D&D 5e: Players Rule (or: Players' Rules), Part 4

Spellcasting.

Magic (and the way it works) is one of the draws of playing a game like D&D. Many previous editions use what is apparently called the Vancian model (I hadn't heard this until recently--who knew?). The major features Vancian magic define certain attributes of spellcasting: specific, named, prepared spells. Those spells are stored and then expended as they are cast. The fifth edition rules are a variant of this model. I'm going to focus initially on the Wizard (and by extension Sorcerer), but that's at least a slight injustice since the Warlock is once again a Player's Handbook-featured class. I may need to examine the Warlock's spellcasting in a separate post.

Some overall notes to provide structure to the rest of this entry:

• (1) Spells are prepared, but this is different from having each prepared spell fill a spell slot (as a Wizard in 3e).
• (2) Spell slots are conceived as a measure of how many spells you can cast and at what power levels (during a game day or between long rests). Spells are once again based on a nine tier system.
• (3) The Player's Handbook's individual spell entries do not identify spells by class; each class has a discrete list. This doesn't actually change how the game works, but it does change how we're supposed to perceive spells.
• (4) The "pieces" of a spell (I can't use the more apt word, components, for obvious reasons) remain very much the same as in previous editions: Somatic, Verbal, Material, and/or Focus. There are, however, some re-conceptions as to how material and focus components can interact.

1) As someone who "grew up" on 3e's Sorcerer/Wizard dichotomy, I have a slight hesitation making the adjustment to 5e intuitively. For this examination, "Sorcerers" are all classes that cast spells like the basic Sorcerer 3e class, most notably the actual Sorcerers; "Wizards" are all classes that cast spells in a way that resembles the Wizard, most notably the Wizard himself. The Sorcerer/Wizard 3e dichotomy goes something like this:

• Sorcerers know spells. A known spell is not able to be changed on-the-fly, during a short rest, or during a long rest. It is, for all intents and purposes, a permanently locked-in spell. Wizards prepare spells. A prepared spell fills a spell slot and exists only until it is cast. At that moment it is removed from the Wizard's mind completely and must be re-prepared in order to be cast again. Thus, Sorcerers have access to fewer spells, but know them all the time; Wizards have access to more flexibility, but can only cast them under limited circumstances.
• Sorcerers cast more spells per day per spell-level.
• Wizards have more of a variety of spells. 
• Sorcerers--because they know spells--apply metamagic on the fly; Wizards--because they prepare ahead of time--prepare metamagic ahead of time (only) too.

Wizard on the left? Sorcerer on the right?

Bottom line: Sorcerers knew less but cast more, having more in-the-moment flexibility. Wizards knew more but cast less, having more preparatory flexibility. Sorcerers are Superman; Wizards are Batman. Superman Sorcerers can endure longer and do more with less preparation. Batman Wizards are unstoppable if given enough foreknowledge, but can run out of juice quickly when caught unprepared. Each can do something the other can't.

Back to 5e where the dichotomy continues (nomenclature officially changes back to the Sorcerers and Wizards of 5e):

• Wizards still prepare spells; Sorcerers still know them. Wizards gain some advantage here in that they no longer prepare spells that fill spell slots ahead of time (giving them additional flexibility in how often each of the prepare spells is cast and in which ones are or are not cast). Point for the Wizard.
• Comparing total spell slots gets a little tricky because Sorcerers get the new "Sorcery Points mechanic." A first level Sorcerer gets 2 first level spell slots; a first level Wizard gets 2 as well. So far so good. A fifth level Sorcerer gets a 4/3/2 progression, and so do Wizards. The difference is that a Sorcerer also gets 5 points; these could be used to grant an extra 1st and 2nd level slot (or one extra third level). Advantage: Sorcerer. At 13th level, the progression remains the same, but once again the Sorcerer has 13 points--advantage is considerable for the Sorcerer. Basically, at each level the progression remains the same but the Sorcerer (through Sorcery Points) has the option of casting additional spells. Point for the Sorcerer.
• Sorcerers are still deeply limited in spells known. A wizard who never learned a spell from a scroll could still have access to 44 spells at 20th level. A Sorcerer has a meager 15. Point for the Wizard.
• Sorcerers are now the metamagic kings. With the removal of feats, metamagic has become a class feature for the Sorcerer; Wizards need not apply (although some of the Wizard schools have their own metamagic-y class features). Point for the Sorcerer.

Each side has been tweaked to both off-set weaknesses and bolster strengths, but the Superman-Batman comparison remains.

As a final note on the dichotomy, the very number of spells a Sorcerer can draw from takes a huge hit (considering that in 3e the Wizard/Sorcerer lists were identical). Wizards still get the most spells to choose from, but now Sorcerers drop to a distant third-most (I know I read this somewhere, but I'm having trouble finding the reference. Apologies if this break down of spells-by-class is off! I don't feel like tallying everything up myself at this late stage). I was originally very alarmed at this, but the way that staffs, wands, and magic items in general have been adjusted to allow "anyone" to attune and use it, I think it will work out acceptably well. A Sorcerer isn't going to want the hyper-specific spells from a Wizard's list--and because of the metamagic shouldn't need them all anyway. By culling the list, I (hope) the developers simply made it harder for a Sorcerer to choose her spells poorly.

2) Using spell slots in the "loose" rather than "strict" way allows for them to be a much more accurate measure of power level of respective spellcasters. Someone who can cast 6 first level spells is clearly at an advantage over someone who can only cast 3. In third edition, a Wizard may have those 6 spells all as Magic Missile or they might all be Identify. By jettisoning the "strict" ideas, Wizard (and Cleric) players no longer have to have a million pages of various spells prepared in various slots. One or two lists of prepared spells (maybe one for dungeon crawling and one for urban exploring, for example) should be all that's needed. Spells can be raised into higher level slots for greater effectiveness "on the fly," and those pesky only-in-the-right-moment spells seem less wasteful to prepare. (How many of us have prepared Knock as one of our spell slots, only to find that we really needed that extra Magic Missile? Or, conversely, have an arsenal of attack spells, but didn't prepare Knock today because you knew you needed the firepower and didn't want to sell yourself short? Or even--heaven forbid--you intelligently prepared Knock and then need to open a second door.) I think this is an excellent choice.

