Running Curse of Strahd for kids: the set-up

Between having a cold and a visit from the grandparents, I haven’t had time to run my OD&D game recently, so I thought I’d start on the stories from the 5E game I run for my daughter, her cousins, and their dad. Apart from the two grown-ups, the age range is 8-12, and when people found out I was running Curse of Strahd, they were like “You can’t run that for kids!” (Though strangely no one has batted an eyelid about me running Rappan Athuk for my 5yo.)

Obviously, when something really heavy or age-inappropriate comes up, I omit it or Bowdlerize it (I mean, c’mon, they’re kids). But there’s plenty of stuff that they can handle as is. And it has one of the best dungeon-crawls ever.

When I began running D&D for just my daughter, I used a homebrew adventure, but when I started running for her cousins, I decided to put that 5E Starter Set to work and run Lost Mines of Phandelver, transplanted into my homebrew setting because I hate the Forgotten Realms.

Not long after the game started, Wizards of the Coast released Curse of Strahd. I’m a big fan of Chris Perkins, Gothic horror, and the original Ravenloft module, so I just had to run this, and I began setting it up.

[Spoiler alert: if you haven’t played through Lost Mines of Phandelver, you may want to skip the rest of this post. Also I name-drop a lot of NPCs from Phandelver and Strahd without really explaining them, so heads up on that.]

The first thing I did to tempt the party to (eventually) travel to Barovia was reskin the +1 longssword they found in the dungeon beneath Tresendar Manor to have a raven motif on the hilt, instead of a “bird of prey”. I also changed Aldith Tresendar’s nickname from the Black Hawk to the Raven. Though the players still don’t know it, the blade of this sword is the blade of the Sunsword, and when reunited with its original hilt in Barovia, will become fully functional. (That isn’t how the Sunsword works in Curse of Strahd, but it is how it works in the original Ravenloft, so it’s what I’m doing).

As the fighter attuned to the sword, he had a vision of the wizard Khazan’s apprentice smuggling the blade, sans hilt, out of a deep dark wood (the Svalich Woods), pursued by wolves. He manages to pass the blade to a mounted warrior – a young Aldith Tresendar – before the wolves take him down. Tresendar escapes and returns to his home in the country of Frisjen, where he has a custom hilt fashioned in a Raven motif (ravens had tried to defend the apprentice from the wolves) and has an illustrious career fighting evil, earning the title Knight of the Raven.

The players were so impressed by this that they began calling themselves The Order of the Silver Raven, after the sword and the trinket the fighter just happened to roll at character creation.

This will probably start to sound very railroady, and in my defence, I seeded some other adventures as well, such as Temple of the Frog (which I linked to the frog statuette they found in the Cragmaw Hideout), and some other homebrew adventures. But the Raven stuff was what they were biting on, so I carried on developing that.

The next seed I planted had to do with the Black Spider himself. Why does he want the forge of spells? What does it do? It makes magic weapons. So either he or his employer wants a magic weapon.

The Black Spider is a male drow, and males are de-valued in drow society, which is why ambitious male drow pursue their careers in the over-world. But up here, he’s an upstart and an outsider, and in any case he’s probably used to taking orders, so likely he’s a lieutenant or high-ranking henchman for someone else.

Who? Strahd!

In my game, Strahd hired the Black Spider to find the fabled forge of spells and use it to craft a magic sword, the Darkblade, which would be a foil to the Sunsword. Strahd has learned that the Sunsword wasn’t actually destroyed, but deconstructed and hidden, and thus could be remade and threaten him again. He would like some insurance against that eventuality. He’d seek the forge of spells himself, but he can’t leave Barovia.

The players haven’t uncovered all of this yet, but they do know, from the Black Spider’s letter to Glasstaff, that he was working for someone called “Strahd” and that he wanted to make a magic sword. (They killed the Black Spider dead with a fireball in the final encounter, so he won’t be telling any more tales, and I learned a valuable lesson about what happens when you level a party up too early.)

The last and final “clue” was my favourite. Part of the treasure in the lair of Mormesk the Wraith included a map that “shows the location of a dungeon of your own creation.” This is one of my favourite tropes in D&D adventures: the blank spot for the hook for the next adventure.

When the party found this treasure, it was in a tattered book with draconic runes on the spine. The runes read “The Journal of Argynvost”. Unfortunately, the words in the journal were not in draconic runes. They were in a spindly script never seen before in Frisjen. The party had to roll some History checks before they realized that, though it was unfamiliar, it was related to the Latian “legal hand” used for documents in Frisjen and other parts of the Freefolk Empire (all of this is flavour from my homebrew setting, btw.). Once they had deciphered the script, I gave the fighter the “Journal of Argynvost” handout from Curse of Strahd, and a copy of the players’ map of Barovia, which “slipped out of the journal.”

The party’s fighter (played by the only adult player) is a dragonborn, and part of his backstory is that he’s an oprhan. His family was killed in a mountain pass when he was a baby. They were warriors, on their way to protect an area from evil. Presumably, the evil forces got the jump on them. I decided that this mountain pass was the Bjorgir Pass, which in my setting connects the Freefolk lands to Barovia. His parents were party of the Order of the Silver Dragon. They were fleeing Barovia after the fall of Argynvost, and Strahd had evil Vistani ambush them. Again, not all of this has been revealed to the party, but they are starting to piece it together.

With three adventure hooks in play, I probably didn’t need to do any more, but the players themselves actually gave me one more thing to use to entice them. More than anything in the adventure, they enjoyed clearing out Tresendar Manor, and immediately talked about fixing it up and using it as a base of operations. I cracked open the Dungeon Master’s Guide and started doing some calculations, taking into account that they wouldn’t be building from scratch, but restoring an existing structure. Of course, they have nowhere near sufficient funds, and were appropriately disappointed.

