On the fallacy of maximum damage applying effects

One of the easier methods to apply a weapon effect, especially when house ruling, is that said effect is applied when maximum weapon damage is rolled. Axes causing bleeding, blunts stunning and other similar effects usually fall in those house rules, but so do other instances like in Dark Sun 2e, where rolling your maximum damage for a non-metal weapon has a chance of it breaking.

I find this ruling weak, to say the least, for the simple fact that it is strongly skewed towards low-end weapons. By that I mean weapons with a low range of damage (like a dagger) are far more likely to have a special trait take effect, compared to high-end weapons, those with a high range of damage (like a two-handed sword). Let's take an example: two characters enter combat; one is wielding a weapon dealing 1d4 damage, the other a weapon dealing 1d10 damage. The first character has a whooping 1 in 4 (or 25%) chance of applying any of the weapon's effects, the other a mere 1 in 10 (or 10%). On a similar note, with weapon breakage rules in Dark Sun, a quabone (1d4) is more often prone to break in an attack than a lotulis (1d10).

A counter-argument to this would be that one trades a weapon's special trait with raw damage. It tends to balance out the difference in weapon damage. A sling stone's damage might be considered negligible (1d4) but it's more likely to stun the enemy, whereas a pole-arm (a lucern hammer or a tetsubo, no. 10 and 7 respectively) that deals a significant amount of damage (1d10) isn't as effective in stunning the opponent. While reasonable a point to present each combatant with even chances of contribution in a battle, the halfling stunning opponents with its sling so the fighter can easily hack them with its two-handed sword, I need to stress that classes in B/X have distinct roles that extend beyond combat, the latter not being given much emphasis as in later iterations of the system. Instead of handing out abilities and traits in combat, certain B/X classes possess non-combat features in their area of specialisation, like the dwarf's ability to find traps, the halfling's ability to hide, cleric and magic-user utility spells, etc. It might make sense in the current edition, where everyone should take an active part in a combat-focused setting, to compensate the lack of damage with a special effect. However, the only reasons I see this being implemented in OSR games is to give extra flavour and dread in combat.

If one were to craft house rules for weapon effects, I'd suggest picking a chance when rolling to hit. A 3 in 20 for instance (or 15%), usually 18-20, to apply the weapon's special trait whenever someone makes an attack with said weapon. Like how critical hits were handled in most of the later editions of the game, all weapons have a flat chance of inflicting a special effect, apart from hitting (it is implied here that a character scores a hit when rolling that high). Alternatively, for those not keen on the luck factor, whenever you deal damage with a weapon, you also apply any of its special effects, but you can give the target a saving throw to avoid them, as is usual with monster special attacks. If the latter sounds like more book-keeping, you can always roll a d6 whenever you deal damage, with a 1 (or 1-2) in 6 chance of the weapon causing a special effect.

On flavours of D&D

Thanks to my type of work, and the situation of the past month, I've been quite preoccupied and unable to update my blog. There are enough half-finished posts waiting to be polished and published (for whoever is interested) when I get enough free time to sit and re-focus.

Occasionally, I run across some interesting posts, worth sharing, which pique my curiosity immediately and inspire me to write something. One of those is a theory on flavours of D&D, from RPG.net. Given it's dated 2013, there is no mention of 5e, which can spark an interesting discussion over which style does the current edition encompass and support.

The link presents seven styles (or flavours), which I briefly list them here for reference.

1. Knaves & Kobolds. Exactly what early editions of D&D strove for, exploration, treasure with minimal combat, and building of strongholds.

2. Gamma Rays & Godslayers. The characters are superhuman in power and possess vast amounts of wealth and/or magic, fighting off entities on a cosmic scale.

3. Dungeoncrawling & Demons. Your typical dungeon crawl, with emphasis on tactical combat, puzzles, and traps, in a twisting and never-ending underground environment.

