TTRPG art on a shoestring budget

Here's a little general advice for indie game creators who can't afford all the art they want.

Stock art

If you have a little bit of money to use, stock art is cheaper than commissioned art and it's way easier to find what you need compared to trawling through commons (more on that later).

Understand and abide by licenses!

Artists license their art in different ways, with drastically different conditions. If all your art comes from one or two artists (or is all under particular licenses, like CC-BY), you'll save some headaches when it comes to complying with licensing terms and laying out credits.

An aside: I have found several pieces of licensed art where artists specify how they must be credited, and then the provided credit line has a spelling mistake or grammatical error. Should you fix it? I wouldn't personally risk it. I'm not a lawyer. I follow instructions.

I'm assuming you're not using AI material. Stock art creators are increasingly (and understandably) forbidding use of their work alongside it. Note that stock art websites don't do a very good job of tagging and filtering this stuff out!

• Some, like Adobe Stock, are moderately diligent for mediocre results: exclude generative AI from a search and maybe one will slip through in ten pages of results.
• Sites relying strictly on self-reporting, like Pixabay, are pretty much all saturated in untagged AI images. They've become practically unusable; you're basically reduced to searching in older time periods or within specific artists with a consistent, identifiable style.
• DriveThruRPG also relies mostly on self-reporting, but I haven't seen many AI images passing themselves off as handcrafted.
  

Stock art directly from the creator

If there's a specific look/type of art you want, Patreon is one of the better sources, because you can support currently-active artists on an individual basis and at reasonable prices. I can't speak to whether or not it's better for the actual artists (I know they hiked their cut a little while ago).
 

An aside for Patreon artists: Please provide something like an actual license! It doesn't have to be long or detailed. It just has to make me feel confident that I am permitted to use your work for commercial purposes, can or can't advertise with it, won't be infringing on your moral rights, etc.

Open-sourcing your game art

So, on to doing it yourself! Lots of indie game makers have achieved great results by sourcing, compositing, and laying out their own art. Expect it to take a lot of work.

You'll probably have looked into public domain art. Specifically, works that have lost copyright status due to the amount of time that has passed since the death of their creator. If someone tells you a hard and fast rule for establishing this, they are wrong!

• The "falls into PD" age differs between nations, there are all sorts of carve-outs, and even a photo reproduction may or may not be transformative. Don't rely on anyone but your lawyer for legal advice.
  

A lot of sites purport to collect and curate art "in the public domain". They almost always mean "in the public domain in the USA", and even if that's fine with you, they might be wrong, and even if they're right, they might not be conscientious. Check your sources!

Where can you get free-to-use art? Well, there's tons of places. Start with Wikimedia Commons, which is huge and usually quite accurately labelled with regards to sources and licensing (...but I have found errors before. Check your sources! Check your sources! Check your sources!).

Other sites for free art include: OpenGameArt, Pixabay, Pexels, Adobe Stock, various open clip art creators, and museums and libraries like The Met and the NYPL digital collections. All have their own foibles.

Understand that "free" doesn't mean "obligation-free".

I mentioned stock art licenses earlier. Learn what the various Creative Commons licenses do. CC0 (essentially a PD dedication) is the most generous, but fairly rare in the wild. As well as the license requirements, learn about and respect creators' moral rights. Credit people even when you're not required to by the license terms.

A lot of old PD art is unfortunately physically degraded. There are great pieces made unusable by age. Too bad. Don't waste time on things that are too small for your DPI, too faded or blurry, or too palimpsest'd. Understand that entropy is mostly irreversible. Or try tracing.

And know the value of your time. If you spent a hundred hours sorting through public domain art trying to find suitable works, and you didn't enjoy the process... would you have been better off just working for money and using that to pay an artist?

Good news

Anyone can be a competent collage artist by compositing, cropping, tweaking, and laying out PD / open license art. And digital tools stratospherically expand what the word 'collage' means. Have fun testing things!

The more you try things out, the more neat combinations you'll find. Sometimes even a very simple effect can make a serviceable piece of art out of something stylistically inappropriate.

For example, I had this old black-and-white John Batten illustration saved:

 

I wanted to use it as the Nuckelavee demon in my current monster compendium (https://bit.ly/ancblasph). But it's a bit cartoonish, there's no colour to make it pop, and the solid white won't work against my backgrounds. It only takes six or seven trivial image operations to get something a bit more atmospheric:

I'm not much of an artist, but if I spent a bit more time on it, I could use more masks and curves and things to make this into a really crisp, vibrant piece.

Software

What tools should you use for image editing? I love FOSS in principle, and the people striving to make it work, but you do tend to get more or less what you pay for.

GIMP is perhaps your best free option, but it lags behind Affinity Photo (having no proper CMYK support, for example). APhoto in turn is cheaper than Photoshop, but lacks a few of its features.

You can do pretty much everything in a suite like Affinity Photo or Photoshop. But there are specialist tools for TTRPG-specific things (hexographer, inkarnate, etc), and their narrow focus may make them easier and more convenient than doing the same thing in an image editor.

Using these tools

What do you need to learn? I would say the ten basic concepts to familiarise yourself with are:

• colour level/curve manipulation
• selections
• non-destructive editing
• filters/adjustments
• brush tools
• geometry tools
• perspective tools
• touch-up tools
• layers and layer modes
• masks and clipping

There's plenty more, of course.

What do you need in terms of meta-level knowledge? Mainly, where to go for help. The internet is awash with tutorials. Start by reading/watching one of those, and then turn to searching/asking in the forums for your software.

Concluding thoughts

I started this by addressing those "who can't afford all the art they want". Again, don't forget that your time on Earth has value. If you have some exact image in mind, and it takes you 50 hours to assemble a pretty good version of it from diverse sources and painstaking image manipulations... then maybe you were better off paying an artist.

Except.

You're gaining skills as you go, and that alone may be worth it in the end. You're trying new things and making stuff.

Assembling other people's work in new ways is itself an art form, and constructing things from publicly available works may lead you to explore other ways to create.

There are side benefits, too.

Once you have the basics down, you can make your life easier by using your image manipulation tools to do mockups and visualisations. For example, I spent ten minutes this morning pairing up different candidate typefaces against different grungy/distressed visual styles in a scratch-built design, as in this snapshot:

Art, like everything in life, is a learning process. You'll find that you can cut some corners and not others.

And finally, if none of the above works for you, you could always Learn To Do Art Using Raw Materials yourself. I hear it can be very rewarding!

Upon training your character's replacement

I was thinking about the value of a long time scale for fantasy TTRPG adventures, and how it actually ties in neatly with many aspects of old-school style of play:

• Gold-as-xp, and treasure-hunting as the foundational mode of play
• Delves and expeditions
• A slower, more plausible pace of character advancement including training costs for levelling up
• Costs for character death; replacement characters who aren't automatically the same power level as their predecessor
• Emphasis on investing in a base, community, big player-driven projects, and other aspects of the game world
• Social connections, hirelings, delegation, and realm play
• A slower or more 'realistic' time required to recover from injury

Let's say you implement seasonal play, as in e.g. http://udan-adan.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-long-haul-time-and-distance-in-d.html. The PCs have a meagre initial home base. They have some local adventures and make some coin. Enough that they can plan a modest expedition, one that will take months. They come home and spend their wealth, advancing their characters, improving their base, and acquiring the resources for a big expedition, one that will take seasons to complete.