Enter Sildar Hallwinter, who has become the party’s patron, and has invited the fighter to join the Lord’s Alliance. Sildar informs the party that the Bjorgir Pass is becoming a problem. It has long had an evil reputation, but until recently, the creatures that dwelt there stayed on the far side. Now they are passing into the Freefolk lands and terrorizing the locals. Unfortunately, the Freefolk cannot send any troops to deal with the problem, as they are all busy putting down rebellions among the Shortsword people, whose lands lie between Frisjen and the Freefolk. Sildar has been asked to find a small band of capable people to travel to the Bjorgir Pass and investigate the goings on, deal with it if possible, and otherwise report back on their findings.

In return for this, Sildar assured them, the Freefolk Empire will grant them funds to convert Tresendar Manor into a stronghold.

My thinking here was that, if they survive Curse of Strahd, they’ll be 10th Level, which is the traditional level you should build a stronghold. Then they can hire retainers and all that good stuff. Then maybe they can finally sort out that pesky Temple of the Frog.

In forthcoming installments, I’ll talk about the long route from Frisjen to the Bjorgir Pass, the introductory adventure I selected, and how I linked each character’s backstory to adventure, so they all have a personal stake.

The Origins of Mad Marge (OD&D Campaign Diary 2)

So for the past few weeks I’ve been running Original Dungeons & Dragons (in the form of Swords & Wizardry WhiteBox for my kids, aged 8 and 5. They are each running two PCs: my 8yo is running Lilac the elf fighter and Singing Geoff the Thief; my 5yo is running Meanie Miney the elf magic-user and Sammy the Cleric.

When we last left our intrepid, probably foolhardy heroes, they had just dropped an ogre and a black bear, and spent about an hour painstakingly combing through rubbish and detritus for a tonne of loot.

My kids love loot, and they have the patience to keep searching and searching, if they suspect there’s more to find, and as the ogre and the bear were the only denizens of this cave, there were no random encounters to keep them on their toes. Among the most relevant finds were a longbow, a shortbow with no string, a very nice quiver containing three silver arrows, and a crystal sphere wrapped in a burlap cloth. They were afraid to touch the sphere, and planned to have the magic-user prepare Detect Magic the following morning, to find out if it was magic.

Session 3 began with the party searching the other tunnel, which led to a small pool. This was one of the moments when I was really proud of how thorough my 8yo is with room descriptions. I mentioned the crack in the wall through which the water flows, but I left out the crack on the opposite wall, through which the water flows out. She immediately clocked this and asked how the water gets out of the cave. She was worried she had stumbled into a flooding chamber trap. It’s that kind of thinking that keeps PCs alive.

The water was clean. The kids were initially worried that the ogre had used the pool as a bathtub, but I reminded them of the sweaty stink of his den, making it clear that the ogre did not bath, here or anywhere). They filled their waterskins and I described the rest of the cave, including three dressed out deer and one dressed out human. I thought that would freak them out, but they just decided to take the deer to use for meat. So now I had to determine whether they could butcher and cook venison in the wild, in the absence of a background skill system. We’ll get to that later.

Because there was so much loot in the cave, it took another solid hour for the four of them to haul their treasure up the ledge to their wagon. When they arrived on their first trip, they did not see the old woman with the shovel who had agreed to watch their stuff. The party assumed she just wandered off, but then my 8yo realized she might have stolen something. In making a careful search of the wagon and the handcart, they came upon a 6 foot deep hole, at the bottom of which was the woman, still digging.

They threw her a rope and hauled her up (I resolved this with an Open Doors check, and it took two tries; the first time the rope slipped through Lilac the Fighter’s hands and the poor old woman – whom my kids have dubbed Mad Marge for some reason – fell on her bottom).

Once she was out of the hole, they paid her four gold pieces and one brass bell. I rolled her reaction and she was grateful. They had found a total of six bells and there were only four PCs, so I asked what they were doing with the fifth bell. My 8yo informed me the were going to tie it around their mule’s neck, so they would know where she was.

Now it was decision time. The short route across the gorge was over a felled log, and there was no way they would get a mule, a wagon, and a handcart over that. So would they leave their beast and wagons behind or stray off the map in search of a suitable crossing. They chose the latter, as I pretty much knew they would.

The gorge ran North-South, and I asked which direction they would pursue. Looking at the map, my 8yo determined they were nearer the northern edge of the map, so that would be the shorter trip. The hugged the gorge for the better part of a day (having spent the entire morning fighting the ogre and looting his cave). Eventually they came upon a merchant caravan heading south.

I had pre-rolled this random encounter, because I was hoping to get some good roleplaying out of it. There were five wagons in total, each with two merchants, and 8 armed guards between them. Each wagon was carrying goods of differing total value, with wagon 1 carrying only 10 gp worth of goods, and wagon 3 carrying a whopping 100 gp of goods. Wagon 3, belonging to the merchants Ferol and Flynn, was the only wagon to have three armed guards. Wagon 4, belonging to the merchants Zhest and Zhivago, carried 70 gp worth of goods, but only had 2 guards. Zhest and Zhivago resented Ferol and Flynn getting an extra guard, even though their goods were nearly as valuable. Meanwhile, the merchants of wagon 5, Bildrath and Frod, were carrying 50 gp worth of goods, had only one guard, and resented both wagons 4 and 5.

What I had planned for this, was that Ferol and Flynn would try to rip the party off, buying goods as 25% of their value in the rulebook, and selling at 125%. Obviously some haggling could change this, but Ferol and Flynn are wealthy and arrogant and not inclined to drop their prices. However, if the party negotiate with Zhest and Zhivago after speaking to Ferol and Flynn, Zhest and Zhivago would try to undercut the competition, not because they are greedy, but just to spite Ferol and Flynn. And Bildrath and Frod would potentially undercut both. (Wagons 1 and 2, carrying 10 and 20 gp worth of good, respectively, are just too poor to play this game, though for the record they hate all three of the richer wagons.)