4. Castles & Cronies. A more grounded version of #2, the characters are heroes with castles and domains, fighting off great evil in the form of barbarian hordes, evil kingdoms or sinister creatures.

5. Paladins & Princesses. Close to the modern notions of strong narratives in gaming, the characters are good-natured heroes in search of glory and epic quests.

6. Simulation & Spellcasting. Take the question "what if magic was real?" and assume it is true. Emphasis is put on both physical interaction and manipulation of a magical world and its social implications.

7. Misfits & Mayhem. When your group consists of all those weird race and class combos, or are just too cynical to adhere to principles of heroism and the common good.

Certainly, much more styles can be defined than the afore-mentioned (from the top of my head, one being Wild & Weird, emphasising the surreal, survival aspects of an alien, inhospitable world - see Dark Sun; other being Roleplay & Romance, where character development and interaction is central to the game), and there's always some hybrids, mixing features from various styles.

What's more in the post is each D&D edition had a range of styles, apart from the main "flavour" it chose to promote, and the poster discusses it a bit. Let's dive deeper into this.

OD&D fits #1 accurately; actually, it defined this style of play. Being a side project of war games, the players were pitted against countless horrors in order to survive, collect treasure to build their own forts and amass their armies. I would see this as the prequel (since such a term is all the rage for the past decade) to the wargames of the '70s. Any other style would seem a bit out of place with the rather narrow-minded system.

D&D Basic can be split into two sections; B/X keeps #1 formula to the letter, only slightly expanding as years go by. BECMI, on the other hand, lays the ground for more styles, like #2 and #4, with a little bit of #5 sprinkled on. Note that BECMI coincides with the departure of typical game styles of the '70s, and when story-heavy or other experimental modules begin appearing. By '91, RC had the same grand and heroic scope as 2e. Being a quite streamlined system, it would be unpractical to try #3 or #6, due to their crunchier nature. On a similar note, #7 doesn't really fit in, as the system's races and classes are generally of the standard stock - dwarfs, elves, fighters, magic-users etc.

AD&D 1e is the quintessential edition for #3. It also supports #1 as it was the popular style of the late '70s (or maybe, the only one). As the years went by, 1e embraced #6 games, with GG codifying every possible rule for his advanced system. Interestingly, this edition also saw the emergence of #4 and #5. Technically, all sorts of game styles can be played with 1e though, due to its crunchy mechanics, the edition is not exactly friendly for games with strong narratives. As the '80s are coming to an end, we notice a sharp decline in #1. Combat becomes essential in a game, and treasure isn't always the ultimate goal for the players.

AD&D 2e takes the newly risen #4 and #5 and cranks them up to 11. Whereas its older brother emphasised tactical combat, a plethora of rules, and a preference over dungeon crawling, 2e tries to go the other way, fully embracing the abstract and the narrative. As it is built on 1e's engine, however, it can only make so much of a difference. This is the era where we see blends of #3 and #5. Towards the end of TSR we see #6 and #7 appearing, for those who desire a more complex system, or the plain absurd. Boxed sets toyed with a lot of narratives, supported by various mechanics (psionics, spelljamming, planewalking, horror and madness, etc.). As the '90s counterculture became prominent in the gaming industry, so did the system turn towards the weird and the social outcast.

D&D 3e drops #1 altogether in favour of all the others, though it does it in a progressive fashion; it starts as a continuation of 2e, with emphasis on the crunchy, and evolves into a proponent of #2, #5, and #6. Some say it mirrors 1e's attempt to codify everything, without incorporating the death-trap-dungeon design. The introduction of adventure paths, series of adventures linked by a grand, overarching story and taking the characters across all levels of play, solidifies #2 as the edition's most important style, while #4 starts taking a backseat. In the mean time, #7 can be traced throughout the years, with the multitude of character options that give the player both a fluffy and a crunchy edge.