Now let's build on this basis, by adding some game elements to do with character advancement, followers, and character replacement, and see what other common rules might be tweaked.

Character advancement

Character advancement has a cost in looted wealth (e.g., at 1 gp = 1 xp or whatever works with your game rules). Up to half of looted wealth can be used for training; the rest is available for improving the characters' lives and pursuing their goals in other ways.

The requirement that xp must be from looted wealth (e.g. dungeon treasure) ties it back in to the idea that the characters are getting something out of their experiences on delves and expeditions, and also prevents advancement based on capitalism; it feels gamey, but not TOO gamey.

Looted wealth is used to pay for training, tutors, study materials, and so on. Early on, these things are readily available. At higher levels, they might have to be sought out in the world, as it gets harder to find more advanced texts, teachers more skilled than your character, and so on.

Character advancement therefore represents costly, high-intensity learning and study (with an undertone of the character having gone out and had perilous experiences, resulting in both the necessary wealth and the motivation to excel in the training). Advancement takes a long time; let's say a season per level. You could have a more fine-grained system with an increasing time requirement, though.

Followers and character replacement

From say level 2 or 3, players can acquire a number of followers. In D&D-likes, we might say they have followers up to one third of their Charisma score. In those games that already have fleshed-out follower mechanics, you'll need to call them something else or combine the systems.

Followers are just characters like any other, starting at level 1, created with the same character creation rules. They are distinguished from hirelings and other NPCs by an understanding at the table that they are essentially backup PCs; in particular, they won't ever betray the PCs, and they won't be killed 'off-screen' unless the players decided to send them into danger.

Players can invest looted wealth in their followers to advance them, exactly as for their primary PC. This has the same training costs and time and so on. A PC's followers can advance to 1 level lower than the PC and no further.

In-world, followers are squires, apprentices, butlers, bodyguards, family members, and so on. Some of a PC's followers might be their own apprentices (if the same class). But the wizard could retain a loyal housecarl, or the barbarian might have adopted a witch. And some of a PC's followers might be apprentices of other PCs.

The crucial detail for all of this: A player's next character will be drawn from their pool of followers. 

If a player's character is safe back home, the player may choose to retire that character, taking all its wealth and social connections and so on with it. If they choose retirement, the player can have some decent portion of the character's experience transferred directly to their followers, including their new character. Let's say, 50% of earned experience, with no more than 20% allocated to any one follower, and no advancement further than the level of the retiring character. Importantly, the old character then becomes a tool of the GM and is kept out of the way, not a free resource for the remaining PCs to hit up at any time.

But if a player's character dies, the player either takes on a new character at starting level or chooses a candidate from their followers.

Tweaking the rules

This framework works best when the cost of character advancement increases drastically with ever level (as in most editions of D&D). That way, a PC isn't terribly disadvantaged by diverting a split of their wealth/xp to maintain a small coterie of backups.

The GM may need to tweak the total size of wealth awards, and/or give a small bonus to any xp allocated to followers (so that it doesn't feel like the current character is losing out). There should be a balance; players should feel a tension between the risk of investing in their PC and the surety of investing in their followers (in case their PC dies).

Different play groups can organise things differently. One player could pick another's follower as a replacement if they agree, and possibly if a bonus/weregild is paid to compensate. Players could trade followers. A group might decide to divert some initial split of their loot into a set of replacement characters, then treat them as a communal resource.

Followers are also a resource in themselves, providing spells and character abilities and so on, giving additional incentive to invest in them. However, in a world where returning from death is cheap and easy, players won't feel as compelled to 'waste' xp on maintaining a pool of followers. The GM might need to make resurrection spells cost additional wealth/xp, or improve the rate of return on follower advancement, to balance it out.

This system would be easily adapted to a playstyle where everyone plays multiple characters at the same time.

What are the benefits?

So going back to that initial list of old-school play elements...

- Gold-as-xp, and treasure-hunting as the foundational mode of play
- Delves and expeditions
This framework, being predicated on plundered gold-for-xp, puts the focus squarely on treasure-hunting. Having a long time frame and big expeditions also helps emphasise the sheer amount of wealth in the adventure location: it's worthwhile planning a trek across the sea, continent, or world for.

- A slower, more plausible pace of character advancement including training costs for levelling up
- Costs for character death; replacement characters who aren't automatically the same power level as their predecessor
This framework achieves these while offering the players a lot of important choices. The long time frame with seasonal expeditions means that there are regular opportunities for the characters to advance via lengthy training without the pace of adventures precluding it, and without the game devolving into fine-grained in-world scheduling puzzles.

- Emphasis on investing in a base, community, big player-driven projects, and other aspects of the game world
Having increasingly huge amount of treasure in more distant and difficult-to-get to dungeons, alongside increasing wealth costs for levelling up, also helps with game world investment. PCs can do social climbing, come up with their own megaprojects, invest in capital, build fortresses, improve their communities, and so on, with the half of their looted treasure that they can't use for character advancement.

Having an expedition 'off season' (winter) creates room to breathe, and for PCs to get entangled in whatever the player finds compelling: planning, hiring, selling treasure, magic item creation, wheeling and dealing, starting a family, capital investment, politicking, dealing with long-term campaign events, and so on.

- Social connections, hirelings, delegation, and realm play
Expedition-based play encourages use of hirelings, and managing a coterie of followers ties in well with managing hirelings and paves the way to realm-based play. Travelling for a long time to an adventure location necessitates retaining staff or paying friends back home to tend to the character's other, broader concerns while the character is off adventuring.

- A slower or more 'realistic' time required to recover from injury
Not everyone cares about verisimilitude, but for those of us who do, the long time scale and the group of followers together permit a GM to tweak rules and powers towards needing long-term recovery. A character who gets injured has the time required to heal up before the next expedition. When a character is knocked out of a delve due to injury, their player isn't sidelined for a session or two; they have followers with them who can go in instead. Or they can attempt the risky proposition of having their PC continue while seriously injured, knowing they have the backstop of having levelled followers back home if 'injured' turns into 'dead' as a result.

...And finally, as the Against The Wicked City article noted, players will have a chance to actually update the age written on their character sheet.

Alternatives to Legendary resistance

Preface

Dungeons & Dragons 5e is a game that is fundamentally about combat. The outright majority of the game's mechanics and systems are geared that way. Of the ~25 pieces of information in a typical 5e monster stat block, 70 percent are combat stats and 20 percent are combat-related.

D&D 5e also offers tools for balancing combats by character level, purportedly with a fine degree of accuracy, and the Game Master's use of these tools is intrinsic to the core gameplay.