However, I forgot that my daughter is rather spendthrift with game money, so when Ferol and Flynn quoted their prices, she happily shelled out. She has also been known to voluntarily pay double when her characters are particularly flush. So most of the prep I did for the merchant caravan went to waste. They managed to sell the cleric’s chainmail (he got some banded mail from the ogre hoard), and they bought a new bow string and some ordinary arrows (Ferol charged 25 gp for the bowstring alone). They also restocked their rations and bought a whetstone (they found a rusty greatsword in the ogre hoard, but they can’t use it until it has been sharpened).

The other thing they got from the caravan was news. They had just come through Klaganfort, a small farming village to the north. It has been hit hard by a plague of locusts. At this point, my daughter broke the player knowledge / character knowledge barrier and said “Hey daddy, aren’t you writing an adventure about bugs?” So when they hit Klaganfort and saw the locust-eaten fields, they elected not to hang around. “We’ll help them out on our way back.”

Unfortunately for them, that night they were attacked by wolves as they camped out under the stars. Eight wolves, which is more than a match for a party of four first-level PCs.

The wolves plan was to lure the PCs away from their camp and attack them one by one. So while Singing Geoff the Thief was on watch (and thus the only one still wearing armour),  two wolves howled off to the right, less than a hundred feet away. They were trying to draw his attention while three more wolves sneaked over to where they had tied their mule to a stake in the ground. To resolve the sneaking, a rolled for surprise (when running OD&D, I try to resolve as many situations as possible on a d6, preferably using one of the handful of defined checks in the original game: surprise, trigger traps, open doors, listen at doors, search for secret doors). The wolves failed to surprise the thief, so I told the kids that a wolf was sneaking up to their mule. My 8yo had the thief shout a warning to the rest of the party and spring into action.

The party won the first initiative, so the thief let loose a sling that actually dropped the wolf in one hit (even at 1d6-1). An auspicious start. However, on their initiative, three more wolves appeared. Two closed to melee range with the mule, while the third closed to the thief.

The wolves one the next initiative. Two wolves attacked the mule. The first missed. The second hit, but failed to drop the mule. The mule kicked on its returning blow and another wolf was down. The thief meanwhile took 4 damage from the fourth wolf and failed to kill it on his return blow.

By now the rest of the party was awake. There was no time to don armour, but the fighter had a brand new bow. She took two shots, one at each of the remaining (visible) wolves. In OD&D, when you fire into melee, there’s a chance you hit your allies, but fortunately she missed with both shots (because she would have killed the mule if she had hit).

In the party’s melee phase, the mule and the thief managed to drop the last two wolves. There were still four more hiding in the brush, but this was not the outcome the wolves were hoping for. What they really wanted was mule and venison for dinner. Now they were at half strength, but no closer to that goal. I rolled a morale check and the four wolves who were still hidden decided to flee in search of easier prey. The party managed to patch up some of the mule’s wounds, restoring 2 hit points, and they passed the rest of the night without incident.

At about mid-day the next day, the party reached a point where the gorge flattened out enough that it could be crossed with pack animals and vehicles. Once on the other side, they turned south again. The going was slow, as they entered thick forest, and were not on any defined path. It was only by remaining within sight of the gorge that they avoided getting lost.

During this detour, they tried to butcher the deer. For something like this, where the PCs may or may not be able to do something, and aren’t particularly trained in it, I use a baseline 2 in 6 chance (a roll of 1 or 2 on a d6). If they have a particularly low ability score that would be relevant to the action, it might be a 1 in 6 chance, or a 3 in 6 if they have a particularly high score. And if there’s some kind of demi-human racial bonus that is relevant, it could go as high as 4 in 6. That’s basically how I do “skill checks” in OD&D (I save the “roll under your ability score” method, which I also like a lot, for B/X or Basic Fantasy). The first day they managed to cut some deer meat and roast it on their campfire, but the second day it went wrong and they didn’t get anything usable, so they had to revert to their trail rations. They don’t know this, but in three more days, the deer will go off, and if they try to eat it after that they will need to save against poison or spend a day vomiting.

They camped in the woods, and I put on some forest sound effects, including wolf howls, and played up each PC’s turn at taking watch, rolling dice for no reason to freak them out, they were still pretty shell-shocked from the fight with the wolves before. But of course I knew all along that there were no encounters that night.

The next day, they picked up the trail again, and as they passed the log bridge I pointed out that they had basically taken a three-day detour to get to this place. But my daughter didn’t care. She was already studying the map again, planning their route (they were nearing a fork). But first, they came upon ruined cottage. They sent Singing Geoff the Thief (who sounds more like a bard to me) in to investigate. He found four bottles of various pickled foods: garlic, eggs, red cabbage, and fish. There were four coins in the fish bottle. They gleefully knicked all four bottles, planning to eat their contents, apart from the coins of course (you better believe I will be requiring saving throws for this). Then they put forth the theory that this is where Mad Marge lives. It’s not far from the log bridge, which is not far from the ogre den, so this checks out to me. Now Mad Marge officially lives here, and I guess the party just stole her dinner. They were also pretty stingy with the loot they gave her. That might be worth an XP penalty.

Then again, they’re going to Rappan Athuk. They have enough problems in store.