D&D 4e brings #3 back, with a strange twist in that, while tactical combat is the main component of the game, it's not now restricted underground. 4e keeps 3e's #2 and blends it with #3 and #5 to create an amalgam reminiscent of the ages of 1e, albeit with a unified and rigid system. It is also the edition that embraces #7 as some of its core features, with a bunch of non-standard races and classes making it in the main books. While diminished significantly in 3e's era, it is now clear that #1, #4, and #6 are nonexistent; Domains and strongholds are only used as a backdrop, so there is no need to build one across one's adventuring career (except for narrative purposes). Likewise, treasure isn't an option, as the characters gain items and upgrades with each level, following a certain pattern, as in action RPGs of the time. Possibly because of 3e's rules-bloating, 4e attempted to eschew any notions of simulationism.

D&D 5e is an odd beast. Boasting a return to the game's old times, it surely resembles one, with its much simplified system than its predecessors. It still carries, however, the spirit of 3e and 4e that can be seen by its preference over #2, #3, #5, and #7. Some say it borrows #3 from 1e and #5 from 2e and blends them with modern gaming design. The crunchiness of GG's offspring and the abstract feel of its later implementation are well indicated here. It'd be hard to see #1, unless one brings house rules on the table, which thankfully are easy to implement, and sticks to low levels. Except for narrative purposes, there's no reason to run a game with #4 in mind unless, again, one comes up with rules for kingdom management and mass combat. In keeping with its rules-light design, #6 poses a few issues, as certain aspects are left intentionally vague.



* Out of all editions, OD&D and D&D4e are the ones I've never played with. My experience with those two editions stems simply from studying their books, rules, and discussions on forums and blogs. The two systems may differ drastically in actual play, but I've yet to meet someone in person to show me.

The fear of death in D&D

There are countless debates, written, spoken, or even imagined, on character death in D&D. Extreme views have been posted over the game system's forty-something years of existence, from death being hailed as the ultimate punishment over a player's laziness, foolishness, or plain dumb luck to being considered a taboo amongst game tables, never to be touched upon. David has made two excellent posts discussing the disrupting effects such an occasion can have on the game's story and posing alternative suggestions. But what does it mean to face death in D&D? As my mind always extends into two sides, I want to explore this question from the perspective of the game system's two fundamental play styles: old-school and modern.

In old school gaming, the fear of death comes off as natural, because a multitude things are, naturally, deadly (fire, poison, overwhelming monsters, pits, traps designed to actually discourage people from breaking into) - characters are fragile even at mid levels, and combat, being a brutal and unpredictable affair it normally is, leads to a high rate of lethality, but players embrace death in the end and seem to take it lightly. This can turn into two ways: either the player who enjoys their character is afraid to throw them into risky situations and often attempts to avoid them, or they know they will die eventually and go reckless. These in turn can make or break the game, depending on each campaign's style. In the basic editions of the game, it is often stressed that combat is usually the least favourite option and mechanically this is shown by creatures awarding a trivial amount of XP for being defeated - it is much more convenient and rewarding to bypass them and loot their treasure than confront them. As the campaign is loosely, or not at all, tied to the characters played, one's demise doesn't affect the adventure much - perhaps halt the game while the player rolls a new character.

Using an example from my own experience, in my B/X campaign, which has so far lasted a few months, I've had eleven deaths over sixteen sessions, two TPKs and five separate kills.

In modern gaming, a marginal portion of hazards lead to instant death, if at all, and players are not accustomed to sudden and shocking situations of such an incident so it has a heavier impact. Players invest on their character from its very beginning, with plenty of customisation options and the overall sense that this character is a hero, a cut above the normal folk (hence, the 4d6-drop-lowest roll for ability scores being the default mode). While 2e and 3e toyed with the idea of whether characters are common rabble or heroes, 4e cemented the idea and even used the term heroic tier for levels 1-10. 5e has three tiers of play, with the first being dubbed local heroes (DMG pg. 37): even 1st-level characters are heroes. In comparison, characters in older editions gained the title hero when they reached 4th level, which implied that up to that point, they weren't considered any particular individuals (except perhaps for the occasional dungeon delving and saving kidnapped people or stolen items from the clutches of evil).