As a central, fine-tuned, high-stakes part of the game, combat therefore needs to work well and be satisfying.

Solo monsters

Some of the most archetypal tabletop gaming experiences pit a small group of player characters against one powerful, dangerous, usually large, monster.

But consider the boss and/or solo monster (and to a degree, monsters that appear in pairs or with a group of weak minions). In at least the last twenty years of D&D editions, boss monsters have suffered from a pair of related issues.

• First, they are often outplayed in the 'action economy'.
• Second, they are particularly vulnerable to 'save-or-suck' abilities, such that only one success is needed to trivialise the combat encounter.

5e does fairly well on the action economy stakes – at least, for legendary monsters which can enhance their multiattack or once-per-turn spell with lair actions and legendary actions. A GM who uses a non-legendary high-CR creature as a boss monster may find it falls behind in its ability to act (unless they pick something like the marilith or hydra, which have large numbers of attacks and extra reactions).

But 5e's approach to proofing bosses against save-or-suck is a blunt instrument.

Legendary resistance

D&D 5e is stuffed with status effects and such – banishment, restraint, incapacitation, sleep, save-or-die, paralysis, blindness, mind control, etc – which can be useful when levelled against a group of adversaries, but which risk trivialising a boss fight if pulled off.

The 5e designers were aware of this:

• Some ongoing status effects offer a saving throw repeated each turn to escape. (But there is little overall consistency on this.)
• Boss monsters tend to get improved saving throws.
• Boss monsters also fairly often have advantage on saves via Magic resistance.

This does help bosses resist neutralisation by save-or-suck. But because of the amount and flatness of a d20's variance, this risks turning the meta-game into action economy optimisation with a hint of roulette wheel.

So the designers also came up with the blunt instrument of 'Legendary resistance', to discourage players even trying save-or-suck spells in a boss fight. Three times a day, when a boss monster fails its save, it can choose to succeed instead.

And this basically works. It creates incentives to use alternative abilities (straight damage, buffing or summoning allies, no-save spells like Forcecage, Heat Metal, and Maze, etc).

Players can still try to double down on incapacitation if they really want to, but have to use attrition to penetrate the boss's saves and its uses of Legendary resistance. It becomes a hit points analogue, with high randomness and low granularity.

 

The problem is that just no-selling a player character ability isn't very fun at the table, and doesn't align well with other aspects of 5e's design.

It can also have unintended consequences. Player characters are incentivised in the meta-game to 'use up' the boss monster's Legendary resistance with their weakest, longest-range, and cheapest or most easily replenished abilities, while trying to disguise which ability they are using, to foil their adversary's ability to choose whether to no-sell something. This 'optimal tactic' can really throw you out of the game if you were expecting to be simulating a thrilling high-stakes encounter against a powerful monster.

Simple alternatives

Here are some ways you can change Legendary resistance to make it more fun and subtle, in order of least noticeable to most substantial change.

1. Make it have a cost. When Legendary resistance kicks in, the monster loses hit points, or a spell slot, or has disadvantage on saving throws until its next turn. This makes it more of an emergency measure but isn't always easy to justify in-universe.

2. Make it use up the creature's reaction. This at least means that the monster must be more selective about its use of Legendary resistance. If it has access to a special reaction like Parry or casting Shield, it also needs to balance against the possibility that it will want to use its reaction for that this round.

3. Make it a legendary action. One which can't be used on the same turn the saving throw was failed. The PCs get to capitalise on the status effect for at least one turn, and get to witness the monster actually do something to end the effect (e.g., giving a monstrous howl, straining its muscles, spitting up blood, clawing at itself). There's also the opportunity cost of legendary action selection.

4. Make it a bonus action. This is the same thing but more so: the creature must wait until its next turn to end the effect. If the boss monster has special bonus actions, now it must forego one to shrug off a status effect.

You could then give Legendary resistance variants to various not-necessarily-boss monsters that are "meant" to stick in a fight longer, replacing the unreliable high save bonuses + Magic resistance combination.

 

Complex alternatives

Finally, if you have the time and inclination, you could fully overhaul 5e's framework of status conditions.

One modern design paradigm is to stack worsening status effects / spell effects. For example, Pathfinder uses variable status penalties: clumsy, doomed, drained, enfeebled, frightened, sickened, slowed, stunned, and stupefied incrementally penalise checks and task DCs.

Once you have gradated rather than binary conditions, more powerful 'boss' monsters can be given a greater initial resistance to those effects, or a greater capacity to suffer them, or substantially higher values in all the numbers that will be penalised, or a special ability to reduce them over the course of combat.

Narration and creative control of the world: A cautionary follow-up

The other day I talked about the advice that 'the extremely unlikely success or failure of an action means something about the world must be different'. I gave some reasons why this can make things harder for the GM and less satisfying for the players. I emphasized how important it is for the GM to be careful with the 'world-state' (the body of information about the fictional environment).

Van Winkle's article which prompted my writing also touched on a related issue with either the GM or a player establishing new facts about the world-state:

What if a player says, after landing a blow, "My character slashes the orc's forehead, causing blood to pour down his face"? Sounds cool, right? So you, the GM, nod your head and continue the excitement. But then the next round the player says, "Hey, shouldn't the orc attack me with some penalty because there's blood in his eyes?"

Van Winkle endorses a solution to this from ktrey: The GM should say "Let's see what happens when the orc attacks you. If he misses, we can say that the blood in his eyes played a part in his failure".

But this advice boils down to: ignore what has actually been established to be true in the game world. We could rephrase it as "the GM/player can establish something that definitely changed in the world but treat it as not actually having changed unless future dice rolls support it having changed". There's a strange implication that the GM can and ought to say "actually, this fact about the world can't have consequences", because the rules (mere tools the GM uses to interact with the world-state) are somehow more important than the underlying validity of the world-state!

I think it's fair to say this is contrary to the GM's fundamental role. Nothing that the GM (or player, in this case, where a player has been handed creative control) establishes about the world should be mere paper-thin "set dressing" which looks nice but which the characters can poke a finger through. Once something is established as true, it becomes usable by any PCs or NPCs or natural forces. Any knock-on effects must actually happen.

The combat example is a minor one, but even it has repercussions. What if the game has a spell that works on bleeding creatures? What penalties does the orc have? Can it benefit from attacks of opportunity / combat advantage / mechanic X? What about if it wasn't an orc, but a creature has corrosive blood, or a gaze attack? How long does it take to clean blood out of your eyes, for bleeding to stop, for the wound to heal?

Just take a more systematic approach

This pitfall isn't hard to avoid.

To begin with, the GM should keep careful track of their game's world-state. They should understand how the game's systems work and what the outcomes of those systems mean for the world-state.

They should only narrate beyond the extent of those outcomes with care, especially in situations like combat when PC life is on the line and players will feel cheated, not just disappointed, if a new piece of the world's reality gets established and then its consequences immediately ignored.

They should be extremely cautious in allowing player involvement in settling what's true in the world (beyond what the rules of the system allow).

