Hex Crawl 23 #34: Salt Flat, Reaching Ridge, and Four Possible Clues

Two hexes northwest and one southwest of Alakran.

 

The system I use fills a five-mile hex with the same terrain, but the one-mile subhex scale allows for some elaboration in the name of realism. For example, this hex was designated a salt flat like # **, but I made it half a salt flat and "reached" a mile-wide ridge of low hills down from the similiar area to the north.

Also, in my encounter system, it's possible to roll a "clue" - some kind of mark, scent, or sound left bya nearby creature. Here are four clues for creatures that dwell within ten miles - if a GM likes, they can secretly designate this hex a "clue hex" where people passing through will randomly find one of these (except if an already found clue is rolled again).

1. Rocks and pebbles, all of a reddish hue, have been arranged on the flat plain to make eight stick figures in a line holding hands, the ones on the end brandishing spears. (Hex #18).

2. The bones of a pigeon, gnawed with violence, scattered on the ground and befouled with horrendous-smelling white nitre. (Hex #57)

3. The familiar split-toed footprints of a camel, appearing out of nowhere, running for five strides, and just as abruptly disappearing. The ground is flat and dry, so it is unlikely wind or sand blew the rest of the prints away. (Hex #36)

4. A weathered and pitted brass plate about the size of a man's foot, shaped like a leaf, slightly curving from side to side, one end seemingly broken off. It could be a piece of armpr, but experts on that topic will pronounce the design of the suit very odd indeed. (Hex #86).

Almost-Encounters: Sights, Sounds and Leavings

Regularly, when I roll for random encounters underground or outdoors in a game, I allow for the possibility that some kind of clue to an encounter happens instead. For example, if rolling a d6 for an encounter, a real encounter happens on a 1 and a clue happens on a 2. In my hex-stocking wilderness system, there's also provision for clues, though on a less frequent basis than real encounters.

I usually make the clues up on the spot. They fall into two kinds: sights and sounds, which can occur even when the party is stationary; and leavings, which the party has to be moving to find. Here are some examples.

Sights: A pair of griffins flying across the sunset, many miles away.
In the night, a brief red glow, sighted across a far-away ridge line (red dragon).

Sounds: Snatches of shouting and song down in the valley (bandits).
A full-throated roar echoing across the plains (lion).
Far away, echoing through many passages, a door slams (dungeon monster - ogre, perhaps?)

Leavings can be...
Body parts: The cast-off skin of a giant snake.
Manticore spikes, embedded in a tree.

Victims: A dead squirrel, withered and drained of all blood (stirges).
The bones and equipment of a former adventurer, scattered all through a long corridor (gelatinous cube).

Tracks: A long wide trail of half-dried slime, bending around a corner (giant slug).
Large hoofprints, going across the road (gorgon).

Smells and vapors: The slight stench of rotting flesh in the air (zombies).
A smoky haze hanging in the air (hell hounds).

Environment damage: A scorched spot on the dungeon wall (hell hounds).
The tracks lead into a trodden and torn clump of thorn bushes (gorgon).

Intentional markings: Obscene graffiti on the wall, written in Dark Rune pictograms (humanoids).
A strong musky scent around the base of a tree (giant wolverine).

I find that using clues this way adds suspense to adventures, gives players options (do we investigate this, or run like hell?), and makes for more meaningful information than most random "dungeon dressing" out there.

Text to Tabletop 4: Clues

From the coda to my Crimes Against Mimesis essays, writing about computer games:

Consider four identical doors, one leading onwards, one concealing a lethal explosive. In the story that would result from solving this puzzle, it would be much more satisfying to the story reader and the game player if there was some way to tell which door hides the ticking bomb, rather than having success come only from a lucky guess. The clue may be difficult enough so that the player opts for the brute-force, save-restore-undo method (who would think to "listen to north door"?), but at least it is there to explain the story protagonist's actions in a fictionally satisfying way.

In a role-playing adventure game, there is no save-restore-undo (apart from overly generous referees), and this is well and good. Players have to know that their actions can have permanent and fatal consequences, and that their decisions are for keeps. All the same, the above advice holds in all adventure games for a different reason. The key word is "satisfying."

Satisfaction with the problem-solving process comes from the belief that you, the player, had - or could have had - something to do with it. This is what divides a random "trick" from a solvable problem. While a few completely random effects like the four-door problem are fine, and in fact almost mandated in old-school dungeon design, a little bit more thought applied to them can make the experience more memorable for players. It will seem like a fairer test of their problem-solving skills - and anyway, aren't combat and saving throws random enough?

Again we return to my mythed-up Wheel of Fortune from a previous post (near the bottom). As written, this trick is manifestly random and unfair. It comples Chaotic characters within 10 feet to spin it, with the usual die-roll results on a table malevolent and benign; Neutrals get a save and Lawfuls are only tempted by their player's curiosity. Here's one thing I would add:

Chaotic characters who gaze on the Wheel from a distance of more than ten feet feel a strange attraction to its idol all the same, as if approaching it is something they have wanted to do all their life, but they are not compelled to act on it until they approach within ten feet. Neutral characters must save to see if they feel and behave as Chaotic characters or not while in the room with the Wheel. 

That "strange attraction" should be a red flag to good players, warning them they may lose control of their character if they approach any closer. Once again, for player skill to count, there have to be some clues to work from.

One more observation regarding clues from my old essay:

If we see the game as more than a collection of puzzles, though, a game feature can have nothing to do with any puzzle and still contribute to the atmosphere or the storyline. "Smart red herrings" like the gargoyle and the chapel in Christminster strengthen the background of the game with additional information (even if the meaning of the initials on the gargoyle is somewhat, ahem, obscure). At the same time, they effectively rebut the creeping suspicion that all the features in the environment are dictated by one puzzle or another, and serve notice that the fictional milieu has a life outside of the mere game which is being played out inside it. Even the "shadowy figure" red herring in the original Adventure is eventually explained in terms of the game's rudimentary background (those vain dwarves!) Consequently, the player feels satisfied, rather than frustrated, when its true nature is revealed. To sum up, in the well-written IF game, every item and location should still serve some purpose; but the puzzle-game shouldn't be the only purpose.

In my design code, dungeon dressing should be informative, and even empty rooms usually will contain at least a "smart red herring" of some kind. Going with the scheme in my previous post in the series, this feature can contribute to an understanding of the history and workings of the place (naturalistic); can contribute to atmosphere and poetic meaning in the place (mythic); or can simply be amusing with a dark undertone (gonzo), like the clown murals scattered throughout Bloch's Castle of the Mad Archmage dungeons.