characters to this pass.  If you let the good things happen when players gamble and win, you should also let the bad things happen when players gamble and lose.

The contract at your table may be different.  It may be explicit or implicit that the Game Master will not let you lose.  It may be that death is off the table.  It may be that the Game Master is going to tell you a story, and that you are only going to make choices that allow you to remain within the framework of that story.

If that is the way you want to play, that’s cool.  Really.  In fact, you can play in all three of these ways and still never fudge a single die roll if you don’t want to.  Those first two rules support the third rule.  Being knocked to 0 hp can mean that you are knocked out, if that is the game you want to run.  It can mean that you are just unable to fight.  A monster reaching 0 hp can mean that it is slain in a gruesome way, or that it simply runs away. 

You can alter these rules to do whatever you want them to do, and you can be honest about what you are doing.

That is what I believe is the most fundamental implicit contract between the Game Master and the players.  When I am running a game, I will present the world as honestly as possible, within my understanding of how your characters would perceive it.  I may roll a die that doesn’t matter to indicate uncertainty – which I believe is part of verisimilitude – but if the roll says the monster did 6 hp of damage, I will neither pump it up nor deflate it to make what I want to have happen occur.

In fact, with very few exceptions, I will roll the dice where you can see them.  And those exceptions are only where the characters themselves experience uncertainty.

These are not, IMHO, “rules that tie the GM’s hands”, despite the fact that some seem determined to present them that way.  I can’t imagine any scenario which I cannot present using these rules.  I certainly do not feel that my hands are tied.  I have a hard time imagining anyone who has ever gamed with me entertaining a notion that I stand for dis-empowering the GM.  I am the GM, far more often than not.  I run games that I want to run, in the way that I want to run them.

But neither do I imagine that players have no right to judge my GMing, or my methods.  I expect their trust.  If the experience is worth playing, then play, and don’t bitch and moan that things are unfair when things go against you.  I get to judge you, too, and if I find you wanting, you are gone.  I have no interest in running games that are not fun for me.  If you want to play in my game, you might have to suck it up once in a while.

If you don’t want to play in my game, walk.  There will be no hard feelings.  I get to judge whether or not I want you in my game.  You get to judge whether or not you want to be there.  I will be as honest as I can about what I am running, and how, to help you make up your mind.  I don’t want you there if this is a game you won’t enjoy.

I cannot fathom how this becomes “rules that tie the GM’s hands”.

Something that is not for you?  Sure, I can see that.  Your game won’t be for me, but I can see that my game might not be for you.  But “rules that tie the GM’s hands”?  I can see that, if you are just starting, you might not realize that 4d6 damage can result in 24.  I can see that, if you are relatively inexperienced, that you might not understand how to create an adventure, and you might feel a need to modify your work as you see the unintended consequences of your design choices. 

I can see those things.  Folks grow as GMs, same as they grow as players.  I have a hard time imagining any GM of even halfway decent calibre, though, who would feel like his hands were tied by not rolling for things he didn’t want to leave to chance.  It begs the question – just why would you feel your hands were tied?  What is it, exactly, that these principles prevent you from doing?  

Sunday, 9 December 2012

More Useful Elements From Appendix N


“Does not that Law say plainly: ‘That thou lovest all things in nature. That thou shalt suffer no person to be harmed by thy hands or in thy mind. That thou walkest humbly in the ways of men and in the ways of gods. Contentment thou shalt at last learn through suffering and from long patient years, and from nobility of mind and service. For the wise never grow old.’”

Tamar is a wise woman who lived in Dimsdale during the American Colonial period, the sister of Hagar. She followed the Law and used magic to heal and aid the locals, but the malice of Hagar and the appearance of the Wade children (Holly, Judy, and Crockett) from the future led to her being accused of black magic. The Wade children were again able to travel into the past on Halloween to give Tamar a chance to unhinge her cottage from time. Although beautiful in her own way, her face and clothing were plain. She now dwells in her own demi-plane which is connected to the material world through the Dimsdale Hedge Maze. She took Holly Wade as her apprentice.

Tamar is able to communicate telepathically in dreams through the dream pillow. She can focus spells through her familiar, Tomkit, and can use his actions to help indicate her desires. She can no longer invite people directly to her cottage through the Dimsdale Hedge Maze, however, and thus must interact with the material world primarily through dreams. The link between her cottage and the maze grants a +1 Luck bonus to any non-malicious, non-selfish checks made within Dimsdale town limits.

Tamar possesses a magic mirror that she can use to scry once a month. She can use it to locate anyone or anything she is aware of. She must be attempting to locate a specific item or a specific individual. The effort of using the mirror drains 1d6 hit points.