For example, in a game that has hit points, the GM must understand what hit points are, what they represent in the world, and how systems interact with them. In some games, if a creature is knocked down to 5 hit points, you can narrate them being stabbed through the thigh. In some (most, frankly), you can only narrate the near-miss, the ensuing exhaustion, the draining of luck, etc. Being stabbed through the thigh, once established, is something that actually happened in the world. If the unfortunate victim is a baseline human and the world is anything like ours, then there are consequences: the victim almost certainly falls down, they may pass out from pain, they may bleed out slowly or in a matter of seconds, and their ability to attack, defend, climb a rope, and so on is drastically reduced. Is that a ton of extra GM work and possible interactions with parts of the rule set? Yes. Is it absolutely necessary? Yes. This is why games with hit points usually don't make them meat points.

But understanding the game's systems means it's easy to narrate. You know that a sword through the thigh is a grievous wound, so you know if the rules say a creature isn't mechanically penalised by injury, then you can't narrate any non-lethal attack as a stabbing. You know that kind of wound can't be slept off, so you know if the rules say a creature can get all their hit points back overnight, then when a creature is knocked to 0 hit points you can't say they were stabbed. In fact, in such a system, you can never narrate any wounds unless the creature also died – unless (a) you are just playing the game for laughs or (b) there's something in your world's metaphysics that makes wounds of all kinds short of death close overnight, with all the ensuing consequences to society.

All of this applies to the example with the orc getting blood in his eyes, of course. There the possible solutions are:

1. Don't let players narrate their attacks and don't ever say anything about the world that isn't true and therefore supported by game mechanics, or
2. Change to a system which actually mechanically supports whatever a player establishes as true about the world via the creative control they have been given, or
3. Switch to free-form role-playing or storytelling.

If you study your game system and can't help but conclude that hit points are neither meat points nor luck points but also both those things, then it's only a matter of time until you have to contend with this issue. There is no solution other than fixing the game system or changing to one that's coherent. Even if you try to sidestep by deliberately narrating combat really vaguely, eventually a player will notice "I suffered wounds so terrible that I failed all but the final saving throw against instant death, and now it is ten hours later and those wounds have literally disappeared without any magic or miracle involved".

Finding a conclusion in all this

Ultimately this is part of a broader point: narrating an action's outcome isn't just a fun little bit of flavour, like it would be if you were telling a story. It's a major part of the role-playing game loop. If a player isn't treating the GM's description of the world as something their character can really interact with, then they might as well not be playing at all! The human interactivity, the "role-playing" part of a role-playing game, is the only advantage it has over other forms of media!

I think it's difficult to create a good role-playing game with collaborative story-telling elements because of issues like these. Role-playing is all about seeing what's in the game-world around your character and treating it as a real situation. When an RPG has story-telling elements, a player has to be both reactive/interactive (role-playing) and creative/declarative (story-telling): the same human brain making semi-godlike decisions about what is true in a world is also trying to make reasonable decisions on behalf of one person with certain goals and traits within that world. Disentangling those roles is difficult. It can cause unpleasant cognitive dissonance.

Think about the consequences before giving players additional creative control in a role-playing game.

"Why Not To Play This Way" – An unlikely success or failure means you learn something new

I'd like to push back on something.

For a very long time – and most recently in an article by Tom Van Winkle last month – lots of GMs and RPG writers have recommended that when a player character's attempt at a task results in a very unlikely success or failure, it should be treated as 'discovering something new about' (i.e., changing the GM's mental model of) the game world.

When the task resolution mechanic reports a surprising success, the task was actually much easier than it seemed (for some reason that the GM comes up with). A surprising failure likewise means something in the world made the task much more difficult.

The lichvanwinkle article aptly sums the idea up as 'The "failure" [or success] with the dice gives an opportunity to define the world in ways that are not just about the character.'

(I like pretty much all of Van Winkle's writing; this is just one of those cases where you nod along appreciatively in silence for years and then only bother to pipe up when you disagree.)

To extend two of his examples:

Surprisingly, the accomplished locksmith fails to pick the simple lock on the store. So...

•  The lock mechanism must be broken, rusted solid, or jammed shut
•  The lock does open, but it turns out the door is stuck or barred
•  As the locksmith is just starting, she hears guards approaching, so can't complete the covert work

Surprisingly, the puny wizard manages to bend the metal bars in the prison window. So...

•  The metal bars are rusted completely through, and give way.
•  The bars were only an illusion all along!
•  The bars are solid, but the wizard finds the stone is old and degraded – he can just chip it away and pull the bars out.

(Note that the probability and mechanic for the unexpected success or failure doesn't matter. It could be 'natural 1 = automatic failure' or 'exploding dice leads to preposterous successes' or 'disregarding the rules, this particular GM always tweaks the Target Number so any PC can always succeed or fail'.)

Now, I usually like the idea of 'overloading' dice with extra meaning. Reducing the number of dice rolls is almost always a great design goal.

So why not here?

This is one of those ideas that's really mostly innocuous, but is so widespread that I want to push back on it for fear that it will become the status quo. "An unlikely dice result changes what's in the world" is definitely not a panacea solution, and you may find that it can create some problems of its own.

And what it boils down is that overloading the action-resolution dice in this particular way thwarts a really fundamental, really effective TTRPG loop:

(i) The GM determines, by whatever means, what is true in the world: its world-state.
(ii) Whenever a player character's passive senses would tell them something remotely meaningful about the world-state, the GM gives the player that information.
(iii) A player can have their PC investigate (interact with) their environment to get further information about the world-state.
(iv) The difficulty of a task is determined entirely by the world-state (including as it does all PCs and NPCs, secrets and fixtures, physics and metaphysical forces, gods and demons, self-inserts and metanarrative powers, etc).
(v) Players can estimate the difficulty of a task by how much they have learned via (ii) and (iii); they can attempt to reduce risk by doing more of (iii) and the GM can make the game require less back-and-forth by doing more of (ii).
(vi) Players have a single 'game action': declare their intention to attempt some task which they describe.
(vii) When a player uses their game action, the GM: first checks whether anything should happen before or simultaneously by consulting the world-state and/or the other players, then checks they and the player are envisaging the same thing with regard to the player action, then considers difficulty via (iv), then (only if the task could either succeed or fail) determines which game mechanics to use to resolve it, then resolves it, then narrates the attempt and its outcome via (ii).

Notice how many of those steps are disrupted if the action-resolution dice can make a retroactive change to the world!

An idea in conflict with TTRPG best practises

More specifically, the idea that 'unlikely dice results change the world' conflicts with six important bits of TTRPG advice which are ubiquitous in modern discourse:

1. Don't make the characters do anything the player didn't try (outside of minor, obvious, safe, unstated things; always assume a character is competent). An 'unlikely dice result' should not change what a character was doing.

