On Combat
"It is well that war is so terrible - we would grow too fond of it."
- Robert E. Lee
"There are but two powers in the world, the sword and the mind. In the long run, the sword is always beaten by the mind."
- Napoleon I
"To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Ulysses
"Run away!"
- The Knights of the Round Table, Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Though my campaign is far from being strictly hack-and-slash, I have run hundreds, maybe thousands, of battles during its long run. Some of them have been quick affairs, over in less than a minute of real time. Others have been day-long events, with hundreds of combatants on a side. Combat is an important part of most of my adventures. Not only are some of the characters' interactions with things that want to kill or eat them, but one of the therapeutic things about the game is that it allows players the visceral satisfaction of cleaving an enemy in two, something we seldom get to do in real life.
Since combat plays such a prominent role in the game, I have spent a lot of time thinking about what works and what doesn't. I have thought about it in terms of its place in the campaign and its entertainment value for the players, and also about what tactics are the most effective for both sides. This column will examine these things. To lay the proper foundation, let's start by looking at how combat is structured within the game.
The AD&D game does not place any great emphasis on realistic combat. For over 20 years I have followed the debate in role-playing games between playable vs. realistic combat. I have played under both kinds of systems, and have enjoyed them both. For the uninitiated, the debate goes something like this: the "playability" camp maintains that the whole thing is a game anyway, and that the point is to move things along and have fun. If combat is too detailed it bogs down play and detracts from role-playing and character interaction. For the "realistic" camp, fantasy combat should be as detailed and realistic as possible. They become frustrated and impatient if the system doesn't make sense, and they enjoy exploring the minutiae of battle. A lot of historical research and debate is involved in this approach.
As I said, I enjoy both, but in my own campaign I definitely lean towards the playability side. This is built into the D&D game system, and I have tended to streamline it even further. As the campaign has progressed I have stopped trying to rationalize what is going on and have instead taken to translating what the dice are saying into a narrative. This seems to work well for the players, and it gives me all kinds of chances for impromptu storytelling. As a basic example, let's assume that Sapphire and Winslow of the Swords & Scrolls group are off by themselves, no doubt doing something for the benefit of all, and they meet a bugbear with 14 hit points. The monster attacks. The fight goes something like this:
Initiative: a 4 for me, a 3 for them.
Narrative: "The bugbear sees you first, but you both have amazing reflexes and get in the first attack."
Sapphire shoots an arrow and rolls a 9 - a miss. Winslow attacks with his short sword and rolls a 14, hitting for 2, then Sapphire shoots his second arrow and rolls a 15, a hit for 4. The bugbear rolls a 7 and misses Winslow.
Narrative: "Roll to hit, Alex. Okay, that's a miss. Sapphire, you are afraid of hitting Winslow and shoot too high. Your arrow whistles over the bugbear's head and skips off the roof of the corridor behind him. Your turn, Mark. Umm, yeah, that's a hit. Roll damage. Okay. The bugbear hurriedly parries your thrust, but you cut high at the last second and give him a shallow cut across the forearm. As he recoils with a growl Sapphire takes his second shot. Roll to hit. Yep. Sapphire's second arrow sinks into his shoulder. Okay, my turn. Damn. The monster levels a sweeping blow at Winslow in response, but Winslow ducks it easily."
Next round the players win initiative, 5 to 2. Sapphire rolls a 3 to hit, Winslow rolls a 5, and then Sapphire's second arrow is an 18, for two points. The bugbear rolls a 13 and hits, doing 5 points (Winslow has 20).
Narrative: "Right. Take your first bow shot, Alex. That's a miss. Sapphire, you see that the bugbear is off-balance, but you hurry your shot, missing him by a foot. Mark's turn. Miss. Winslow, you bound in past his guard and connect with cut to the side of his leg, but he has tough leather armor and you don't get enough force into the blow to penetrate it. You're up again, Alex. Oh yeah, that's a hit. What's the damage? Okay, Sapphire's second arrow hisses right across the side of the monster's neck, opening a shallow but painful cut. The bugbear attacks. That's more like it! Enraged, the bugbear brings his sword back in another sweep. Winslow leaps backward, but doesn't get completely clear. The bugbear's sword scores his armor and opens up a gash across his ribs."