So I finally started running OD&D (Campaign Diary)

I’ve wanted to run Original Dungeons & Dragons (OD&D) pretty much since I read the rules a couple years ago, though my exact plans for running it have evolved quite a bit between then and now. For one thing, I have discovered retroclones, which caused me to abandon my earlier attempt to run OD&D using Chainmail combat rules. Another of my early plans was to run the game using just the first three booklets for, say, levels 1 to 3. Once every character had reached level 3, I would introduce material from the Greyhawk supplement. But then I discovered James Spahn’s amazing White Box material, which retools some of the Greyhawk classes in a “WhiteBox” style, meaning you can have thieves, paladins, rangers and druids, etc., without having to “move up” to Greyhawk or Swords & Wizardry Core Rules if you don’t want to (and I don’t want to).

I’m once again running this game for my kids (aged 8 and 5, both already experienced gamers, though this is the younger one’s first time at actual D&D). They are each running two characters. We rolled down 3d6 down the line for their stats. My 8yo got a mediocre elf fighter (11 Strength) and a decent elf thief (13 Dexterity). My 5yo got a decent human cleric (13 Wisdom) and an excellent elf magic -user (16 Intelligence). Their hit point rolls were so low that I caved and let them have max hp at first level (later I found that Swords & Wizardry Continual Light also uses this rule, so I feel better about it).

For the adventure, the goal is to reach Rappan Athuk (my kids want to fight the poop monster). The problem is, you have to be at least level 4 even to venture into Rappan Athuk (and probably higher to survive the wilderness around it), so we needed an “introductory adventure”. I chose Bill Webb’s 1975 (so named because it demos the style of play common for that era of the game). I intend to do a full review of the adventure once we’ve finished it, but for now I will say it’s tricky to run and has a lot of “fill in the blanks” for the DM (and thus demands a lot of prep), and I kind of wish I had gone with Matt Finch’s Grimmsgate or James Spahn’s White Box Trilogy instead. But the kids are enjoying it, and they’ve survived their first major combat – against my expectations – so I thought I’d write up our progress so far.

The adventure centres on a map, a literal treasure map, showing the way from the starting town to a dungeon site, and this map is given to the players as a handout (which is very cool, especially as I’m running theatre of the mind; it gives them something special and tangible). This map is literally the DM’s map without the numbered encounter areas, and has the path clearly marked, so it’s more hand-holding than I would normally like in a game, but works well for kids, and several encounter areas occur between visible landmarks, so it doesn’t actually give too much away.

Due to some very good starting gold rolls, the party has a mule, a wagon, and a handcart, in addition to the usual adventuring gear. Because of the handcart, and because mules are really pack animals, they don’t get a bonus to their travel pace, but neither are they encumbered, except the cleric, who is wearing chainmail and carrying a shield (and even he has a movement rate of 9, which would give him 30 ft in a combat round).

In the first session, the party procured the map from a caravan trader in town, purchased some additional adventuring gear, and set off first thing the following morning. They chose not to hire any torchbearers or henchmen.

Not far from town, they came to their first landmark: a black stone obelisk atop a small hill. This is clearly shown on the map, so they parked their wagon, cart, and mule and hiked up the hill to explore. The stone had an inscription at the base which was meant to be in a forgotten language, but the magic-user had prepared the Read Languages spell for the day (remember, though they’re young, this isn’t their first time at the rodeo), so I had to make something up. I ad-libbed something about commemorating the army of light that chased the followers of Orcus from the land. It was then that I decided to change the adventure’s final dungeon from the tomb of a High Priest of Set to the remains of the original Temple of Orcus in the Rappan Athuk origin story. Perhaps the temple was repurposed by priests of Set in between; I’ll decide when we get there.

Next they encountered their first treasure drop: a full set of leather armour, just lying in the tall grass. The description of it is purposefully mysterious, but its just ordinary leather armour in perfectly good condition. However, they decided to leave it where it lay. I think they thought the rightful owner would come back looking for it soon.

After that ther came upon the ruins of a small building, really just two walls at right angles with no roof. They didn’t know it, of course, but it was the hideout of three bandits.  They didn’t bother exploring the ruin, however, and the bandits preferred easier prey, so the party moved on until dusk, and set up camp in the open plains.

That night they drew a random encounter: two bandits. I decided these were two of the three bandits from the ruin. They left one behind to guard the hideout and hoped to take the party in their sleep. The party had set a watch (again, experienced players), but the bandits surprised them, firing arrows at the thief, who was on watch, and one of the bedrolls, which turned out to contain the magic-user. They missed on the thief but hit the mage for 2 hp.

The party won the next initiative, but only the thief was ready to attack, so he threw a dagger and severely wounded one of the bandits. Then the party sued for peace. I made a reaction check and found the bandits were willing to negotiate (now that the party was awake, they no longer fancied their chances). They told some half-true story about being hungry and having to steal to stay alive. The party bought it and felt sorry for them, giving them a trail ration each. (I considered having the bandits mentioning their friend back at the hideout in an attempt to finagle more rations, but decided they would rather keep their number secret… in case they should meet again!)

Natural healing in OD&D is slow, and clerics don’t get a spell at first level, so I use the “binding wounds” house rule, where if you take ten minutes to clean and bind a PC’s wounds, they can recover 1d4 hit points. My 5yo rolled a 1 on his d4, so his magic-user was still 1 hp down, but that’s not bad. The rest of the night was uneventful, and that ended the first session.

In our second session, the magic-user prepared Shield (even though I shouldn’t have let him have that spell, as it’s in Core Rules, not White Box), and the party set off in search of the next landmark on the map, which looked like a cave, but turned out to be a big rock with a burrow at the base. Only one person could fit into the burrow at a time, so they sent the fighter.

This area is basically another treasure drop, but you have to do some searching to find it. There is no searching mechanic in Swords & Wizardry or OD&D, apart from the one for secret doors. The mechanic I use for searching an area for treasure is based on old AD&D modules, particularly the ones written by Gary Gygax, where the PCs must spend a certain number of ten-minute turns searching. The more carefully hidden a treasure, the more time it takes to find it.