Tamar (Wizard 5/Herbalist): Init +0; Atk none; AC 10; HD 5d4; hp 10; MV 30’; Act 1d20 + 1d14; SP Spells; SV Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +6; Str 9, Agl 11, Sta 10, Per 13, Int 13, Luck 15, AL L. Spells Known (+6 to spell checks): Find familiar, runic alphabet (mortal)(Mercurial Effect: breath of life), detect evil, make potion, planar step.

Tamar as a Minor Patron

Tamar may act as a minor patron to anyone who performs a patron bond ceremony within the confines of the Dimsdale hedge maze. She will only bond with Lawful characters. What she can offer is extremely minor; she has no specific patron spells, no real patron taint, and no special rules for spellburn. If patron taint is indicated, the character must plant some beneficial herbs within 1 week, or have a -1 penalty to Luck until this has been done. Roll 1d16 to determine the herbs to be planted: (1) mint, (2) bee balm, (3) costmary, (4) marigolds, (5) pennyroyal, (6) cowslips, (7) basil, (8) thyme, (9) rosemary, (10) rue, (11) meadowsweet, (12) red yarrow, (13) white yarrow, (14) sage, (15) purselane, or (16) pimpernel.

Invoke Patron Results

12-13 Sometimes it be true that the ills of the spirit lie harsher on mankind than do the ills of the flesh that he weareth for so short a span of years. Preoccupied with other matters, Tamar has little time to do more than bolster the caster’s courage. The caster gains a +2 bonus to Will saves for the next 1d6 + CL minutes.

14-17 Blessed Be! With a little more time available, Tamar can hear the petitioner’s problem and offer some sound advice (as determined by the judge). Due to the nature of Tamar’s timeless abode, the caster has an opportunity to have up to a 10 minute conversation with Tamar, all of which takes place in a seeming daydream, in a fraction of a second.

18-19 There must lie truth within the heart, lest thy every effort be doomed to failure. By spending one round gazing deep into her own soul, the caster can gather the will needed to make her next action more likely to succeed. Her next skill check, save, attack roll, or spell check is made using the next highest die on the dice chain.

20-23 The good, be it strong enough, will drive out the ill. If the caster is suffering from a spell, disease, poison, or curse, the influence of Tamar allows the caster to attempt another saving throw with a +4 bonus to the roll. If the condition does not allow a save normally, the caster may make an attempt at DC 15. If the caster touches an ally, she may aid the ally in this same way. The caster may aid one ally with each Action Die, and may continue to do so for CL rounds before the power departs.

24-27 Is my power great enough? How shall I know? The proof be in the doing. Tamar attempts to cast one of her spells through the caster. The judge chooses the most appropriate spell, but the caster is able to choose all particulars if the spell is successful. The spell is cast exactly as if the caster had cast it herself (and she gains the effects of Tamar’s mercurial magic for runic alphabet, mortal), but the difficulty in casting this way means that the spell is cast with a total modifier of -2. The caster never suffers corruption from this, but may experience misfire.

28+ So mote it be! Tamar’s power reaches out and reshapes the world in a minor way, imparting some form of blessing. The exact nature of the blessing must be determined by the judge, but it should be relevant to either the problem at hand, or some greater problem (or farther-reaching goal) of the caster. For example, Tamar blessed Crockett Wade with an amulet of wax to aid him in the skillful making of beautiful things, and Tamar blessed Holly Wade with the sure knowledge that her father - who had been lost and presumed dead in Vietnam - would return home.

Source: Andre Norton (Lavender-Green Magic: Ace Books, 1974)


Ishnuvakardi was a minor god, carried on the Roolanga, an aerial whaling ship flying out of Zalarapamtra. His idol was carved from a piece of vrishkaw, a foot high, ivory-white with red, green, and black striations. Ishnuvakardi is half human and half wind whale, with a bestial head, human torso, and the tail and flukes of a wind whale.

The little god of an aerial ship is worshipped on an altar of bone. The crew gives its thanks to the little god, who in turn passes those thanks - and his own - to the major god of the city. The devotions to Ishnuvakardi included the priestess or acolyte donning a wooden mask to which hundreds of pieces of red aerial brit had been glued, a fire burning in a wooden cup before the idol, and the crew falling to its knees. The language in which the service is addressed is not everyday speech, but rather a language reserved for religious services.

As with all the gods carved from vrishkaw, Ishnuvakardi exudes an overpoweringly sweet, intoxicating perfume, known as the divine perspiration. The first time one inhales the divine perspiration, a Fort save must be made each round. The second time, a Fort save must be made each minute. Someone who has become accustomed to the divine perspiration need only make the save every ten minutes, but that individual must be a priest or acolyte to gain this level of ability to resist the divine perspiration.