• The outcome of the action "I try to pick the lock" can't be "you were so overconfident that you tried to pick the simple lock without torsioning the keyway, so you failed". The player didn't attempt that and the character shouldn't be incompetent.
• Likewise the outcome of the action "I try to bend the prison bars" can't be "you chip away a bunch of what turns out to be ancient, crumbling stone and pull the bars out instead". We can easily imagine cases where the player would decide not to take the alternate option. (And if you stop and give them the "new information", they're now deciding based on information that was first created and then discovered by the outcome of a "use crowbar to bend metal bars" resolution mechanism which didn't do anything. Weird.)
• So this substantially constrains your options for retrofitting the world to an unlikely dice result.
  

2. Don't roll if the outcome doesn't matter. If the outcome of the roll is so surprising that it's incompatible with your vision of the world as GM, to the extent that you have to change your mental model of the world-state in order to keep it consistent, it means you should never have had the player roll in the first place! You should have just said "yes" or "no"! (If the game procedures told you to, it may also mean that those procedures are bad, but that's a different matter). If an expert lockpicker encounters a simple (functioning) lock, and has time and tools and use of her hands, then anything short of a lightning bolt from above means that she opens the lock. There should not be a flat 5% chance that she just "can't". This is true in the real world and in any game that has verisimilitude.

(Rambling aside: Breaking a pick or torsion tool in the lock is rare, at least for someone who knows how to use them. Even if you ascribe that fact to the wonders of modern metallurgy, older locks tend to have larger keyways, so older lockpicks can probably afford to be thicker to make up for it. And most importantly, note that snapping a tool in a lock will almost certainly not jam the lock, preventing it being opened; a competent locksmith will remove the piece and continue to work.)

3. Decide and envisage the world-state before you determine how to adjudicate an action. Whether you need to use any given rule, or involve dice mechanics at all, depends on what is currently true in the world.

• Just because there's a rule for "falling object damage" doesn't mean you use it if the PCs manage to make the moon fall onto their planet.
• Just because there's a rule for "whether an attack hits" doesn't mean you use it when a PC attacks a paralysed target in an otherwise empty room.

Knowing what's true in the world makes the GM's second-most important job (adjudicating action outcomes) very simple. If you were envisaging the lock as functioning, then don't roll: the locksmith cannot fail. If you were envisaging the lock as rusted solid, then don't roll: the locksmith cannot succeed. If you were envisaging the lock as being complex, or being simple but someone has lovingly filled it with honey, then work out an appropriate Target Number and go to the dice. The 'unlikely dice result changes the world' idea makes all this impossible.

4. Decide and envisage the world-state plus the outcome of an action before you describe an event or outcome. If you already know what's true in the world, and you're only letting dice have a say when success or failure are both possible, then you can go from outcome to description immediately.

If an unlikely dice result can change the world, this is more difficult: You have to leave space for things that even you, the GM, don't know about the world. When the dice give a surprising success or failure, you have to – on the fly – determine a change which is compatible with what the player characters already know and also what the consequences of that change will be and more specifically whether this 'breaks' anything else in the world-state or in the current scenario. And then you have to narrate the action outcome while incorporating how the player characters discover the newly-created information.

5. Players are given key information up front, can get as much descriptive detail as they ask for, and can find out more relevant information by interacting with their environment. But, whoops, now an unlikely dice result can change the world retroactively, so what info can be given out?

The GM's single most important job is providing concise, accurate, memorable, relevant descriptive narrative. You just can't do this if you have to worry about 'saving room for' corner cases. If the prison bars are strong, rust-free, corporeal, and set firmly in strong rock "unless in the future I need them not to be, if the weakling wizard rolls high enough to bend them", you have a big problem which grows bigger with every interaction the player characters have with the bars.

At some point, as more and more 'explanations' of the surprising dice result are ruled out by what the players know about the world, you're left with just two options, both unsatisfying.

1. A preposterous deus ex machina ("a sudden earthquake rocks the room just as Feebliander begins to push the bar! The wall caves in!"). Even if you try to disguise its extempore nature, you're likely to get the problem of "We immediately waste a bunch of time and resources investigating what has caused this very unexpected thing which we take to be a big clue about other parts of the game world."
2. A fake or fiat perception failure ("I know I said Feebliander thought the bars looked new and sturdy when he spent ten minutes studying them carefully, but as he applies the crowbar, he finds them to give way in a spray of rust.") Many game systems have perception mechanics, including ones that are meant to be passively or automatically applied, in which case as soon as you make surprising dice results retrospectively change the world, you've immediately failed in your job of correctly and impartially applying the rules, by either not invoking them or not taking into account information about the world.

6. Don't let the players think you don't know what's true in the world. This is more important than it sounds, especially for invested, smart, skilled players.

But suppose they notice that a lot of the time when they roll really high or really low, there's a bit of a pause and then the GM tells them their action fails or succeeds because of something they hadn't already known about the world. They're going to lose faith that the GM is thinking about their own world. They'll (accurately) regard that as a troubling sign. They'll start thinking things like "the GM can't have known the lock was completely rusted, because then what would be in the point in making me roll?"

More pragmatically, they're going to start checking for all the little factors – is the lock old, is it rusted, is it gummed or jammed or filled with honey, is the door stuck, is anyone else around – BEFORE attempting to pick the lock, and then what are you going to do when the expert locksmith rolls a 1?

Okay yes but

Most of the rationale for 'unlikely dice result changes the world' was that the GM wants to be surprised sometimes. That's valid, right?

Yes, of course.

• You might be worried about fairness ("otherwise I'm just deciding by fiat that the lock is in good working order").
• You might be aware of your own cognitive blind spots ("otherwise I'll just end up using the normal defaults – normal locks, sturdy bars, guards who can't be bribed, trees with enough branches to climb").
• You might be using a system that's simpler than you'd prefer ("Am I really meant to just make up all the Target Numbers?").
• You might want the PCs to encounter more variety than you're capable of providing ("I'm always thinking about the next encounter, so I never remember to have a more mundane task throw an unexpected boon or bane").

So how can you attain this without overloading the task resolution dice?

I think the answer is: take a more rigorous approach, using a dedicated dice roll. You could do it any number of different ways; the key is to identify early on that there's something with various possible states/aspects/nuances which could change task difficulties, and having identified it, quickly make a dice roll to see what's true in your world. Once you have determined the world-state, all the rest of the GM's job is exactly as easy as it ever was.

The solution

It's one of those things you can learn to do without a formal process, just as an instinctive part of the regular rolling-dice-for-no-apparent reason that you ought to be doing anyway to keep the players alert.

But if I had to encode it as a specific procedure, I'd say:

• Pay attention to cases where you start describing something with an obvious PC interaction, especially where you're likely going to have to later improvise that task's difficulty.
• In such cases, first envisage how the world probably is – the default state of the lock given who bought it and used it and when; the condition of the bars given whether this is a gaol in use or a crumbling ruin; the loyalty of the guards given who hired them to do what; etc.
• Then just roll a dice to see whether it's actually better or worse overall for the PCs, with a 1 being "version of the worst case that's still completely plausible" and a maximum roll being "version of the best case that's still completely plausible", the gradations between being easily decided on the fly. Worse cases make for harder Target Numbers for most approaches to most tasks, and so on. A "middle" result (either of the two numbers around the dice's average, which a GM should know) means "don't change what you first envisioned at all".