After one turn of searching, they found a valuable mug full of strips of parchment. They also noticed there were coins scattered on the floor of the burrow, amongst the dirt and excrement and crawling beetles. The fighter crawled out and let the thief have a go, and he spent another full turn gathering all the coins. Meanwhile the mage examined the strips of parchment and discovered it was a spell scroll, though it would take several days of careful work to lay it out in order and stick it back together (just as well, as it’s a high level spell from the Complete Rules).

Next, they pressed on towards a gorge, crossable by a log bridge. The map clearly showed a cave near the “bridge”, and the path headed right to it. This was their goal for the day. Before they reached the cave, however, they came upon the abandoned wagon of a travelling wizard. The wagon had a broken axle and the wizard was long gone, but the thief cautiously inspected the inside, finding the wizard’s travelling cloak, which still contained three copies of the Shield spell. So that was a good find.

When they reached the gorge, they discovered that the cave was on a narrow ledge, too narrow for the wagon, mule, and handcart. The fighter and thief climbed down the ledge and easily discover a concealed door (they’re both elves), but were too cautious either to explore the cave on their own or leave their wagon et al. unattended. So they announced their intention to wait for random passersby and ask if they would watch the wagon for a while.

They didn’t meet anyone, and night fell. But before they could make camp, they noticed the light of a campfire coming from behind the concealed door. Smoke from the fire disturbed a swarm of flies, which flew up and became an Insect Plague centred on the cleric. The party had to run in terror for ten minutes before the flies let them alone, and even then the swarm hovered around the mouth of the cave, preventing the party returning to collect the wagon and mule. They had no choice but to set up a hasty camp in the open. Luckily, there were no further encounters.

In the morning, the party went back for their stuff and found an old woman digging a hole in the dirt. She asked them to go find some shovels and help her dig for treasure, which they could transport using “This mule and wagon I found”. (The mule was calming munching grass, still attached to the wagon, apparently unperturbed by last night’s insect plague.) After some animated role-playing, they managed to convince the woman that the wagon was theirs. They offered her 2 gold pieces to watch it while they explored the cave, plus a share of the treasure. I rolled 2d6 for her reaction and got a friendly acceptance of their offer.

So the party took the narrow path down to the ledge and came once again to the poorly concealed door. I asked if they were going straight in, but my 8yo said no, they would examine the door first. They found six brass bells tied to the vines, a primitive alarm system. They then spent a full turn disabling it. One PC held a bell in both hands to stop it clanging while another carefully cut the vine with a dagger. They decided to keep the bells as treasure, one each and two for the lady with the shovel.

Inside the cave they found the remains of a fire. 30 feet in the light from outside failed and the cleric (the only human) had to light a torch. The tunnel forked here, and the party chose the passage on the right.

At this point I was sure we were heading for a TPK, because this was the lair of an ogre and its “pet” black bear: both 4 Hit Dice monsters. When they stumbled into the den, neither side was surprised, so we went straight to initiative.

This adventure was written for the Core or Complete rules, so I frequently have some tinkering to do to bust it back to White Box. One thing I have to do is re-roll monster hit points, because White Box uses a d6 for all hit dice, but Greyhawk and later versions use d8s for monster hit dice. The original White Box game also has all weapons doing a d6 for damage, so I have to rework monster damage rolls as well. Thus, the adventure’s ogre with 22 hit points and 1d10+1 damage turned into 12 hit points and 1d6+1 damage. The bear had 9 hit points and did not have the claw-claw-bite attack routine.

The party won the first initiative. The fighter and cleric closed into melee range, even though I warned them that they couldn’t attack until the next round. Then the thief attacked with his sling, hitting the bear. In the spell phase, the magic-user cast Shield, buffing his AC. As the ogre and bear were in melee range of two targets, they didn’t need to move, so they attacked. The bear missed the cleric, but the ogre hit the fighter, reducing him to 1 hp (at which point I was glad I let them have max hp). I allow “return blows” to melee attacks (a rule I carry over from Chainmail, and it takes the place of opportunity attacks), so the fighter and the cleric each got to make a melee attack. The cleric missed, but the fighter hit the ogre for 3 points. The party one the next initiative and I advised my 8yo that, as there were no opportunity attacks, she could use her movement to withdraw from melee. The cleric decided to withdraw as well, even though he hadn’t taken a hit, and we moved onto missile attacks. This time the thief and the mage both made attacks, the mage throwing darts, both hitting for 1d6-1 damage. At this point the bear was nearly down, and the ogre was surprisingly hurt. However, I rolled a morale check, and they elected to keep fighting (it was, after all, their home).

The monsters won the next initiative and closed into melee range (neither had any missile attacks). When the party went, the thief dispatched the bear and the mage took more points off the ogre (I rolled morale for the ogre again, and again h chose to fight on). In the melee phase, the fighter missed, but fortunately the ogre missed his return blow (and I did not even fudge that roll!). The cleric no longer had a target, so he bopped the ogre on the head with his torch (he hadn’t had a hand free to draw his mace) and the ogre went down.

Now, obviously I had to nerf the monsters in order to “White Box” this encounter, but keep in mind I only altered them to balance them within the White Box system. If I were using Core Rules, for example, the fighter would have had 9 hit points instead of 7, and would have had a similar chance to withstand a 1d10+1 blow. Considering, though, how worried I was about this combat before it took place, I’m now wondering if White Box combat is “easier” than combat in later versions of the game. It will definitely be something I keep an eye on.