Merely inhaling the divine perspiration makes one feel happy and a little dizzy, without any save.

The first time a save is failed from the divine perspiration, the character feels drunk, taking 1d3 points of temporary damage to both Agility and Intelligence.

The second time a save is failed, the character feels very drunk, taking 1d3 points of temporary damage to Agility, Intelligence, and Personality.

The third time a save is failed, the character passes out, and remains comatose for 1d6 x 5 minutes. The character is helpless during this time.

The save DC for Ishnuvakardi is 10.

Source: Philip José Farmer: The Wind Whales of Ishmael (Ace Books, 1971)

Web Makers

These strange, six-legged creatures have round grey bodies approximately the size of a human head. It has a single large eye, and a slit-like mouth from which a long tooth protrudes. The creature attaches itself to the ceiling with a long slimy line of web-cable, then launches itself at potential prey. The creature coils this grey web-cable inside its body, so that it can control its distance to the ground.

When a victim comes within range, the web maker swings out on its cable, or drops from above, trying to grab hold with its poisonous claws. It aims for the head. If it hits, it clings to its victim, attempting to stab it with its long, hollow tooth. If it succeeds, it proceeds to drain blood at a rate of 1d6 hit points per round. If its poison has been effective, it will drain its victim in 2d6 rounds. The creature’s powerful poison requires a DC 10 + 1d6 Fort save to avoid instant death. The variable is based upon the number of claws that actually hit with a successful attack, and each claw leaves a reddish mark. The poison is a pale green liquid, stored within the creature’s body.

These creatures live in colonies in large chambers, which may number up to 1,000 individuals. They have an instinctive sense that allows them to time their attacks so that they do not interfere with each other. Usually, an attack is launched only once every three rounds. Characters which become aware of this pattern of attacks may gain a +4 bonus to AC by anticipating these attacks and moving to avoid them.

A web maker is paralysed when caught within strongly presented light, even torchlight. This does not prevent other web makers in the colony from swinging in to the attack.

These creatures spin spider-like webs out of a grey substance that contains bits of mica within it. The webs are easily burned or pushed through, but disturbing them alerts the creatures. The web makers can create such a web with astounding speed, so that, once one has gotten through, if that person looks back a minute or so later, the web is restored, and there is no sign of what has done it.

Web maker: Init +0; Atk claws +0 melee (1 plus poison) or bite +1 melee (1 plus blood drain); AC 8; HD 1d4; hp 2; MV 20’ or climb 20’; Act 1d20; SP Poison (Fort DC 10 +1d6 or die), blood drain (1d6), swing, paralysed by light; SV Fort +0, Ref +0, Will +0; AL N.

Source: Philip José Farmer: The Wind Whales of Ishmael (Ace Books, 1971)

Friday, 7 December 2012

Useful Elements From Appendix N

For my own purposes, I've decided to slowly create an "Appendix N Cyclopedia"....strictly for my own use in devising adventures and deciding on story elements.  But, having a sharing nature, from time to time I will post some snippets here.


An ancient polished mahogany idol, placed upon a diorite pedestal, which had been worshipped for ages prior to the advent of Sheemish. Chu-Bu was a minor god, with fat fingers and toes being the only specific features noted. Holy birds were kept in his temple.

Chu-Bu had been worshipped for a century or more by burning spices in braziers and fat on flat gold plates, by offerings of honey and maize, and by the words “There is none but Chu-Bu” on Tuesdays. Although a minor god, he was believed by the people of his city to have created everything. In actual fact, the only service he can offer those who pray to him is to grant +1d3 Luck as a bonus to a single check within any given seven day period.

The rivalry between Chu-Bu and Sheemish ended with a minor earthquake, wrought by both gods working in opposition, that destroyed the Temple of Chu-Bu.

Source: Lord Dunsany (Chu-Bu and Sheemish: Saturday Review, 30 December 1911)

Tree Spirits of the Vosges

On the eastern shores of a high, lonely lake in the Vosges, the trees are sentient and have been at war with the peasantry for hundreds of years. To eyes that can see, the trees are only the outward manifestations of the tree spirits, which dwell in an adjacent plane, which can be glimpsed through the aether by those they desire to converse with.

When viewed in this way, the female tree spirits are humanoid, and beautiful, with golden hair and large pupil-less green eyes, akin to those of deer, that dance with moonbeam motes. Their lips appear to be notably thirsty. The male tree spirits wear dark green kilts, and have blue or brown eyes. They are darker of skin and hair, and are very muscular. 