Pros:

• This is fast, simple, and easy to remember.
• If you forget to roll, or only remember after the characters have started fiddling around with things, it doesn't matter. You don't need to remember every time, only sometimes.
  
• You can pick up whichever dice is closest and use it.
• Your expectations about the world as the GM often hold true, and things only deviate from your expectations as far as you'll let them.
  
• When you 'discover' something new about the world, you get that information before you go to action resolution, available to give to any player who has their character investigate how hard various approaches to the task are going to be.
• You never get weird action results that are borderline- or outright-incompatible with the world you envisioned.

I think this better serves the overall purpose of "freedom in narrating the events in a fantasy game without hesitation or squabbling over rules and rulings. Let the dice serve your narration without requiring your narration to mess with the rules further."

Cons:

• That pesky extra dice roll...

A thought on simplifying random encounter generation

Caution: Idea not yet table tested.

If you, like me, are always on the lookout for TTRPG simplicity and conciseness, here's a dice roll you can overload with extra meaning.

In a random encounter table, list the "numbering appearing" dice code with a negative modifier. If the result is zero or fewer creatures, it means the PCs have come across recently-left signs of such creatures, in the form of tracks or spoor which the characters might or might not choose to follow.

If the GM ever does need to find the number appearing of these regionally nearby creatures, roll again without the negative modifier.

For example:

Instead of, say, 1d6 ogres, the random encounter table lists 2d6–4 ogres. The range is slightly greater (0-8 instead of 1-6) and the average is similar (3 instead of 3.5). If the GM rolls snake eyes, no ogres are here; instead, perhaps, large footprints and gnawed cooked bones. The PCs follow the tracks, so the GM rolls again (2d6 this time) to see how many ogres are camped a day or so away.

Now, you can obviously accomplish similar results in other ways. Most systems do. Why do it like this?

Key benefits:

1. Minimalism via overloading. You no longer need a separate roll for signs/tracks/spoor.
2. Reminder. The GM won't accidentally neglect to include reminders that fictive content is everywhere (i.e. elsewhere), and not always served up to the PCs on a platter. The world feels populated.
3. Scaling and choice. This method automatically results in nearby groups of possibly greater numbers, creating something in between an 'easy random encounter' and a planned challenge. This allows you to define the size of creature groups with an upper limit higher than the one you'd randomly inflict on the PCs at an inopportune moment. Look at the example above. Suppose you have four PCs who can each take on one ogre, but two each is a big risk and three each is exceptionally dangerous. Rolling 2d6–4, a random encounter will usually serve up about 3 ogres, but very rarely as many as 8, and the PCs can discover ogre tracks and cautiously scout them to find a group of (on average) 7, but possibly as many as 12. It becomes a PC choice as to whether to push their luck, which is always a good thing: the GM doesn't have to waste extra time on balancing or 'fudge outcomes' (cheat).
4. Standardisation. If you're adding a negative modifier, you'll often be adding more dice to compensate, resulting in a steeper probability curve. As a result, the GM has a slightly better idea of how many creatures will tend to show up to an encounter. If you specifically don't want that, it's easy enough to use larger dice sizes instead, or add a multiplier (say, [1d6–2]×5 instead of 5d6–10).
5. Extensibility. You could overload the 'number appearing' roll further, adding ideas like exploding dice. Let's say a maximum roll means the PCs have found a monster lair and that's how many creatures are lounging around the entrance or on guard. Roll again without the negative modifier to see how many creatures are deeper in the lair.
   

 

Main issues to be resolved:

1. If your system has a separate roll for non-creature encounters that includes things like notable environmental and weather effects as well as tracks/spoor, then you aren't really any better off this way.
2. The mathematical conversion quickly becomes non-trivial as "number appearing" increases. Many GMs won't be able to do a representative conversion of an existing encounter table entry at a glance or on the fly even with relatively simple dice codes. And even with a good grounding in dice probabilities, it still takes time and effort to convert 8d8 to e.g. [4d10–10]×2 (if you care that the larger likely numbers appearing stay about the same), or else to e.g. [5d8–15]×4 (if you care that the average number appearing is similar but don't mind sometimes getting lots more), or even to e.g. 6d20–50 (if you want lots of tracks and lots of variation).
   

Put Flourishes, Fairy Tales, and Folk Beliefs in Your Fantasy World

Something fantasy world builders tend to do is

1. Take some interesting little aesthetic notion, often borrowed from a story, a history book, folklore, or a random generator;
2. Transform it into a fantasy element with thematically appropriate magical properties.

And that's great. But this is a call to sometimes not transform that little notion into actual 'functional' magic!

Earth's history is absolutely crammed full of little details, curiosities, artistic elements, superstitions, taboos, dead-end inventions, beliefs, art forms, and rumours that don't map onto anything impactful/real/important/true. Why wouldn't a fantasy world be similarly overflowing with these?

We live in the information age and people now still believe all sorts of completely preposterous things, not even as a matter of survival or entrenched cultural memory. In a classic pre-industrial fantasy world where the ground state is ignorance, people are going to deal with the great mysterious unknown around them by (a) trying to work out what works, and (b) just making stuff up. Both types of 'information' will be propagated. That's how people work, and the people in your fantasy world should feel like people.

Here's some suggestions.

Superstitions about dangers

Not every supposed way of keeping the monsters away actually does something. How boring would that be? Our world is full of superstitions meant to keep away monsters which don't even exist. That means you should add popular measures against goblins, vampires, spirits, ghouls, ogres, drakes, basilisks, and so on which simply do not work.

Remember: Nobody has enough information to know what's true and what's not. Even if the idea of confirmation bias has been invented in your world, the average uneducated person isn't going to have heard of it, and won't truck with it if they somehow have. Just like the average undereducated person in our world, and again – we're in an information age.

Superstitions about locales

Some places are sacred or taboo because of personal local history, not because of an innately magical nature.

You can have a big old battlefield without ghosts, and deep dangerous pits that aren't bottomless. The holy grove can just be regular holy rather than regularly dispensing miracles. If nobody goes to the place where the wicked Old Master was stoned to death, it doesn't have to be a portal to the realm of punishment, and the place where his sprawling manor was burned doesn't have to be a nightmarish megadungeon.

It's fine if some places work like this. But a world without unfounded local superstitions rings hollow.

Fairy tales, folk lore, and mythology

Here's a list of the world's fairy tales. There are many thousands of them and the list is incomplete. Like the vast majority of information from history, the most fairy tales never survived to pass into the written record. Note that none of these stories, as far as we can tell, are true.

The good news is that there's so many of them, you can just grab a few at random to fling into your own world and nobody's going to be familiar enough with the corpus to tell.

Folklore is deep and broad.

How about this rule of thumb: for every fairytale and mythological creature you put in your fantasy novel or game, add one that's not actually real in-world, just folklore being perpetuated. Fairies are real in the fantasy world, so people there believe in little fluttering proboscidate flingletons, which aren't. The inscrutable sphinx is real, so people believe in the twelve-metre-tall caustic tintosmaum, which isn't.