In any case, with the threat vanquished, they bound the fighters wounds, restoring 3 hit points (she’s at 4 now), and then spent a solid hour picking through the ogre’s den looking for treasure. One thing I love about Bill Webb’s approach to treasure is that it contains very little in the way of coins, but lots of stuff. That stuff is actually quite valuable, but the players have to realize that themselves, based on the description. Sometimes its obvious, like lace gloves sown with pearls. Sometimes it’s more subtle, like a wooden box of ground cinnamon. After each turn of searching, I would read out more things they found, and they would decide whether to take it. Spoiler alert: they took everything, because they’re kids and they’re hoarders. Thank the gods they have a wagon and a mule.

And that concludes our second session. They have one one tunnel to explore, but there are no threats in it. Then we will get to see what the party decides regarding the old woman’s cut of the treasure, and whether they will leave their mule and wagon behind. The adventure assumes the party will cross the gorge at the bridge, but it’s literally just a fallen tree, so they would have to go on foot. And there’s at least a week of travel beyond it, at least by my reckoning (the adventure doesn’t give a scale; that’s one of the blanks for the DM to fill in). So I suspect they will head along the gorge, looking for a place where it levels out and can be crossed with vehicles. If they do that, I have decided they will run into my homebrew OD&D adventure, which could delay them quite a bit, if they chose to follow it as a side quest. The good news is, I wrote that adventure to lead to Rappan Athuk as well, so they will still get to fight the poop monster. And then they will die.

You CAN run D&D for just one person

When you read internet forums on things you’re interested in, you’re gonna read stuff that pisses you off. I was recently on a local gaming forum and came upon this:

DnD isn’t 13th age, it needs class spread and doesn’t really work well with fewer than 4 players.

This is, indeed, a common misconception (not about D&D being better or worse than 13th Age; that’s a matter of taste and opinion). And to be sure, most published adventures suggest a group of four to six PCs, and the 5e monster Challenge Ratings, for those who pay attention to them, are balanced for four PCs (so a CR 1 monster should challenge a party of four level 1 characters).

But here’s the thing: finding a group of willing players who can all meet at the same time and place regularly is literally the hardest part about playing D&D. It’s easier to take down the tarrasque than to get a group of five adults in the same room often enough to play through a single adventure, let alone a campaign. Hence this meme:


There are ways around this, of course. You could look for an online group on Roll20 or another online service. You could try Adventurers League (though they have space issues too). But if all else fails, you may have to sit down and run D&D for just one or two people.

It’s like making tamales in foil instead of corn husks: foil tamales are better than no tamales.

The first time I played D&D, I ran a homebrew game for just one person: my (then six-year-old) daughter. Because she was the only one who wanted to play with me. And you know what? It was great, and she’s still my favourite player.

The Original D&D rules from 1974 recommend 1 “Referee” (which was what they called the Dungeon Master back then) and “from four to fifty players”. So it looks like the standard party of four PCs was hardwired into the game from the beginning. But think of the other extreme: 50 players? In one game? How in the hell did that work?

The answer is, they didn’t all play at the same time. Kent David Kelly’s book series, Hawk & Moor, goes into great detail about the early D&D games in Gary Gygax’s basement. In those days, there was no “adventure module”, no “quest”, no “adventure hook”. There was a big bad megadungeon nearby, full of monsters and treasure, and you were going down into it to get the treasure. The dungeon had many levels, each more dangerous than the last, and many entrances and exits. A single session of the game would involve you and any other available players entering the dungeon with a specific goal, say, to clear a certain number of rooms on certain level, or find a specific treasure or magic item you know or suspect was in a certain area. Or get revenge on those ogres who killed your last character. If you survived, you headed back to town to rest, heal up, and replenish your supplies. Then went back, to clear more rooms, kill more monsters, and get more treasure (if the other players hadn’t got there first).

All 50 players were never in the dungeon – and certainly never at the table – at the same time.

The other thing that becomes clear from Kelly’s book is that, while some groups often adventured together, a lot of players did go into the dungeon for solo crawls. In fact, Gary’s own son Ernie, playing the wizard Tenser (of Tenser’s Floating Disk fame), made an impromptu solo delve so that he could be the first to reach the fabled level 13 of the Greyhawk dungeon (totally screwing his frequent companions Robilar the Fighter and Terik the Cleric, in the process). So the first person to face the “Final Boss” of Castle Greyhawk did it as a solo player.

There were also some adventure modules designed specifically for solo play, such as this one for Basic D&D and this one for AD&D. Of course, these modules were designed as introductory or side quests, not for taking a PC from 1st to 20th level, but nevertheless they illustrate that running an adventure for just one player is far from unheard of.

Of course, many aspects of Old School D&D have fallen away, and certainly from 3rd Edition onward both the game mechanics and the published adventures have tended to assume a standard party size of four to six PCs, and one PC per player. This means that if you want to run for a single player, or even just a smaller-than-usual group, you will need to do some tweaking. This article from Geek & Sundry has some helpful advice, and I have some suggestions of my own (some of which are even based on personal experience).


No prizes for guessing that this would be my first suggestion, but homebrewing your own adventures is definitely a way to customize D&D for solo play. Whereas a standard published adventure has a spread of challenges intended to test a wide variety of skills, if you homebrew, you can focus on things that will challenge your player and their character, without being completely insurmountable. A solo wizard will never be a star of melee combat. A solo fighter with no ranged weapons will stand little chance against a tribe of goblins who stay at range and pepper him with arrows. And a cleric will probably not be able to pick a lock or disarm a trap.

For example, homebrewing puts you in control of how much combat is in your adventure, and how combat is handled. Combat can be scary for a lone PC, but if your bog standard published adventure has a series of fights, increasing in difficulty and ending with an epic boss fight, maybe your solo adventure has a series of puzzles, skill checks, and roleplaying encounters, with a bit of combat at the end (perhaps under favourable conditions if the player has succeeded in a lot of the preceding challenges).