On the third round the bugbear wins initiative, 5 to 1. He rolls a 17 and hits, but only for 2 points damage. I hiss in disgust. Sapphire rolls a 13 and hits for 4, and then Winslow rolls a 19, doing 5 points of damage, killing the bugbear.
Narrative: "Sapphire gropes for another arrow as the bugbear springs quickly after Winslow. The bugbear levels another crushing blow at the hobbit. I roll, and...yes, a hit! Damage is...dammit, 2 whole points. This blow would probably have nearly cut Winslow in two if it had landed, but Winslow gets his sword up in time. He's still hurled against the wall of the corridor with bruising force, though. Alex, roll to hit. That succeeds, of course. Damage is..? Okay, as the bugbear snarls in triumph Sapphire nocks and looses his next arrow. This one sinks into the bugbears midsection. Nope, he's not down yet. The bugbear recoils, badly hurt but still in the fight. Winslow takes advantage of the respite to shove himself off the wall at the bugbear. He attacks, and...? Crud. Roll damage. Crud, that's it. Winslow's sword takes the bugbear low in the side, sinking in up to the hilt. The bugbear gives a bubbling sigh and crashes over backwards, dead."
There are a couple of things to notice about all of this. The main thing is how, by doing this, I turn the abstractions of the combat system into a detailed, nitty-gritty battle. Another is the way in which the description of the fight accounts for D&D's hit point system. Early blows are shallow cuts and bruises, or hits in noncritical areas. As someone gets closer to running out of hit points, the damage is described in more dire terms. This is because it is ridiculous to assume, for example, that a high-level fighter could shrug off a blow that would kill three oxen. For example, assume that CJ is facing off against a fire giant. The fire giant strikes, doing 27 of CJ's 77 points of damage. I say:
"The giant's club crashes down. CJ crosses her swords and blocks the blow, though the force of it almost jolts her arms out of their sockets and it drives her back 5 feet."
Now, say that Randy is in the same situation, and takes the same amount of damage. Randy has 30 hit points. I describe it like this:
"The blow crashes through Randy's defense. It crushes her shoulder, snaps her collarbone, and smashes her sideways."
I would give the same description if CJ were down to her last 30 hp, by the way.
Taking this approach makes things more real and more exciting to the players. They can feel the noise and chaos of the battle; the yells and screams of the characters, the crash of weapons, the bellowing of the monsters, and the crashing and booming of spells flying about. It's also easier to do face-to-face; I've noticed that I do it more extensively with Swords & Scrolls than with the Bloodhawks, though I try to do it to some extent for them, as well. Besides, it's fun to describe a really serious hit in graphic terms and make the players go "Ewwww".
Another way that D&D abstracts in melee combat is time. Early in my campaign there were lots of arguments about who could do what when. I solved these by standardizing what could occur in a single melee round. It isn't strictly realistic, but since everyone knows what their options are for a given round it speeds things up considerably. For the record, the following are the basics. During a single melee round a character may do any one of the following:
Other actions are adjudicated on a case-by-case basis, but there really isn't a lot that isn't covered by the above.
A well-run battle should generate excitement. The game is a lot of fun when everyone is leaning over the table, cheering whenever a foe falls and groaning whenever an ally takes a serious hit. Some of my favorite DM moments have come at the end of an epic combat, when the final foe falls and the entire table gives a spontaneous cheer of victory and relief. Of course, not all battles can be thrillers. Some, such as when a giant centipede scuttles out from under a log and tries to bite an 8th-level fighter, are foregone conclusions from the beginning. These fights occur just because the logic of the situation demands that they do. A centipede doesn't have the smarts to adjust its tactics, or to not attack just because it knows it's hopeless.