Yes, I know Gandalf's wizardry doesn't apply here--just go with it.

Similarly, the nine-tier system is (at this point) both intuitive and useful. The difference between spell circles/levels has been refined so that there are very few spells that seem "out of position." Raise Dead feels like a fifth level spell, while Wish feels like a ninth. This was another good (if tacit) choice.

3) As someone who hasn't played a PC in a traditional D&D campaign in over a decade, I find it hard to give an honest appraisal of the way the Player's Handbook lists its spells. As a DM, I miss the old-style entries from 3e where each spell listed which class lists it could be found on. This was great for me to keep track of who was capable of what. Back when I was a player, it also let me leisurely stroll through the spells and get useful information about individual spells. As I leafed through, I could see who had highly unique spells (Druids, Paladins), who had spells that almost everyone got--eventually (Clerics). I could decide how I wanted to advance as a character by looking at the spells individually and deciding which course to take to gain access to a particular spell or three. In 5e, that mechanic seems to be swept under the rug (or perhaps remaining there from 4e). Now, you are encouraged to commit to a class and then seek out spells based on the list provided. Less aimless wandering, more committed referencing. If I consider the design implications of this, it seems like this choice may have been made to encourage players to focus on their character's progression in a straightforward way, moving away from the ability/spell/feat creep that has spawns the unbelievable number of options in Pathfinder. In the place of a player, I might find this a bit frustrating initially, but if I were really committed to playing a particular character this kind of focus may prove useful for removing distracters. As a DM, I still miss the old open-ended method which allowed me to corroborate across classes more easily. In all likelihood this is still a good choice.

4) Spell components have always been a source of confusion for me. DM David addressed this issue in some detail already, so I won't repeat his excellent thoughts and development on this issue. What I will do is summarize how I plan to handle this issue in my own game(s):

• Material components are necessary.
• Exception: You may use a Focus in place of material components.
• Exception: If the material components would cost more than 1gp, and you don't possess them, you must have the requisite moneys on hand. Upon casting the spell, the value of the components is transmuted from your possession into oblivion.
•  Exception: If the component is incredibly rare or circumstantially valuable, the DM may rule that the actual component must be present even if you have a Focus and/or have the (accurate) amount of wealth available.
• Somatic components are necessary.

• Clarification: A free hand shall be re-defined as "a hand not being used to grasp/manipulate an object." In other words, a character wielding a two-handed staff or sword must let go (with one hand), but a character wielding a weapon and shield could continue relatively unchanged (unless making shield attacks).
• Verbal components are necessary.
• Most players will not pay attention to what components a spell actually requires. Establishing a "normal" stance for each player will eliminate 99% of the confusion. (That is, talk to each player about how their character is fighting/exploring: what do they have in their hands? If they need to be adjusted in order to cast spells during combat/exploration, make the adjustment and explain why.)
• Clarification: Greater scrutiny will come into play when characters are hostages/captives or simply don't have normal access to their gear.

That's more than enough for this entry! Feel free to comment below if you managed to slog through the ramblings above. Happy 'casting.

D&D 5e: Players Rule (or: Players' Rules), Part 3

In this post, I'll look at the non-combat options offered to players.

Without the Dungeon Master's Guide, this does feel like a vain effort, but it might be a worthy thought experiment. I hope it is!

In another time and place, I'd take the time to comb through the Player's Handbook to examine every single class- or race-specific option. For now, I'm just going to use the experiences of my players in the Lost Mine of Phandelver Starter Set.

The big categories of non-combat experiences in Dungeons and Dragons take the form of NPC encounters (as opposed to "monster encounters"), exploration/interaction, and downtime.

NPC encounters are those kinds of event which usually involve roleplaying: diplomacy, bluffing/deceit, persuasion, and occasionally awkward or unusual communication. Exploration and interaction are (in brief) all the things a Bard might do in a dungeon besides fight: skill checks of many kinds, for a variety of reasons; among them would be looking for traps/loot/enemies, tracking down clues and putting them together to form conclusions, moving around a space in any way other than walking across a dry flat surface, pickpocketing, sneaking, recalling knowledge, bandaging wounds, controlling animals, perceiving something hidden (in another person), surviving in a difficult environment, or (of course) participating in a performance. Downtime activities are nothing new to D&D, but they are somewhat new to the players' side of the screen. They include all of the activities a character might participate in "off-stage" or between the stages of a campaign. (Use your imagination: hobbies, research, relationships, construction, travel, etc.!)

NPC encounters and exploration/interaction are both handled (in rules-terms) through the skills mechanic. I could probably do an entire post just on how the skills have evolved over time, but I'm going to look at them through my own lens and (where appropriate) relate them back to 3e--the skill beast.

1) NPC encounters have been reduced to Deceive or Persuade. You want to convince that ogre that you're really a dragon in disguise? Be my guest: deceive him. You want to convince him that he should part with his sack of loot in exchange for what you believe is a fair (if low) price? Be my guest: persuade him. In 3e, the skills of Bluff and Diplomacy often served the same functions, but I like the elegance of the 5e system. Where Bluff was generally for short, simple deceptions, you also had Disguise for more elaborate ones, and Diplomacy itself could be used to lie in certain situations. Basically, Diplomacy was a morally ambiguous skill: both thieves and judges would need to take a few ranks in it to be savvy in their respective dealings with the law. In 5e, this is much clearer: acting in good faith? Use Persuade. Purposefully deceiving someone? Deceive is for you. Simple, clean, and uncluttered by a multitude of "sub-skills." (As a side note, Insight and Intimidation function much the same as they have in previous editions.)