And just as you can use homebrewing to avoid challenges that would be impossible for the lone PC, you can also avoid things that will be too difficult for the player. Don’t put in riddles if your player sucks at riddles. But if they love riddles, go for it. With only one player to please, there should be a lot of scope for creating the ideal game to suit them.

And homebrewing doesn’t have to mean starting from scratch. It can also mean taking a published adventure and adapting it for solo play.

Go Old School

There are a lot of things that used to happen in D&D that don’t really happen anymore, but reviving them can be a big help for the solo player.

Henchmen and Hirelings were a part of the core rules right through to AD&D. And if your solo player has some starting gold to spend, why not hire some help, so they don’t have to adventure alone. You can look up some old-school rules for what hirelings cost, but in general, a “commoner” who’s just along to carry stuff and hold a torch is as little as 2 gold pieces per week, while an NPC with actual class abilities will be much, much more expensive. Generally these hirelings expect a share of any treasure recovered (in addition to their fee), and earn a share of Experience Points (even if they don’t level up), which stops a solo PC getting too rich and powerful too fast.

Henchmen generally refers to NPCs who serve out of loyalty. Though they must be “maintained” (the player has to pay for their room, board, and equipment), they don’t necessarily charge fees. Like hirelings, they take a share of treasure (including magic items) and XP, but they can grow in power similar to a PC, and have much more “presence” than a simple red shirt. These are friends or sidekicks. They have names and backstories, and a personal connection to the player. If they die, it’s a big deal. Old School rules used to limit how many of these you could have, based on your Charisma score. For 5e, you might consider allowing a solo player to have a number of henchmen equal to their Charisma bonus. So bards and paladins will do well with this rule.

Another Old School thing no one does anymore is run more than one character. Hirelings and henchmen are both at least partially under the DMs control. They are, when all is said and done, NPCs. But in the olden days, it wasn’t unusual for players to run two characters in the same adventure. It was so common that there were rules forbidding PCs from sharing magic items if they were run by the same player. So allowing your solo player to run two or more PCs could restore some of the balance that modern D&D is built on. Note that this is not a good option for absolute beginners. Generally, it’s enough for first-time players to get to grips with running one PC; adding more is just confusing.

Give them a “friend”

I have more experience running D&D for one player than I have running for groups, and this is something I do pretty much all the time. I’ve tried a few variations on it, some with better results than others, though all of them worked.

The first time I ran D&D, my one player rolled up her character, and then we rolled up three other players to round out a classic “party”. My daughter ran her character, and I ran the others, but purely in the mechanical sense. They took their turns in combat. They made skill checks if they were proficient, and if my daughter suggested it. They didn’t roleplay, or look for clues or any of the fun stuff, firstly because I knew where all the secrets were, so that would be cheating, but mostly because it was my daughter’s game, I didn’t want to spoil her fun.

This is not something I recommend highly, as it too easily descends into one bored player watching the DM roll dice by themselves. And that’s not fun. Also, I feel that, as a DM, I have enough to run without having to be a player as well.

One of the things I’ve tried to improve upon this is running fewer characters. Instead of giving the solo player an entire NPC party, just give them one NPC friend. You’ll want this friend to be a easy to run as possible, and if you’re very comfortable with design, you might consider not making them a character class at all. Just decide what they should be able to do, based on what your player will need help with, and assign them the numbers. If they need a ranged attacker, give them a shortbow, some arrows, and +5 to hit (+3 to damage). If they need some healing, allow them 2 uses of Cure Wounds per day and the Spare the Dying cantrip. But if you’re not ready to play it that fast and loose, build them as a level 1 character class.

The way this differs from rolling up a full party is that it’s less work, and less time spent watching the DM play with themselves. I would also recommend that you gradually relinquish control to the player, asking them for more and more input into what the NPC should do until they’re making pretty much all the decisions. Eventually this could bleed into the player running two characters, but at a pace that allows a beginner to get to grips with it.

The way this differs from traditional henchman and hirelings is that there’s a “story reason” for NPC to come on the adventure, and no money is involved. Sometimes I’ve had these NPCs be someone the player rescues, and then they join forces to escape from the dungeon. Sometimes it has been an NPC with an adventure hook, but instead of sending the PC off on a quest, they come too. Once I even suggested the NPC and the PC were friends before the game began.

Logic would suggest that you give this “friend” abilities the PC doesn’t have, to help round them out, but actually three of the four times I’ve done this, I’ve accidentally given the PC a helper of the same class. And to be honest, I didn’t notice much of a difference in how successful the adventure was. Also, it proved a useful teaching method for beginners. You can have the NPC do something, and then point out that the player’s character can do that too.

As with the “dummy party”, you don’t want this NPC to be leading the adventure. They’re the sidekick at best. The player has to be the star of the show (if you want them to keep playing).

And my last observation is that, of all the times I’ve run D&D for solo players, the most successful PC, who accomplished the most and was consistently in the least danger of dying was a Rogue. Rogue is my favourite class, but they are seriously overpowered in 5e, even at first level. With high dex and finesse weapons, they have decent AC and good attack options in both melee and ranged weapons. With light weapons (and they get two daggers as part of their starting equipment), they can make two melee attacks per round. They have proficiency in more skills than any other class, and are just as good at avoiding danger as they are at facing it. If they continue to fly solo, they can take the Arcane Trickster archetype and access a little magic as well, including some damaging cantrips like Fire Bolt and Shocking Grasp, so they can even respond to threats with resistance to non-magical damage. I’ve never run a solo game for a Bard, but I can only assume that they would be just as, if not more, successful, especially considering their Jack of All Trades feature. So maybe push for the Rogue or Bard, if your potential solo player isn’t sure what to play.