Above all, character death isn't acknowledged as part of the game, and this is especially shown in latest editions (some google search reveals plenty of articles and posts that paint the notion of character death as something bad). While this may differ upon each play-style, mechanically speaking, it is quite difficult for a character death to occur, especially beyond 3rd level. So when the possibility of death is presented, players are dreaded even more than their old-school counterparts. Story-heavy campaigns abhor character death, as it strips them from furthering the plot (you need to be an expert DM to tackle such an issue) and if one occurs during the game, it is viewed as a special moment.

Contrary to my B/X campaign's death rate, in my Planescape 5e campaign, which spanned about two years, I've only had one death, and the character was resurrected soon after.

[Challenge of the Frog Idol] Session #15: Conspiracies over Coruvon Part IV

Troubled as the party has its hands tied from last session's events, the adventurers decide to call it a night and return to their quarters, making plans on their next move with a clearer mind. They're focused on infiltrating the estate to at least find evidence of the previous night's sacrifice, as they're quite certain that the groundskeeper's young daughter has already succumbed to the cult's grim ritual. The next day is mostly spent engaging their allies, Karl Dulford and the Privateers, in an attempt to gather a force that will act as a distraction for the guards. Also, as Li is spying the estate from a safe distance, he notices Roggi bringing a young girl that matches the description of Petra, Andros's daughter. The groundskeeper is ecstatic and in tears, but the woman appears withdrawn. Knowing now that there possibly wasn't any ritual last night, and Petra is still alive, the halfling informs the rest of the party. Just before sunset, the adventurers meet a beggar wandering the streets around the Mancoor Estate, and bribe him to spout anything useful. What comes as a surprise is that, while they were away from their quarters, Andros was seen heading towards the docks, a look of concern on his face. Convinced that the groundskeeper is looking for them, they send the beggar as a messenger to call him and discuss in a secluded alley nearby.

Andros rushes to meet the adventurers, as expected, and reveals that his daughter was returned to him, thankfully, but has been acting strangely, which makes him believe something sinister must have happened to her. The party heads straight to the barracks and inform sergeant Silas, in order to gain a permit to access and investigate the estate, which he eventually hands to them. Looking at the estate's barn, the adventurers find a hidden trapdoor that leads to an ancient temple, belonging to some long-forgotten god. Beyond the temple follows a complex of caves that the party cautiously traverses, until they come face to face with the vile cult: Kendrick, Bertram, Captain LeDuc, Vonhilda, Eve Saint Clair, lead by Roggi who, much to the party's suprise, speaks and acts in a highly intelligent manner that what he was previously known. On an alcove, sitting on an old throne is the withering figure of Thaddeus Zephos, the mastermind behind the murder of Jhanos and the cult. After a fierce battle, all cultists fall except for Roggi, who realises that his master is no longer alive, cries over his lifeless body, and surrenders himself, revealing all the cult's plans for curing Thaddeus of his wasting disease and reclaiming his position as the Magistrate, right after Jhanos's death. The party emerges triumphant from the cultist hideout, having enough evidence to clear its name, expose the conspiracy behind the Magistrate's murder and earn the gratitude of several people. The city now acknowledges the adventurers for their bold achievement!

Characters involved
Rolf the Bold, fighter 1
Yudel, dwarf 1
Beldar the Brave, fighter 1
Li, halfling 2

This was the concluding session for the adventure, which I had planned it would take us two sessions; it actually spanned double the time, however, since the players wished to check every crook and cranny before chasing after the murderer. Such is the nature of a murder mystery, I would say, as the party is overwhelmed by several thoughts on possible machinations and interconnected plots. And frankly, it turned out this murder case was deep enough to keep the party busy and exposed more than one plot - the Emporium affair and the workings of the cult of Thaddeus. The module run was a heavily modified adventure from the D&D Adventurers League that I'd happened to have in my possession, converted to BX. Fortunately, we didn't have any losses this time and two characters gained enough experience to reach 2nd level and be close to 3rd.