2) Exploration and interaction skills compose the entire rest of the set. In general, 5e follows the same idea of "skill condensing" that 4e did. A few key notes:

Athletics and Acrobatics form a binary relationship. Does your task require strength, power, or strength-conditioning? It's an Athletics check: swimming, climbing, breaking, etc. Does your task require dexterity, agility, or balance-conditioning? It's an Acrobatics check: balancing, dodging, and maneuvering are all Acrobatics. Whatever physical ordeal your character faces, it should be a binary choice of skill.

Another interesting feature of 5e is the change from Spot, Listen, and Search to Perception and Investigation. At first blush, it looked as though Spot/Listen formed a perfect analogue with Perception, while Investigation would be the counterpart to Search. This is not the case. Perception is used for Spot(ting) and Listen(ing), but it is also used for Search(ing). Investigation is an entirely new idea: the designers wanted a metric for problem-solving (with clues), for putting clues together to form a conclusion, or to recognize the clues that are in plain sight. I like this dynamic because it creates a situation where a character who is tremendously good at seeing the strange symbols on the walls will not always be the same character who makes sense of them.

3) Finally, the "new guy" in the Player's Handbook: Downtime. In a section titled "Between Adventures" there are several suggestions for how a character might spend his/her downtime. Some options are fluffy rather than stat-oriented, but all of them have a real effect: your character has a place to go when he/she is not adventuring, and is able to continue to develop as a sentient being while not crawling around in dungeons: crafting, working, healing, researching, and learning are all presented as reasonable and valuable options.

I must admit, I cannot remember the last time that I have given characters "downtime." Usually, characters were rushed from one last-minute-save-the-world-scenario to another, with the one notable exception of going to large cities to shop for new toys. I rather look forward to giving characters downtime in the future, although I don't know if these rules were in place when the current campaign path was being drafted; it seems unlikely given the subject matter that there will be an ample amount of downtime in Tyranny of Dragons. One thing downtime would allow is a place for characters to invest their hard-won gold since they won't be buying up magic items with it.

Final verdict on the new take on skills is that it seems to combine the best of both worlds. Characters still have a variety of useful skills, and they routinely (but not often) get better at them via their proficiency bonuses. Skills are mostly intuitive and every character is proficient in a variety of them; bounded accuracy ensures that even the least perceptive character should still feel useful making Perception checks to search a room or look for danger. Characters have options to participate in the world right from the get go that don't always have to involve adventuring, and their options that do involve adventuring don't always have to involve combat.

It's a well-rounded system. I look forward to seeing how it plays out as characters reach higher and higher tiers of play.

D&D 5e: The Lost Mine of Phandelver

Slight detour from my discussion of the new edition as a whole to jot down some thoughts on the 5e Starter Set and the first real adventure for new DMs and players in this new edition: Lost Mine of Phandelver. Spoilers definitely ahead.

My players all really enjoyed the edition's new focus on having a backstory before the campaign ever begins; bonds, flaws, and traits are all a welcome cheat-sheet allowing characters to be played at a glance (instead of making it up as you go along). In Phandelver, that took the form of the characters each having an intimate tie to the area--or at least a reason to go there. On the downside, those reasons dropped off as the sessions continued. It took us nine sessions to go through all of the content in the Starter Set. By the end of the first two-to-three sessions (after Sildar has been rescued), the Paladin (a Fighter if you're using the pre-fabs) has already accomplished the goal he set out to meet. Granted, Sildar is a new authority figure, and if your martial character finds a home in the Lord's Alliance you're still in business. Similarly, by halfway through the adventure, the Rogue's nemeses are mostly destroyed: the Redbrands are dismantled one way or the other. Only the Cleric has a real (bonded) reason to persist in the adventure: each leg of the journey introduces another peril to one of his three cousins, whom he supposedly values more highly than almost anything else. The biggest problem I see is for the Wizard: after the shrine at Cragmaw Castle has been re-consecrated or un-desecrated, why is this acolyte of Oghma still around? Again, not a big deal to find some reason for this Wizard to continue adventuring with the party, but there's very little guidance for new DMs on how to solve this issue.

Factions. They're a great idea--allowing DMs to bring the party anywhere on Toril and still find some connection back to the characters' ideals and goals by having world-wide connections. Similarly, these factions offer some trustworthy benefactors who have the characters best interests in mind (or at least, if not their personal interests, then their goals and ideals). At my virtual table, this time around, we had a pretty good variety of interests and goals for the characters--but none of them particularly meshed well with "preserving the natural world." As such, by the end we ended up with a pair of Harpers, a member of the Lord's Alliance, and a member of the Order of the Gauntlet. For experienced players, this was a very new experience. When I ran games in previous editions, the party might have worked with the Harpers on occasion, but it was always in a mercenary agreement or where the entire party was trusted and hired by the Harpers. The idea that these separately motivated adventurers could be part of different "companies" is both engaging and new. For new players, this will be seamless (because without prior experience, they'll be able to assimilate this idea readily.)