Religions, creation myths, and philosophy

Without making a claim in any particular direction, if you assume the world's major religious beliefs are incompatible with each other in terms of truth value, then a logical minimum of 5.4 billion people make a false set of beliefs central to their world view. And a possible maximum equal to the world's current population of 7.9 billion.

Now, I'll grant that (again, avoiding particular claims) our world doesn't have fantasy RPG clerics getting their daily allotted three or dozen or thirty verifiable magical miracles. But truth spreads slowly outside the information age. The existence in a fantasy setting of an extremely interventionist real pantheon (if you use that classic TTRPG trope) doesn't actually preclude local worship of a supposedly interventionist fake pantheon. Doubly so if it takes expertise to distinguish clerical magic from other kinds of magic.

It all depends on the nature of your cosmology, but personally I like when deities are standoffish or nonexistent, and weird new cults and religions pop up like mushrooms, and everybody thinks they're worshipping the real god(s) but there's no way, or no practical way, to be really sure. That rings true to me.

Either way, I suggest including some religious ceremonies that don't do anything (except make people feel good and forge stronger community bonds and so on). Religious rites don't have to have direct supernatural outcomes. You don't have to take the D&D route of turning blessings, ceremonies, funeral rites, holy water, holy symbols, etc, into spells and items with practical gameplay effects.

Pseudosciences and fake magics

Things like astrology and alchemy and the system of medieval humours needn't be in-game systems of magic or science. It's fine if you do want to play things that way, because these pseudosciences are flavourful and people have enough familiarity with them that they know what to expect (widespread modern misunderstandings of what 'alchemy' really meant notwithstanding). But if you do, you should definitely invent new pseudosciences for your fantasy people to get caught up in.

Again: People in our world, where magic doesn't exist, have believed in all sorts of magic, on the back of no evidence whatsoever. People in a world where they can occasionally see magic working should be more likely to have their minds open to such things.

That means that alongside pseudosciences, a fantasy world should have 'pseudomagics'. Piscomancy! Rust prevention magic! Soliferrous auras! Longevity rituals! Charms against moths! Whole new fields of supposed arcana! Is that local warlock a low-level magic-user, an ambitious dabbler with exactly one trick, a deliberate con artist, or completely deluded? It should be very difficult for a non-expert to tell.

Our actual history also has tons of objects that people placed significance in and ascribed powers to. Consider for example the 'Sator square' (an acrostic word square in Latin). It puts out fires. It eases childbirth. It cures toothaches. It's the basis for a love potion. It cures aquaphobia. It finds witches. Inscribe it on bread to cure rabies and insanity. Write it in pigeon blood to make a wish come true. Etch it into your fingernails to cure jaundice.

The Sator square obviously doesn't actually do any of those things. But people really believed it did. A fantasy world should have all sorts of things like this.

Terrain features

Our planet is home to lots of remarkable, awe-inspiring geography. In a low-technology world, real-world terrain can be a big challenge. Mountain passes can be extremely deadly because of the low rate of success of people tackling them, not because they're haunted by spirits or dimensionally scrunched or stalked by a gigapredator.

For every fantasy terrain element, include at least a couple of mundane ones.

Rumours

A healthy proportion of rumours should be completely spurious. But from a TTRPG gameplay perspective, don't go overboard. Make sure some rumours are very obviously false, as well as some more subtly false ones.

A neat effect for verisimilitude is to spin up false rumours based on things the player characters did or witnessed.

Flourishes, artworks, and personal styles

A neat little aesthetic detail doesn't have to be enhanced by fantasy (meta)physics.

A company of mercenaries march with a noose instead of a battle standard; it has no magical powers. The local villages have a specialist crop; it doesn't give you temporary hit points or make you levitate or drool blood, it's just funny-coloured pears. A distant monastery teaches a distinct style of martial arts that isn't supernaturally powerful. And some distant monasteries stick to beekeeping, illuminating manuscripts, and overeating.

We know of lots of little artistic embellishments, hoaxes, and weird experiments from pre-industrial history. The Voynich manuscript is a big one. People made sword blades with guns attached (and vice versa) as early as the 1500s. Sure, things like this can be the basis for unique powerful artefacts, but they don't have to be. Some of them should be prototypes that just don't work, or novel weapons that aren't actually as good as well-established ones, or an artist's cryptic drawings of a dream they had, or deliberate hoaxes. The strange, mysterious, whimsical, and exotic doesn't have to be translated into 'it's magic and has purpose X'. People on Earth have made all sorts of strange, mysterious, whimsical, and exotic things; all of them have been mundane, and they have been no less special for that.

Conclusion

To make a fantasy world feel real and lived-in, don't just fill it with fantasy. Remember to add little human-feeling elements from the real world, where pretty often a cigar is just a cigar.

Players not engaging

It's game time and the players are just sitting there spinning their wheels. They plan and what-if and weigh their odds and bicker in and out of character. Yeah, it's one of those sessions.

 What's happened?

1. The players might have insufficient information to make a decision. They may have forgotten some information. Perhaps one of your hints was inscrutable. The players might not see how some information they have aligns with one of their objectives.
   
2. The player characters might have unclear goals or clashing goals, or there might be disagreement in the group about which goal to pursue (due to differences in PC preference or differences in reasoning). They might be unclear about which goals should be prioritised above which others.
3. The players might have a real-life moral dilemma about acting to achieve in-character goals that don't align well with their own ideals, and are tip-toeing around having to confront that. This is a huge issue and is best served by halting the session to have the conversation.
4. You might have forgotten to give the player characters time pressure and stakes. There's a particular kind of malaise that can occur when you're using a subjective (or just subjective-feeling) experience/advancement system ('milestone' or 'narrative' or 'chapter' advancement) and you don't have a setting with big obvious time limits or opportunity costs or wandering damage. A feeling that the positive and negative consequences of action and inaction are all vague and distant can transition into a feeling that action and inaction don't really matter.
5. The players might be dreading that the wrong choice will endanger their PCs. This is a different way there can be a lack of motivation towards action over inaction. In this case, you've done such a good job as a GM getting the players invested in their characters and feeling the world has big dangerous stakes that they've become paralysed with indecision. Good work, bad outcome. I'm quite sad that I've never achieved this one. Probably the best way to coax things towards action is to remind them of how the world is ticking on in the background without them.
6. The players might be under the misapprehension that the GM should be deciding things for them. Apparently this can happen with novice players and/or due to 'learned helplessness' in the wake of unpleasantly railroady GM-ing. This is another huge issue where your best bet is to call a halt and discuss the problem in an understanding but matter-of-fact way.
7. The players might be too overloaded with information to make a good decision.

That last one's a joke. It might be possible to give the players 'too much' information but I've never seen it done (or even heard it complained about).