[Challenge of the Frog Idol] Session #14: Conspiracies over Coruvon Part III

After being released from their incarceration, the characters proceed with their investigation, being more mindful to not get in trouble this time. With the valuable information taken from Uthgat and Vonhilda's mysterious letter, the party decides to visit Dr. Jubal, the head of the the festival grounds. It is there, beyond the city's eastern walls, that Andros is seen, confronting a familiar face - the man with the striking features encountered the day before. As they listen to the confrontation, apparently this trickster, named Damian, was dating Petra, Andros's daughter and the groundskeeper firmly believes he is responsible for her disappearance. Their brawl however brings a mess, as an animal standing nearby is scared off and knocks a cage, where a large white ape emerges and lashes against any onlookers in rage. Aiding in the animal's capture and apprehending the groundskeeper earns the gratitude of Dr. Jubal and Damian, respectively, who relay their story to the characters: the ringmistress had a dispute with the Magistrate over missing tax money from this side of the city, which she eventually paid; the trickster claims Petra came to him in distress, when she found out that the Magistrate disallowed residents of the Red Lanterns to work at the Mancoor Estate but him being the womaniser he is, sent her away in favour of another love interest. Clementine Eugenia Jubal also informs the party of Bicke's whereabouts, the Saucy Maiden tavern, one of the notorious Red Lanterns houses.

Immediately after their meetings in the festival grounds, the adventurers head straight to the ill-reputed tavern, where they happen on an angry mob trying to storm the building and lynch everyone in there. As a violent clash breaks out, the characters jump in to calm things down, with Beldar tossing people out of the brothel. Their actions get noticed by the tavern's matron, Glenda, who shows an affinity to the burly gladiator and, after a turn of free drinks, she divulges Bicke's hideout: the Dragon's Breath, a rose leaf den nearby the City Arena, where the party sets out for right after. Their visit is not without dangers, as the den's staff (all of them thugs and cutthroats) are suspicious of the party and capture them while snooping close to the main office. The thugs disarm the characters and take them to the den's owner, Karl Dulford, and his halfling advisor, Bicke Bitterwood, who recognises them as the late Magistrate's bodyguards and investigators. Discussing briefly, the halfling reveals his side of the story: about a month ago, he found out that the assignment of Jhanos as Magistrate was a sign that the Mireport Emporium Representatives wanted him out of the guild business in Mireport. He informed Jhanos of this treachery and the bittered guildsman decided to resign and transfer his position to Karl Dulford, after consulting with Bicke. Moreover, due to a law enabling the guild with a majority of holdings in the city to have the right of appointing a City Magistrate, Jhanos offered to sell the Merchant House to Bicke, thus denying the Emporium of its right. The Magistrate's death, however, complicates things, as the guild might claim the signed deed invalid and even accuse the halfling of orchestrating the murder.

Further investigation in the Merchant House shows evidence regarding the previous Magistrate, Thaddeus Zephos, who seemed to be involved in cults and scandals, and asking the undertaker, the party is informed that the corpse of Thaddeus was never recovered, as Kendrick claimed his master went in the Black Mire to find a cure for his ailment and never returned. The party now is certain the employees, most of them working for the Emporium, are hiding something sinister and plans on infiltrating the estate, despite being forbidden to even approach. Spying on the building at night, under heavy guard, the adventurers spot a horse-driven cab entering with a few figures in dark hooded cloaks emerging and vanishing into the shadows, and immediately call Silas, the ginger sergeant who arrested them the previous night, to allow them to enter the building by claiming a sacrifice most foul is to be taken. But when they arrive, the cab is nowhere to be found and none of the guards recalls a cab arriving at the scene. Mystery intensifies.