Realistic villains. When approaching the "big bad" of Tresendar Manor and the "big bad" of Wave Echo Cave, the PCs blew through waves of guards then (in one case) went looking for him but couldn't find him and (in the second case) was confronted by him, only to have him turn invisible and run away. This absolutely puzzled my players in both cases. As my wife put it (paraphrased), the big bad is supposed to be a much higher level than the players--he's supposed to be fearless against these lesser heroes. Basically, villains in earlier in editions, in video games, and often on television are so filled with hubris that they don't even conceive of defeat as an option and therefore end up in big battle-to-the-death showdowns because they don't think they can lose until its too late. Both Glasstaff of the Redbrands and the Black Spider of Wave Echo Cave are smart villains. They recognized that alone (or even with a few key allies) their chance of success against four heavily armed and experienced heroes was not assured. The coward Glasstaff ran after he realized how far the interlopers had come and abandoned his little "fiefdom" to save his life. That's not to say he isn't going to hold a grudge, but rather that he valued his life above holding onto a stinky basement and a two-bit town. The Black Spider was even bolder and more clever; he knew that the Cleric valued his cousins' lives and had kidnapped one (after killing another) to ensure that he had an immutable bargaining chip. The PCs took one look at him, decided that the poor captured dwarf's life was already forfeit, and attacked. The Spider was incensed and frankly surprised--as was the remaining dwarf cousin--that the heroes so callously threw Nundro's life aside as forfeit and attacked. Against such bloodthirsty mercenaries (as the Spider will think of these adventurers from here on in) who cut their way through both his own forces and the magical forces he was slowly working to circumvent, he saw no options for success, killed the dwarf hostage (Nundro), and got out of there. Again, villains are expected to fight to the death, but they shouldn't unless they've run out of options and escape hatches, and/or are too foolish to have avoided a deadly fight in the first place. I really did enjoy the villains varied quirks and motivations. Not every villain was evil, and not every evil person was a villain. According to some limited feedback from my players, they enjoyed the "realness" of the people they encountered even if they were confused when villains didn't always want a showdown to the death.

The varied scope of the adventure (some sandboxing, some dungeon crawling, some wilderness encounters) provided a nice mix of opportunities for players to get used to the game. I think this was the correct choice for a Starter Set. Having said that, some of my players felt overwhelmed with the number of options available--not because having options was a bad thing, but because none of the options seemed like the best option. To put it another way, the goal was never in clear focus. Some of my most memorable campaigns included one or more sandbox elements; in fact, I think some of my players' favorite adventure with me was a city-sandbox I'd invented in which a wizards' faction had taken over the city and martial law had been declared. Different noble houses were each bunkered down, and the only way to travel safely from place to place in the city was to know who was in charge where, and to curry favor appropriately. The party had to slowly move through the city, deciding what order to approach the factions in, slowly gaining support for a coup to overthrow the wizards who had taken over the city. There was still tons of choice (Do we involve the sea captains in the coup? Can we trust the wizards' home faction to not betray the rest? How can we make it all the way to the Mayoral Estate without having to fight the wizards' demonic forces?) but the end goal was clear and all of the options (to some degree) were focused on this final objective: saving the city. While Phandelver's choices offer verisimilitude and were (behind-the-screen) almost entirely linked to what was going on in the Mines themselves, those connections were not visible to the characters. The language of "main quest" and "side quest" became popular very quickly. There is nothing wrong with this nomenclature except that these are 21st century players; they're used to needing a certain amount of experience/power before advancing the main quest is a good idea, and side quests often offer certain rewards that will not be offered in a main quest. My players' party did every single "side quest" available--putting off the "time-sensitive" examination of the Mine itself and delaying an investigation into the southerly town of Greenest. Why? Because the side-quests were undone and were likely to yield rewards that would help with the main quest. In reality, no tangible rewards came of those side-quests except the experience points required to level up (which, ultimately, they would have gotten in the main quest). Not that a red herring or an unrelated adventure can't break up monotony, but in this case I think it made the players feel like they were either (A) missing out on the big picture or (B) wasting their time. (What was the deal with that banshee anyway? Why is that necromancer camped out at the Old Owl Well? Who's going to deal with that dragon in Thundertree?) Some of the questions that arose are natural, some are lingering because of the focus on "main quest" in previous editions/campaigns. We'll see how this evolves from there.

Onward to Hoard of the Dragon Queen!

D&D 5e: Magic Items

Magic items are a strange beast in 5e. Because of the whole bounded accuracy dynamic, there isn't a need for magical arms, armor, or gizmos in order to be appropriately powerful at a given level. I am already seeing how this change is playing out in the treasure being portioned: it lowers the amount of magical treasure significantly. In 3e, martial characters looked for that +1 longsword as soon as they started a campaign. Once they had it, it was time to look for a +2 longsword, and so on. Finding each tier of magical item (all the way up to the +5 bonus) was partly a form of "keeping up with the Baggins" and partly a way to measure the success of the party/character. The better armed and armored your character was, the more successful you were as a player. This dynamic is fundamentally shifted once magic items become useful, somewhat privileged, and not required.

As with many other changes from previous editions, this should not hit new players particularly hard. In fact, the idea that a magic item is now something precious and special should make each individual magic-item-find that much more exciting. I think it will feel much more like Lord of the Rings and less like it used to in 3e.

A low-magic Forgotten Realms universe is a strange thing to contemplate for me, but not a completely awkward one. I am going to be very interested indeed to see how Keith Baker's Eberron setting comes to pass in 5e. (His comments on his own webpage suggest that in the high-magic third edition, Warforged were overpowered. His thoughts on their redesign bring that power-creep down significantly.)

The place where the magic item dearth shows up most prominently is in the published adventure paths beyond Lost Mine of Phandelver: the Tyranny of Dragons adventure path(s). The designers, working with unfinished treasure rules, placed almost no magic items into the adventures. And really, until the Dungeon Master's Guide is released, we peons who are making do with the Player's Handbook and Monster Manual are going to find it hard to compensate appropriately. For right now, I'm planning to run the adventures without adjusting the treasure amounts, though I know it will seem somewhat low.