 The tree spirits can compel a creature to a copse where they can communicate with him (Will DC 10 resists), and are able to charm mortal men (as charm person with a +3 to the spell check)with their kisses. They desire to use mortal men to slay their enemies in this fashion, for they cannot act directly on the world.

However, they can cause the most hideous of accidents to befall those who cut wood within their forests - they are able to make a retaliatory attack whenever a tree is felled. This attack has a +4 attack bonus, and does 1d4 damage. Such an attack achieves a critical hit on a 18-20, using 1d8 on Crit Table I. These strikes occur from seeming-chance: as one tree falls, it bends the branch of another, which is whipped back; a branch gouges out an eye; a tree is felled upon the hapless woodcutter.

Their plane appears as a vast, silent world with opalescent palaces, great hills and mountains, circling plains, and where the leaping trout of this world appear as leviathans. The golden moss on the ground is spangled with tiny blue flowers. The only sound is the singing or speech of the tree spirits. Their lives are bound to the trees, which appear as the ghosts of trees on their plane. While they can share this life to some degree, by tapping a ghost tree and giving a tree spirit the golden sap to drink, if the spirit’s tree has been felled, this is but a short respite before withering.

Source: A. Merritt (The Woman of the Wood; Weird Tales, August 1926)

Sunday, 2 December 2012

Half-Levels REVISED

Half-Levels:  An Optional Multi-Classing System for the Dungeon Crawl Classics Game
By Daniel J. Bishop

Revised 9 Dec 2012

At some point, players ask why their halfling cannot become a thief.  Or why their warrior cannot also become a cleric.  Half-levels are my answer to this.

If a human wants to take levels in another class, he must first take a half-level in the new class.  Once this is done, he can take levels in his original class or his new class at will, whenever he has enough experience points to gain a new level.  After the half-level, the first level gained in the half-level class is 1st level.  Gaining a half-class level is exactly like gaining a level in terms of XP requirements.

Things work a little different for demi-humans.  Demi-human classes do not have half-levels.  An elf who takes the Elf class always gains the full first level, even if he has taken levels in other classes.  The same is true for halflings and dwarves.  However, if an elf wants to become, say, a thief after gaining his first 10 XP, then he must take a half-level first.

It is possible to gain three or more classes by taking multiple half-levels.

The following general rules apply:

  • All classes gain a full Hit Die, as though they had taken a standard level in the class.
  • Attack bonuses, saving throw bonuses, and caster level do not “stack”; the character takes the best attack bonus offered, and the best saving throw bonus for each category offered by any of his classes.  Caster level is determined on the basis of each class, so that an elf wizard would have an Elf caster level and a Wizard caster level.
  • In my home campaigns, a specific relationship with the gods is one of the things that sets humans apart from demi-humans, so no demi-humans may take half-levels or levels in Cleric.  Check with your judge to see if this restriction applies to his or her campaign milieu.
  • In my home campaigns, halflings are not skilled in magic, so no halfling may take a half-level or levels in Wizard.  Check with your judge to see if this restriction applies to his or her campaign milieu

Attack/Deed Die
Crit Die/Table
Threat Range
Action Dice
Max Spells
Luck Die

Special rules for each class follow.


  • Caster Level is 0.
  • Turn Unholy is gained.
  • Lay on Hands is not gained until 1st level.
  • Divine Aid is not gained until 1st level.


  • Thieves’ Cant is not learned until 1st level.
  • Skill bonus for all thief skills are ½ the listed 1st level value, rounded down.
  • Cast spell from scroll is 1d10 regardless of alignment.
  • A halfling thief gains the better of his Halfling stealth bonus or his Thief bonuses; they do not stack.
  • A halfling thief rolls a Luck Die, but always gains a benefit of 2 or more.  If the halfling thief acts as a Lucky Charm, the benefit is always based off of his Halfling class.  A halfling thief only regains 1 point of Luck each day (not 2).


  • With a d2 Deed Die, a ½ level Warrior cannot perform Mighty Deeds.
  • The warrior’s Lucky weapon can be chosen at either the ½ level or at 1st level, as determined by the player, but the bonus is not in effect until it is chosen.
  • A warrior (or dwarf) who also has an attack bonus from another class always gets the better of his attack bonus or the result of his Deed Die, whichever is better.  Whether or not a Deed succeeds is always dependent upon the Deed Die roll, however.  The result of the Deed Die is added to damage as normal.
  • A dwarf warrior gains the better of his Dwarf Deed Die or his Warrior Deed Die; they do not stack.


  • Caster Level is 0.