I don't set up most battles to try and win. I set them up to generate excitement and to push the player's abilities a little. A really good battle tests their resolve, their cleverness, and their imagination. The most common failing that besets me is that of making it inadvertently too easy. I don't know how many bands of monsters have set up as tough opponents, only to see them go down like wheat in front of the group. More rare is a group of critters that are just supposed to give the characters a little exercise, and who end up threatening to annihilate them.
Almost without exception, sound military tactics in the real world also apply to D&D combat. Principals like fighting on the ground of your choosing, thoroughly scouting the enemy before engaging, and concentrating your firepower are good advice for any adventuring group. The following is a list of a few principals that I have observed over the years:
#1: Luck has less to do with it than most players think.
This is more true the higher the average level of the group is. A first-level group can be devastated by a run of bad die rolls, but a more powerful group is pretty much immune to this effect. Over the course of any substantial battle there are enough die rolls that the law of averages takes control. Note, however, that this is not true for individual characters. A single character can end up dead or thrashed during a fight as a result of a run of bad luck, but the group as a whole will still be OK.
#2: A single monster, no matter how big and tough, will fall quickly to a determined attack by even a mid-level group.
I don't know how many times I have fallen victim to this principal. One of my favorite set-pieces involves a huge, terrifying monster going toe-to-toe with the adventurers. My vision is of a group pushed to their limits trying to defeat some horrible thing, but it never works that way. Unless the monster is insanely tough, the battle will end quickly. If a group is allowed to focus their firepower they can easily do 80 - 100 points of damage to a beast within a round or two. If I make the monster tough enough to survive longer, I run the risk that the characters won't be able to hurt it at all and will be annihilated.
#3: If a band of adventurers knows what they are facing and can plan ahead, they will win easily.
A fight that would normally end in a character bloodbath will be turned into an easy victory if the group has time to optimize their tactics. Good scouting and preparation are the keys here. Of course, an elaborate plan can fail if unknown factors rear their ugly head during the battle, but this is rare. Not only is it effective, but it is fun for me as a DM to see the players put together and execute a cunning plan based on the information they have carefully gathered. I always feel as though the players have earned their victory in such cases, even if the resulting fight is one-sided in their favor. The next rule follows logically from this one:
#4: If a group is ambushed or taken off guard, the fight will go much worse for them.
Sure, this is common sense and standard military logic, but it is startling to see it in action. If the monsters can engage the group without first being bombarded with missile weapons or blasted with spells, the fight automatically becomes twice as hard. If a group is hit from two or more sides at once, look out! The spellcasters lose their safe ground, the healers are forced to fight for their lives, and the fighters have no retreat if they become seriously injured. It also throws the players off-balance, and many times their tactical decisions aren't as good as when they have had a little time to think about it. Despite the fact that they are in reality sitting safely around a table, players aren't immune to panicking or acting rashly if they are taken off-guard.
#5: Monsters that disable, weaken, or immobilize characters are far more effective opponents than monsters that only deal physical damage.
There is little doubt that a tyrannosaurus rex is a lot scarier, on a visceral level, than a leprechaun, but I know which monster experienced adventurers would rather face. If adventurers begin falling unconscious, or become confused in large numbers, the group's ability to deal damage becomes seriously impaired. This is why I love things like umber hulks; nasty physical damage combined with their confusion ability is lethal. It is sometimes fun to try and achieve the same effects with mixed groups of monsters.
#6: The prayer spell is the single most effective combat spell in the game.
The amount of damage that it inflicts over the course of a large fight is greater than any single direct-damage spell, and it has the added benefit of reducing the damage the group takes by a lesser, though still significant, amount. Not bad for a single third-level cleric spell. Prayer is on the list of spells I really hate, along with magic missile and find traps.