Maybe the biggest change in magic items (from 3e-4e) is in the fact that they're (at the time I'm writing this) no longer associated with a gold value. This one really didn't sink in until I started re-reading the magic item descriptions in the published adventures: gems and art objects are given "sell" values in gold, but magic items are just...magic items (with a few notable exceptions). Apparently, since magic (or physical manifestations of magic) is/are far less common than they were in previous editions, there are no "magic item stores." Some are even postulating that heroes will have little to spend their hard-earned gold on since they won't be able to go into larger cities and buy new magical equipment with it.

I must admit that the lack of pricing certainly sends up red flags for me. If there is no economy for magical items, that makes each one an anomaly or a priceless artifact--and I don't think that's strictly true. Potions of healing are, for better or worse, a staple of the economy and have a set price value in the Player's Handbook relative to other non-magical gear. Why shouldn't other magical items have the same treatment? The values could certainly be exaggerated for the commissioning or purchasing of such items--and the return for selling them on the open market could be lowered to reflect the uncertainty of finding a buyer--but to ignore that altogether would be a mistake.

Heroes will always find something to spend their cash on (fortresses? servants? charity? non-magical assistance?), but magic items--and the economy thereof--have been such an important part of the game for so many years that I will be hard pressed to move my players (and me!) to the new normal.

D&D 5e: Players Rule (or: Players' Rules), Part 2

In my last post, I started by articulating my thoughts on experience gain and leveling up. Before I continue the discussion on how the rules affect players, I thought I'd formally address something that came up in the discussion about my post in the comments:


The dual leveling systems in 5e (loosely called "experience gain" and "milestone") work in tandem. Below are my thoughts on this from the comments:

"The experience points tell players how significant their characters' encounter was or how epic their solution was. It also allows players (particularly at higher levels) to feel like they're 'getting somewhere' and to have a gauge as to how soon they'll get to use that fancy new ability they get when their character levels up!

That's why I like the current edition's focus on both styles: it's good for the players. If they just fight a whole bunch of random monsters because they're exploring, they may level before they ordinarily would based on the campaign/story being told. If they think of clever, interesting ways to circumvent some of the [expected/story] encounters and get to the next part of the story, they're rewarded with a level rather than punished by being required to grind."

Combat:

In 3e, combat was an arithmetical nightmare. The DMG advised DMs to make use of a simple rule: if a condition is advantageous, grant a +2 bonus. If a condition is disadvantageous, grant a -2 penalty. Bard songs, cleric spells, armor bonuses, feat bonuses, ability bonuses, and conditional modifiers all played a role in what the end modifier would be. Most of these modifiers changed on a round-to-round basis. Worst of all, these bonuses sometimes mattered an awful lot (when an encounter was perfectly matched) and sometimes mattered not at all (ever see a band of mid-level adventurers tearing through a bunch of low-level monsters?). I loved 3e and 3.5e, don't get me wrong, but that list of stats was obnoxious to keep track of--both for players and Dungeon Masters.

In 4e, combat became a video game with hot-keys. Most of the stats were static, and the ones that were dynamic were usually linked to a named condition--something that could be flagged or indicated in a visual way (presumably to help players remember that the lich was flying, the zombies were slowed, and their Paladin was blessed).  The modifiers were less omnipresent, but the combat itself as a bit more flat (for a different reason). When every player essentially "cast a spell" every turn, and most of those "spells" or abilities were just stand-ins for what used to be called a "basic attack," it slowed combat down. In retrospect, I think I know why: no matter how often we played, when presented with a bunch of similar options, players were constantly trying to decide which option would be best among the similar choices. The only place I see this come up in 5e is with wizards and cantrips. (Do I cast ray of frost or fire bolt?)

In 5e, combat most closely resembles 3e. It no longer feels like players and monsters are hitting their hot-keys. It also doesn't feel like I need a white-board for each player tracking constantly shifting modifiers. Where once the DM was asked to consider +2 or -2 (which, let's be honest, quickly became a moot modifier because of "unbounded accuracy"), now players can seek out conditions that negate disadvantage or which grant advantage. We have returned to an era of "basic attacks," but the mechanics are much more forgiving on non-spellcasting classes as far as giving them options in combat.

I'd like to start by considering the spellcasters (Clerics and Wizards) and move to the more martial classes. Unfortunately, since my party has a Paladin instead of a Fighter, I can't necessarily say how "the big four" have changed, though you can certainly extrapolate.

Wizards function almost identically to their 3e counterparts with a couple of very interesting "borrows" from 4e:

1. Cantrips: being able to cast basic--but useful and scaling--spells at-will is a wonderful boost to all spellcasters being magical all the time (not just while they have spell slots available).
2. Short Rest Restoration: Arcane Recovery is a fascinating way to counter the "whelp, Wizard's out of spells, time to camp for the night" issue. This criticism is a common--and accurate--issue with the way D&D has worked in the past. 4e made everyone a spellcaster (in a sense) to overcome the problem. I think I like this solution somewhat better; Wizards get fewer spell slots than their 3e counterparts, but can get some of them back.
3. Concentration: In 3e (and to a certain extent in 4e), concentration was a reactionary effect that came into play when players took damage or when they were trying to "cast defensively." By removing the defensive casting mechanic, and only allowing Wizards (or any caster) to maintain concentration on one spell at a time, it not only limited some of the spellcasting abuses (I'm looking at you party-buff mules), but it also eliminated a step from Wizards casting spells in combat, streamlining every round of combat.

Clerics similarly have a high correlation to their 3e counterparts:

1. Not all Clerics get heavy armor.
2.  Domains matter for gameplay styling right from the get go. 
3.  Removing the "minor" or "swift" actions, Clerics having spells that can only be cast as a reaction changes how/when they heal.
4. The concentration rules (see above) affect Cleric spellcasting too.