Characters involved
Rolf the Bold, fighter 1
Yudel, dwarf 1
Beldar the Brave, fighter 1
Li, halfling 2

By the end of the session, the players had a general sense of the machinations pertaining the Magistrate's position and a cult possibly linked to his death. They had no doubt the employees of the estate, along with some of the fateful night's guests, were involved in all the grim events surrounding the murder, or even were responsible. The major setback they had was the estate being under heavy guard, thanks to the reckless invasion, from the last session, that alarmed the residents and let their connections to the city garrison take special measures. As they would be immediately arrested, had they had their presence known near the estate, the players were forced to plea for help, first seeking Gylain the city official, then going to the city barracks and trying to persuade the sergeant into letting them gain access to the estate. This route caused them to spend extra time, thus missing any chance of catching the real culprits red-handed.

[Challenge of the Frog Idol] Session #13: Conspiracies over Coruvon Part II

Continuing on from their previous session, the characters come into various conclusions as to who may have wanted the Magistrate dead, as well as why and how. For some reason, they're certain one of the guests is the culprit, maybe assisted by one of Jhanos' latest visitors, so they're looking for possible motives and suspicious behaviour on their part. After the aged captain commands the burly gang leader to be taken and locked in the old barracks, his fate to be decided later on court, the party gets back to their quarters, leaving everyone free to return to their residences. An unexpected visit by the estate's keeper Andros, bringing food and drink served by the cook Bertram, alerts the characters; the bottle of brandy offered to the jailed crooks is too obvious to pass on and, upon breaking it, they find traces of the same poisonous substance they noticed on the Magistrate's body.

Right in the middle of the storm, the party makes the decision to free the two captured street gangsters and infiltrate the estate, believing that some of its employees are connected with the murder. Having no means to enter quietly, however, the characters barge in through the back door, waking Andros and Bertram, who attempt to send them away, and Kendrick, who immediately runs away to call the guards. As soon as the characters assault the two men and start interrogating them, in hopes of gaining any clues concerning the murder, the guards arrive and arrest them. The party faces several accusations (break-in and attempted murder, amongst others) but Gylain manages to get them out of jail, demands explanations and, after hearing their story, gives them a few days to investigate and come with something concrete, while the city guard imposes a bunch of sanctions on the party, such as not being able to leave town or approach the Mancoor Estate, until at least the investigation is over.

The first person the party decides to visit for help is Uthgat, the street gang leader. On their way, they come across a mysterious figure named the Oracle passing by, who suddenly turns and speaks, asking them to see her after they're done with their hassles. The gang leader is welcoming and, after a brief conversation, wishes to give the party an interesting bit of information, as a thanks for freeing him and his companion: Vonhilda, one of the guests, had recently bought a scrolls with a mystical and complicated ritual of unknown nature. This is enough for the party to pay a visit to her trading post, only to find it unlocked and the owner absent. Snooping around, they find the impression of a later referring to a secret meeting and a rite of some sort, at dusk. Intrigued by the involvement of a cult, the party plans to delve deeper into the mystery.

Characters involved:
Rolf the Bold, fighter 1
Yudel, dwarf 1
Beldar the Brave, fighter 1

With this session, the players were a bit too eager to accuse someone. A player previously recalled the board game Cluedo and brought the idea that the killer should be at least one of the guests, and the rest of the players were quick to jump in and come up with their own plots. While they weren't exactly wrong, as it will be shown at the end of the adventure, they nevertheless acted kinda brash, earning the notice (and wrath) of the estate's residents and getting arrested and accused of possible involvement in the murder of Jhanos, a setback that would have several repercussions in their later investigations.