One big advantage that I should have in combat against the players is that they are more or less hampered by the "fog of war", and I am not. I know the terrain, the composition of both forces, and can often dictate the terms of the engagement. Note that I say I should have this advantage; usually I don't, because I'm very conscientious about not allowing my forces to act on knowledge they don't have. In effect, I impose the same limited knowledge on them that the players really have. This doesn't mean that I can't have intelligent opponents react intelligently. I don't have any compunction, for example, about having intelligent monsters target characters that they can identify as spellcasters, because that is what they would really do.
At least, I think I'm fair about this. I would enjoy hearing some of the player's opinions about it, because their perspective might be much different than mine.
Still, I can't deny that even if I limit my monster's actions based on what they know, I have a psychological edge over the players. They are advancing into the unknown, and I am not. I've seen groups attack when they should retreat, retreat when they should attack, and dither while their foes prepare. What most impresses me, however, is how often the players get it right. I think most players, as they become experienced, develop a good feel for tactics, even if they never think about it consciously. They might also become experienced in reading my patterns or my verbal or non-verbal cues, though I try very hard not to become predictable or to telegraph what is going on.
As I mentioned earlier, the best way for players to overcome the "fog of war" effect is to employ effective scouting techniques. Sneaking through a dungeon is generally more effective than crashing through it. This is where thieves can really help to win battles. The trouble is, scouting ahead, alone and in the dark (which is the only effective way to do it) tends to be pretty hard on the thieves. It's a good way for them to get killed, and most players become more and more reluctant over time to have their thieves do it constantly. Spells like clairaudience and wizard eye can help to compensate, but just ask the CIA - all of the fancy eavesdropping techniques in the world can't make up for a lack of assets on the ground. Scouting right ahead of the group just isn't the same. In the dark, silent world of the dungeon, a group in armor and illuminated by continual light spells might as well bring a marching band along.
There is, however, one big advantage that the players have over me. Players are concerned only about one or two characters. They have the time to think about their character's most effective tactics. I, on the other hand, am running the battle, controlling my NPCs, and trying to decide what my forces should do. The result is that my tactics are much less creative and effective than those of the players. I have learned over the years to compensate for this somewhat by increasing the size of my forces, but that can only be taken so far. Advance planning also helps, when I have the time for it. Mostly, I've just learned to live with it.
As in real life, morale is a huge factor in D&D combat. I have seen groups defeat themselves simply by thinking that they were beaten, and I've also seen groups win against enormous odds just because the players wouldn't give up. Skilled, confident players are almost unbeatable in a fair fight. I've learned a few ways over the years to try and tilt things in my favor. One is by encouraging overconfidence. If a group sees what seems to be a standard, easy fight ahead, sometimes they'll fail to take some of their usual precautions and can then be caught flat-footed by a surprise. On the opposite side, players are intrigued by, but hate, the unknown. Trolls may be tough, but players know just what they can do and how to handle them. A new monster, though, something the DM has made up or brought in from some unknown source, immediately makes them cautious and uncertain.
Of course, all of this discussion is about fair fights. If my goal is simply to win, I can always just throw a hundred pit fiends into the fray and call it good. Combat, though, is just part of putting together an entertaining adventure, and not the game in itself. For any group of players, combat should be the same thing; just one of the tools at their disposal. Sometimes the trick is knowing when not to fight; when to negotiate, retreat, use guile, or just go do something else. I have mentioned elsewhere that monsters who are defeated by means other than brute force are worth more experience points. Still, I don't think the game gets any more entertaining for the players than when some foe who has been laying waste to their characters falls to the last, desperate attack by those still on their feet.
So, as the fighters pick their targets and swing their weapons, the thieves maneuver for a backstab, the magic-users cast their spells, and the clerics try and hold everyone together, roll for initiative! Here come the monsters!
Do you have any comments, questions, or responses to this article? Send them in! I'd like to hear them, and if there are enough interesting ones I'll add them to this page.
Ideas and contributions to future editions of "Mere Chronicles" are also being accepted.
Check out previous columns:
Return to Columns.