Rogues have the biggest change from prior editions in my opinion:

1. Removing the rules for "flanking" has ironically made it 10x easier for Rogues to activate their Sneak Attack ability. Basically, if the party tank is in combat, the Rogue can drop whoever the tank is fighting--even at a distance.
2. Bonus Actions have added a whole new lair of dastardly to Rogues. By letting rogues (essentially) move, Sneak Attack, and ignore opportunity attacks while remain out of range of the majority of bad guys, Rogues can maintain a very high damage output while staying safe in combat.
3. What makes the above two so wicked is that characters can now move, act, and then finish their movement--something that was not available before.

Paladins, like Clerics, have a lot of overlap with their 3e counterparts:

1.  Heavy armor, shields, and spells, and Lay on Hands make Paladins just as durable as they used to be.
2. Opening up Divine Sense (formerly Detect Evil) and Divine Smite (formerly Smite Evil) makes Paladins a little bit less of a one-trick pony. Fighting beasts in the forest instead of a cadre of demons? No problem! 
3. Fighting Style lets Paladins (like Fighters) specialize a bit into a particular role. In our campaign, the Paladin is a tank who wants to deal damage, but knows he has to take it before he can dish it out; he took the flat +1 bonus to AC (and rightfully so, I think).

 Some other general notes:

1. Hit points have been more boosted at the low end (d6 for Wizards!) making everyone a tiny bit less fragile by default.
2. Monsters--even at low levels--have surprisingly high numbers of hit points. There are no more "minions" as there were in 4e. If you're fighting a horde, be prepared to slog through it; a fireball won't insta-kill them all anymore (though a sufficiently powerful one might).
3. Ignoring the "diagonal movement on a grid is different" reality (as was done in 4e) remains in 5e. 95% of the time, it doesn't matter that much. The 5% of the times it does matter, it usually benefits the players, so I'm okay with it.
4. So far, advantage works. It works really well. (So does disadvantage.)
5. Bounded accuracy is already showing up in combat at low levels--for the better. The Paladin (used to being the only one in previous editions that could hit monsters routinely) is becoming frustrated that he isn't auto-hitting. The Rogue is dishing out damage on fleshy/robust but unarmored enemies. The Wizard can land ray of frost without worrying about a saving throw from the enemy. The Cleric knows exactly how much that buff spell is going to be worth because he can look at one set of numbers (remember, all those ugly modifiers from 3e are gone). Every monster is a potential threat, but tactics still help defeat monsters more quickly and more safely.

Finally, and perhaps no less importantly, monsters themselves seem to have the right mix of familiarity and wonder for the players. For example, zombies act as zombies should; they're slow to act, low in armor class, and dumb as rocks. But, they also have tons of hit points and a devious special ability that can make them very difficult to kill if you're not paying attention. Players who have seen zombies in other games/editions know roughly what to do to these zombies--but they're caught just enough by surprise by the one special ability that keeps them alive through the occasional lethal damage.

Next time, I'll look at non-combat options.

D&D 5e: Players Rule (or: Players' Rules), Part 1

Discussing all of the rules from the players' perspective is still an overly broad subject, so I'll focus on just a few aspects that seem to be important to players: experience gain, leveling up, combat, noncombat abilities, and spellcasting.

Experience Gain:
In my limited experience with players in their first four levels of play, it seems like the old model of "13 encounters per level from 1 to 20" is gone, probably for the better. Level one went by in a few brief encounters, and level two went by similarly quickly. The game is absolutely designed to give you a quick amp up from one to three (and a case could be made that it goes to four).

5e makes an even greater push than before to expect "milestone" experience rather than per monster experience, though the "per monster" xp is still in full and clear effect.

What I like about this melding of the two--making each method believable and natural--is that it allows the DM to use each one interchangeably. From personal experience I can say that when awarding experience to my players in 5e I have been able to swap from per monster to milestoning without the players feeling like I'm giving xp by DM fiat. I count that as a tremendous boon.

Leveling Up:
One of the awesome advantages of the first few levels being "quick gain" levels is that it allows 8 of the 12 (Clerics, Druids, Sorcerers, Warlocks, and Wizards being the exceptions) to wait until third level to establish their core principles, archetypes, and class features. It's telling, I think, that it's the primary spellcasting classes who have to choose who they will become later, earlier. Wizards choose their Arcane Tradition at second level (giving them some time to acclimate to what kind of spells their campaign/party/adventures will require), and Druids similarly get to wait until second level to choose which Druidic Circle they will associate with (providing that same acclimation time to allow them to discover what environments or lack-thereof they'll need to function in).

Only Clerics, Sorcerers, and Warlocks really have to know what they're doing right out of the gate.

Clerics need to choose their domain--that eternal link to their deity/patron/cause--when taking that first level of Cleric, and their advancement (more so than any other character class) is determined by that domain's features. The only positive for these deterministic characters is that there are more domain options (read: archetypes) than there are archetype options for any other character except the Wizard (whose magic schools create a staggering eight options). Of course, Clerics do have the largest breadth of divine magic to choose from, and have access to this copious list whenever they prepare new spells. So there's always that.

Sorcerers are limited in that they need to choose their Sorcerous Origin at first level; this, at least, makes sense story-wise. (I can make a great argument for Clerics waiting until third level to choose a domain; a Sorcerer should probably choose an origin as soon as her magic manifests.) At least Sorcerers get some flexibility in their spell choices and (as they progress in levels) in their Metamagic abilities. These allow for additional choices that have both combat and non-combat impact on the character as she progresses.

Warlocks' choice of Pact Boon is delayed, but they do need to (like a Cleric) determine their initial, eternal, contractual link to a Patron. Because of its absence from third edition, my understanding of Warlocks is not as well developed as that of the other classes, but it does seem like Warlocks are necessarily choosing early in the same vein as the Cleric. From a rules perspective, I like that they delayed the choice of the Pact Boon so that there is some versatility for this strangely versatile caster.