Is running D&D for one player ideal? Absolutely not, nor is it typical of the D&D experience (there’s only so much banter you can have with just two people). But it is fun, it’s better than not playing at all, and is far more doable than you might think.

D&D has always been a “customizable” game, so if you want to run a game and can only find one willing player, don’t think twice. Just jump in and do it. If nothing else, it may inspire you both to put more effort into finding a full group.

Want to OSR your 5E game? Play with kids…

…or beginners. Basically anyone who doesn’t own their own copy of the Player’s Handbook.

Imagine this: it’s 1974. You have heard about this new game, Dungeons & Dragons – a whole new kind of game – and you want to try it. You’ve shelled out your $10 dollars (which is like $50 today, so you’d have to have wanted it pretty bad) and got your little fake wood box with the white label, containing three badly-written booklets which attempt to explain how to play this game, the likes of which the world has never seen.

Now imagine that you manage to drum up some people to play with (the rules suggest “from four to fifty players”, but let’s assume it’s closer to four). Unless they’re every bit as eager to play this as you are, and also have ten bucks to throw around, you are likely to be the only one with a copy of the rules. Which means two things: 1) congratulations, you are the Dungeon Master (called a “Referee” back then), and 2) you are probably the only one who really knows how the game works.

Now flash forward to 1978. You have just bought the first edition Player’s Handbook, which claims to “provide all of the truly essential information necessary for the game”, but doesn’t even tell you how to roll stats or make an attack. That material, and much more, is restricted to the Dungeon Master’s Guide, to be published the following year. Why? Because “considerable enjoyment and excitement in early play stems from not knowing exactly what is going on.”

Not knowing the rules of Dungeons & Dragons is a classic part of the experience of playing Dungeons & Dragons.

Now, I wouldn’t blame you if reading this has already given you pause. Am I actually suggesting that players knowing the rules of D&D is a bad thing? And the short answer is: yes. But here’s the long answer:

While it isn’t bad for the players to have a firm grasp of the most relevant game mechanics, knowing all the mechanics can have several effects on the game which some DMs may find undesirable (I certainly do).

One such effect is that it creates rules lawyers. All the players knowing all the rules doesn’t stop the DM being able to modify, eschew, or otherwise house-rule certain game mechanics. If they’re good players, they’ll remember Rule 0, and if changing the rules becomes a problem, or you think it’s going to be, you can always let your players know this is what you’re doing (choosing the level of detail you go into).

Although Rules Lawyers are my least favourite type of “problem player”, this is, admittedly, a small issue, because not every fully informed player will become a Rules Lawyer, and at the end of the day, Rules Lawyers don’t actually make the rules. Still, you are far less likely to get players like this when they haven’t memorized the entire PHB.

The bigger issue, for me, is that the rule books can be limiting. Going back to our hypothetical 1974 players: if you’ve rolled up a fighter, you know you have a weapon and that you can, presumably, use it. If you’ve rolled up a magic-user, you know you have that one spell you can cast, and more or less what that spell does. And regardless of your class, you know what equipment you’ve bought.

So now you’re creeping through the dungeon, looking for god knows what (treasure, probably). And when something – anything – happens, you all have to figure out how to respond to it. And not everything that happens in a dungeon – especially an old-school dungeon – is a cue for combat. Read up on old school dungeon crawls. Most of the tales involve the PCs running away.

So when you’re presented with an obstacle, encounter, or other situation, you have to generate a solution. It may well involve your weapons, if you have them, or your spells, if you have them, or any of your equipment, or terrain features, or things lying around. But whatever you do, the main component is probably your own ingenuity, and that of the other players.

And there’s no limit to that ingenuity, because there are no mechanics involved. There are no skill checks or ability checks, no rules for using various pieces of equipment in novel ways. Each situation is unique, and requires a unique solution from the players at the table.

This is a hard way to play, because the onus is on the players to propose their actions out of their own imagination, and then on the DM to figure out how to adjudicate their actions in a fair way. It’s far easier to play a game where the actions are spelled out for everyone. This is what you can do, and this is how you do it.

If we contrast the “rules-light”, 1974 approach to Fifth Edition, we find the ten Actions in Combat. These are prefaced by the following text:

When you take your action on your turn, you can take one of the actions presented here, an action you gained from your class or a special feature, or an action that you improvise... When you describe an action not detailed elsewhere in the rules, the DM tells you whether that action is possible and what kind of roll you need to make, if any, to determine success or failure” [emphasis mine].

There is also the the Improvising an Action sidebar, which specifically states “The only limits to the actions you can attempt are your imagination and your character’s ability scores“. But these brief reminders can easily get lost in the meatier descriptions of game mechanics, and the ten suggested actions in combat quickly become The Only Ten Things You Can Do in Combat, just as the 18 Skill Checks become the only 18 things you can do the rest of the time.

Of course, not every player will treat the rules this way, and it was certainly not the designer’s intention that they do. But there’s basically zero chance of this happening of the players don’t know the ten actions in combat in the first place. Most of the time, when combat starts, they will want to attack or cast a spell. But they might say they want to wait and see what happens. Tell them they can ready an action. They might want to try to disarm or restrain or otherwise subdue an opponent. Good opportunity to explain grappling.

I once had a new player decide to toss a rope to another PC, then run circles around an enemy guard, wrapping his legs up in the rope and restraining him. This was not something he had read in a rule book. He hadn’t even read the PHB. It was just something he came up with in his own mind.

Easy enough for him to suggest, but to adjudicate it, I had to call for a to hit roll to toss the rope, a strength check to hold the rope, the dash action to wind the rope, and a contested athletics check to resolve the grapple. And it took more than I’ve round to get it done. But that’s my job as DM: figuring out how to resolve player actions. I even awarded him inspiration for coming up with the idea.

And that, to me, is how you play D&D.