AD&D2e: The Era of Transition

Amongst D&D players, fuelled by sometimes heated discussions, emerges a clear distinction between old school and modern gaming notions. Such notions are muddled and can represent all sorts of gaming habits or techniques, but loosely defined:

Old school gaming puts emphasis on events over story, strives for slow-paced dungeon delving and wilderness adventuring, demands player skill and common sense over character abilities, and presents combat as a deadly and not-so-rewarding affair. Character death rate is considerably high, given the multitude of dangers that can insta-kill one, but character generation can be quick and easy.

Modern gaming assumes that story takes precedence over events, is characterised by fast-paced action scenes with a variety of backdrops (above or under ground), requires a die roll for most actions, and embraces combat as the cornerstone of D&D, with corresponding rewards. Character death rate is significantly low, despite the endless trials and tribulations, and character creation takes some effort to be completed.

Having said that, there doesn't seem to exist a clear line between old school and modern in D&D. Sure, the '70s can be easily labelled as old school gaming and modern gaming features prominently since the '00s, but the time in-between appears to bring different styles and experiences to most gamers. The age running through the '80s and '90s is filled with experimentation, shifts in tone and theme, and blends different styles to create an amalgam that caters to a variety of players*. While the changes of old school gaming can be traced throughout the '80s, adventures that focused on story and rulebooks that codified rulings and house rules, I believe that AD&D2e's publication in 1989 cemented the co-existence of both old and new style. It is the time we see the term module and adventure used interchangeably; the emergence of a strong narrative in adventures, exemplified by excessive, sometimes, boxed texts; and the appearance of new ways to reward characters, for reaching goals and successfully overcoming encounters without resorting to violence, with the introduction of Story XP. These features ran along typical dungeon crawls (albeit with a narrative twist), random encounter tables, and deadly battles. Even the Gold-as-XP rule, while optional, was there (DMG Revised, pg. 69).

Sample from the adventure Tower, Temple, Tomb (1994),
featuring dungeon delving and rich backstory shown in long texts.

As can be discerned from DM David's post, experience points awards were a key component in determining the switch from old-school to modern gaming. As the '90s progressed, more emphasis was given to story awards (DMG clearly defines group and individual awards, the latter being optional), and hefty amounts of XP were expected to be handed out if the characters acted in accordance to the adventure's plot. And by the time 3e rolled out, experience was only given for defeating enemies and completing adventures or reaching certain story milestones. D&D in the '90s also marked a distinct departure from the notions of old-school gaming, with the publishing of the famous boxed campaign settings. Each setting relied on the world's quirks, themes, and strong narrative, which necessitated story-driven adventures, and each one was accompanied by literature novels that were influential in developing stories within the world, and in some cases (see Dark Sun) even created meta-plots that would change the whole campaign setting considerably. Still, the sensibilities of mega-dungeons were still popular, as was dungeon-crawling, and some were even published as boxed sets (see Dragon Mountain).

Dragon Mountain (1993) and Dark Sun (1991), glorious boxed sets.

So this amalgamation of styles and systems could be considered the norm for AD&D 2e's era and for the most part, it was true. Your extensive dungeon would now be backed by an equally extensive backstory, explaining all the details that your party would encounter during its expedition. If a dungeon wasn't planned, random encounters (generally combat-oriented) would fit your party's venture into urban or wilderness settings, to keep things tense and interesting. As the societies evolved in the two last decades of the previous century, to gain their modern sensibilities, so did it seems D&D, with a plethora of modules, novels, and rulebooks dominating the RPG scene and shaping the future of the game, towards a more narrative style, one supported by substantial rulesets and fiction. And as the need for sneaky treasure-looting gave way to the need for epic action/combat scenes, a far riskier but more exhilarating experience, so did subsequent editions turn their attention on how to better narrate and implement such wondrous moments.



*Also, you might want to check out this brilliant work from James Maliszewski (of Grognardia blogspot) on the Ages of D&D; he tackles TSR years specifically, as he doesn't comment on post-2000 editions.