Back to the matter at hand: these first three to four levels give players a chance to acclimate to their heroes before being forced to make major choices about the entire arc of the character. I believe there's a conscious design choice here: if you're going to play a "special spellcaster" (Cleric, Sorcerer, Warlock) then you had better know where you're headed and what you're getting yourself into right from the get-go. If you're a fancy-pants spellcaster (Wizards and Druids) you have to make a choice earlier than most. (Yes, I know I've drawn an artificial line between "special" and "fancy-pants"--just bear with me.) However, if you're a "melee" or "non-spellcaster" you get a full three levels before you have to commit to something: the Paladin gets time to consider his oaths, the Monk her tradition, the Rogue her archetype.

Spellcasters have always been able to differentiate themselves by preparing or wielding different spells than other spellcasters of the same type. No two wizards ever played the same. But, in previous versions, a level 5 fighter would probably look very much the same as another level 5 fighter. Perhaps more accurately, a level 7 Paladin would be almost identical in features to any other level 7 Paladin. We might claim that a Rogue could distinguish herself by having a different set of skills to back up that Sneak Attack, but we all know there are certain skills that a Rogue had to invest in, and that if she weren't investing in those, she may as well be another class entirely. 5e strays from this; it not only provides these non-spellcasting characters with some divergence and individuality, but it gives the players time to articulate just what that individuality looks like.

At my own table, this turned out very differently than I expected--and I think it's largely due to the time provided by this new game structure to let players get comfortable with their characters.

• One of my players agreed, right off the bat, to play the Cleric; this was not necessarily his first choice, but he understood the necessity of a healer and was willing to throw everything he had at it. He took the Life domain at first level (as the Basic Rules gave him).
• Another player rolled a Wizard. Though they played a she-elf who was devoted to Oghma (basically taking one of the pre-gen backgrounds for the Lost Mine of Phandelver Wizard), they leveled her into the Evoker archetype: divining might make sense for her deity and background, but she was a fiery--even impudent--elf. The player took the "lack of social graces" and combined it with a dangerous curiosity to justify (well!) a knowledge-loving maidenly elven evoker.
• My third player chose a Rogue--a role she'd played before, but not with a "real" back story or motivation. (5e helped in this regard too; having a real back story for her character allowed her elven Rogue to move well beyond "moody outsider" into a fully-fledged paper-person by the second encounter--more about this later.) I would have bet money that the Rogue would have chosen the Thief archetype; the abilities are stellar for general rakish talents like breaking in, escaping, and being mobile. I would have lost that bet. By the time the characters had hit third level, the Rogue had developed a taste for blood and grudges; though Good in alignment, she was rightfully paranoid about enemies in her past. On a meta-level, the player recognized that for an average combat, she was the strongest damage dealer in the party. She took the Assassin archetype and hasn't looked back.
• My final player has always rolled Paladins. Always. This campaign is no exception. Not having to be Lawful Good with an honor code that is supremely rigid right from the get-go was a great benefit. Though he's always been able to tread the line, he usually had to lean over it right from the start in order to accomplish the party's goals. Giving him those few levels to consider how it might play out meant that the player toyed with the idea of being a darker, avenging Paladin. In the end, both for story reasons and for more meta'd reasons, he chose the "standard" Oath of the Devotion.

To have two of my four players choose vastly different options than appeared likely at first level tells me that the new system is working as intended--maybe even better than intended.

The only negative points my players have noticed (and I agree) is that there's no clear "what do I do next?" when leveling up. By next session, I hope to have a cheat-sheet I can share with them. In third edition, I had the page memorized for "Steps in Leveling Up" because it came up so often; there were so many complicated steps, and the order of operations mattered. 5e's strength is that the steps you take are fewer; the negative is there isn't much guidance as to how to take them.

My proposed list (right now) looks like this:

1. Increase your class level in the class you are leveling up. (e.g. Barbarian 3 to Barbarian 4)
2. Check the appropriate class chart to see what changes about your character. (Note: If you are a multiclass character, your instructions diverge at this point.)
1. Does your proficiency bonus increase?
2. Does an old class (or race) feature improve?
3. Do you gain a new class feature? Ability Score Improvement/Feat?
3. Roll new hit points.
4. Record new spellcasting information (new spells slots per day, new spells known, etc.)

Since my players have yet to ascend to the heights of the "journeyman" adventurer (and beyond!) my observations may be necessarily limited, but I have a feeling that the game design, with its bounded accuracy and number-of-monster-scaled encounters, will hold true to these initial observations.

 I'll investigate combat, non-combat, and spellcasting abilities in another post.

D&D 5e: The Art Style

Disclaimers: My artistic sensibilities are not professional, so apologies to "real artists" who can discuss this subject with far more precision! Also, I am basing most of this discussion on the Player's Handbook (and other source books used by players) in each edition: your average player doesn't use/see a DMG or a MM, and so I'm staying somewhat away from them as indicative of the art style for the edition.

With that disclaimer out of the way, I do feel that the art direction in 5e is certainly distinct from that of previous editions.

Third edition's bright, vibrant illustrations were high contrast, overlaid with dark, dark tones and highlighted with bright, white highlights. Fourth edition discarded the grit, and replaced it with cartoony, comic-book style, over the top proportions and unified color schemes. Fifth edition retains the color palette of Fourth (though it does tone it down somewhat; earth-tones replace neon vibrancy). Rather than gritty, high-contrast Third edition artwork, Fifth softens the hard edges and blurs the lines. Even the "parchment" style of the page fills is much softer than the earlier two editions.

I am in favor of this shift in art style for the most part in that it is something novel that continues to advance the genre's flavor (a combination rather than a renouncement). What I dislike are the same things that most people seem to be head-scratching over: font, flatness, and indexes (I won't worry about indexes here.).

The font choice, while incredibly legible, is tiny. On the one hand, this makes the book appear to have a vastly increased amount of information from previous versions: they're still hefty tomes, but with smaller fonts there should be more information per page, right? Maybe not. I think the designers made more use of margins and splashes to add art and design to more of the text-pages, ultimately leaving us with the same amount of information in a slightly less easy-to-read font-size. The overall effect is beautiful, but not as practical.

As for the artwork itself, the sophistication level is high, the resolution sound, and the pages glossy. The overall effect (ironically?) serves to flatten the artwork onto the page, rather than make it pop out, off the page. Third and Fourth source books were both designed in a way that made it appear the artwork (particularly partial splashes) were leaping off the page, interrupting the flow of the document and drawing your eye. The new artwork is still eye-catching (truly!), but the new artwork appears behind rather than in front of the text. The text is the center-piece, and the artwork takes a backseat.

I have to wonder if the layout directors thought this "Text-Pop" method would make up for making the font smaller? Smaller font leads to more room for artwork, so the artwork takes a backseat to spotlight the smaller text...

I guess anything's possible?

In the end, I fall back on the metaphor I used in my last post. The source books themselves feel like a travelogue of an aging hobbit. Soft, sketchy artwork, beautifully--even carefully--rendered, with clear, articulate descriptions accompanying the artwork. Even the tone of the text (if I can include that in this discussion of its art value) is closer in tone to one friend talking to another in an intimate letter.

Illustrations are mostly "realistic"--in proportion, realistically colored, and portrayed in naturalistic lighting. They are, however, also impressionistic in the way the colors and lines are occasionally blurred. A person's face may be in full, sharp clarity, while that person's hands and feet may be blurred so that the digits are soft and indistinct. The effect is that of an observer who paid attention to certain details but left others to the imagination--capturing the important or essential qualities of the creature, person, locale, or artifact while ignoring, or at least setting aside, the rest. This is a big change from Fourth (where the cartoony art style meant that all things were "in focus") and from Third (where all things were in gritty, unrealistically clear focus, or else were supernaturally shadowy).

Conclusion? Fifth's art is not as ostensibly "memorable" as the other editions, but--like a good bass line in your favorite song--I think its art is just as recognizable, and maybe necessary. Without the art, the edition would fall flat; with it, there is a distinct flavor to each of the source books that should be maintainable and variable to create new and exciting visual content to accompany supplemental material.

For those of you without a physical copy of any Fifth Edition materials, I would point you toward the Third Edition's Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting as a good analogue for the Fifth Edition feel. Smaller fonts, heavy "parchment paper" backgrounds, and soft, masterfully done images.

I can't wait to see how the Dungeon Master's Guide utilizes this kind of art, and I very much look forward to seeing how a new 5e Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting manages to deal with the long shadow cast by its Third Edition predecessor!

D&D 5e: The Emotional Tenor

As a D&D player for the last 15 years or so, my experience is primarily with 3e and higher, though those years have been long enough in the hobby for me to have read some other source books and materials and to have been infected with some of the sentimentality and emotion that many who started playing "from the beginning" have.

When I look at 5e, I brim with optimism. I'd like to think about the overall mood (which I'm discussing below), the art style, the rules (from the players' perspective), the structure (rules from the DM's perspective), and the meta game (what direction is Wizards coming from this time?).

So, on to the feel:
If I had to pick an author or director whose work resonates with fifth edition, I would be hard pressed. I have to recognize that some of my feelings on edition-feeling is idiosyncratic, but it also has to do with the official settings of each edition. In other words, each edition has its own version of the "Hokey Pokey"--what each edition is "all about," how each edition tells its story.

Everything in fourth edition felt like a video game. At its best, it felt like Skyrim. At its worst, it felt something more like professional wrestling. I agree with the critics who claim that 4e is combat-centric in that there are far fewer rules/abilities that are used outside of combat. (For the record, I acknowledge the proponents of 4e's role playing as superior because of the lack of rules/abilities limiting that kind of play, but I happen to like structure.) Fourth edition was all about the fight.

Third edition's emotional tenor is closer to the various TV shows of Justice League or an Indiana Jones movie. Having Greyhawk, Forgotten Realms, and Eberron as core settings lent a flavor of high fantasy and exploration to the atmosphere of the games. Granted, it was often an expedition to either slay a particularly weird creature or a mission to discover a particularly cool artifact, but it was still about the journey rather than the fight.

Fifth edition seems to be a return to this exploration gameplay, but with a slight new emphasis. 3e seemed very focused on the grit required for adventuring. Dark and light were extremes that were reflected in alignments, creatures, and environs. Fourth had a dazzling veneer of brightness, but it was the veneer of a professional sports team rushing out to the field. Fifth has taken the brightness of fourth and softened it to a halo, and taken the extremes of dark and light from third and transmuted them into a variety of color rather than black/white.

Third's source books felt like an ancient grimoire that had been updated by H.G. Wells. Fourth's source books felt like a video game instruction manual from the nineties that had been embellished beautifully by comic-book-turned-graphic-novel artists. Fifth's source books--so far--feel like a wise old hobbit's travelogue.

It's not quite as flashy as fourth edition, nor as binary as third edition. It doesn't have the gritty realism that third espoused, and it doesn't have the "everyone's equal" feel of fourth. What it does have is a focus on how the story is going to be told, and how important it is that someone tells it.

It's the difference between a Star Trek movie, and one of the official novels.

It's the difference between Sean Connery's interpretation of James Bond, and the new Daniel Craig version.

It's the difference between all of the standard live-action versions of A Christmas Carol and the Muppet version.

The number one difference, I feel, in fifth edition, is that it feels deep: deep, wide, and unified, like a human personality. Fifth edition is all about the characters.

I look forward to plumbing these depths further.