There are orthogonal mistakes, of course: giving the players too much false information from bad sources, giving the players too little likely-immediately-meaningful information, obfuscating information excessively, giving the players information in ways that makes it seem irrelevant, giving the players information that makes them regret their goals and objectives, giving the players information too fast for them to digest or note down, giving the players information after establishing a GM style in which nothing they learn ever really matters, etc.

Manage information to avoid a 'players not engaging' session

I have two tips here.

First

Establish PC goals early. Always summarise PC goals at the start of a session along with information you know they have which is likely to be relevant to those goals (and other key information). Constantly restate PC goals and key information during play, if even a glimmer of an opportunity presents itself. It's hard to overdo this. Remind PCs of their character motivations if those are substantially different from their immediate and long-term goals.

When the player (character)s acquire new information, try to frame it in terms of PC goals and other key information they already have, so that it slots neatly into their mental framework.

Second

When you're handing out any kind of information "X" via narration, you might have a tendency to hedge or use filler words. You absolutely must learn to overcome this. Cut out any qualifying language like this:

• "I guess it makes sense that X"
• "it's sort of X"
• "I suppose X would"
• "it's kind of... you know, X"
  
• "you think that maybe X"
• "[sigh and grimace] well... X"
• "Y! ...No, well actually, X"
  

Phrasing things this way undermines a player's trust in the quality, validity, and importance of the information content! It conveys, consciously or unconsciously, that the GM is uncertain about what's true in the world. It also conveys that the information wasn't important enough to pre-determine. And it conveys that the information wasn't connected enough to other things in the world for there to be an obvious answer.

Brains can only pay attention to so much, and are constantly filtering information into buckets based on its perceived usefulness. Hedging/filling will get information filtered disproportionately into the mental bucket with 'discard immediately' written on it.

The solution is just a matter of practice. Learn to pause and work out exactly what you want to say, then give a precise, confident, unambiguous answer. Even after a long pause you'll be much more likely to get information to stick in the players' heads.

Fantasy pseudo-anachronism part two: Aetheric boogaloo

Following up on yesterday's post, here are some thoughts on pseudo-anachronisms that didn't end up in the main article.

Additions

First, there were a couple of pseudo-anachronisms I had intended to mention. Nice beds with mattresses and pillows are major investments, certainly not something every person owned, even when they're just pallets made from straw sitting on the floor. (If you think a bed is expensive today, consider that it would have been a large fraction of a house's value in many pre-industrial places and times.) Also, inns for travelers to stay in. Inns were only common on major roads, pilgrim and trade routes, and in cities and market towns. The chances of a random village having an inn would be close to zero, even a village in the middle of civilisation. And even in a reputable inn, it would be a luxury to get your own private bed that you didn't have to share with a couple of strangers or traveling companions, let alone getting your own private room!

To have nice beds and pervasive inns in our fantasy world, we need a reason to have a culture of travel, in particular to non-notable destinations. We also need a cheaper way of making sleep furniture – maybe some ancient artefact has been churning beds out at a rate of fifty per day for thousands of years, or maybe there's a widespread plague of puffball pigeons (all feathers and no flesh), or maybe when a domesticated slime dies it dries up into something superficially like a beanbag chair.

Second, reader Lauren suggested the addition of "well-lit rooms after sunset". It's true! If you've tried to light a room with candles before, you've found that candle light is really very weak. Any kind of fire doesn't, uh, hold a candle to electric lighting. Lauren also pointed out that many modern people are used to the ambient light pollution of a big modern city; complete darkness is very disorienting. It's hard to keep your balance standing up in true darkness, let alone move around, but TTRPG rule penalties are often just a slap on the wrist. As with many things, inconvenient truths get handwaved away unless they provide excitement in the game.

I think well-lit rooms at night is particularly common in visual arts and film, where the viewer's ability to see most of the shot is pretty much the most important thing.

So 'convenient modern lighting' is a fantasy pseudo-anachronism. It's one that any number of fantastic technologies could solve (glowing magical crystals, cold-burning lanterns, the ubiquitous luminescent dungeon wall fungi, minor spells and charms, enchanted or holy candles, unusually bright domesticated fireflies, rushlights from the will'o'wisp marshes, whatever). Think carefully before making it a solved problem for the common person, though: clean, cheap, portable, bright light like we have at hand nowadays is a powerful technology. It takes terror away from the night and eclipses and deep dark caves. It drastically changes warfare. It changes sleep patterns and therefore labour patterns and local economies. It removes a constraint that can serve to drive gameplay.

Missing technologies

Rarely, fantasy takes things away from the generic 1300s-to-1600s technological milieu, rather than adding pseudo-anachronistic technologies.

For example, central heating, chewing gum, concrete, contraception, ice skates, and lighthouses were all invented thousands of years ago. I've seen a setting where characters in a snowy town had no way to cross a lake which froze every winter. And there's no excuse for not having a lighthouse guarding the dangerous shoals near a major wealthy port city. Some of the others aren't likely to come up, depending on what kind of ground the fantasy is going to cover.

Complex financial instruments, too, are fairly old (the word "credit" appeared in English in the 1520s, and at the time English-speaking states were economically a bit of a backwater; I don't know much about the history of banking but I would be surprised if continental Europe didn't have entrenched banking and other institutions in centuries prior, and the Islamic world and the East earlier still). I think sometimes TTRPG settings leave out promissory notes, banknotes, loans and interest payments, insurance policies, and so on due to a false perception that these are modern innovations.

The elephant in the room in this regard, of course, is gunpowder. Cannons were widespread in the West from the start of our supposed fantasy technological band, and early man-portable guns were in use well before plate armour reached its apogee. In China and its neighbours, gunpowder had been used for at least five hundred years prior to the period, initially as an incendiary weapon.

There are good reasons for not wanting gunpowder in a setting, reasons which have been discussed to bits. Everyone reaches a different answer to the question (some, possibly, because of misapprehensions imported from modernity about how powerful, fast, cheap, light, or accurate an early gun could be; I personally don't think preindustrial firearms being 'too good' is an adequate reason to exclude them from a fantasy setting). Gygax was notoriously against gunpowder in D&D, going so far as to say that the laws of physics in his fantasy universe were such that chemical reactions were weaker. I don't think that's a great solution, because it's both underspecific and implies weird knock-on effects.

If we want a world where 'black powder' gunpowder was just never invented, is that historically plausible? On the face of it, no. It's three ingredients, of which sulphur is very common in nature, charcoal is an incredibly important part of metalworking technology, and saltpeter can be refined from fairly common mineral deposits or bat guano. Additionally, 'classic' fantasy has early chemist analogues trying things out (I think modern fantasy has sadly transformed the word 'alchemist' to mostly mean 'magic potion-maker', rather than 'a philosopher obsessed with the idea of attaining physical, mental, and spiritual perfection via a mixture of study, experiment, religious ceremony, allegory, chemical means, mystery cults, etc').

But what that argument overlooks is that having access to magic might impede the development of gunpowder weaponry. Early experiments with explosive or incendiary mixtures probably wouldn't have been (a) taken as far, (b) seen as something remarkable, or (c) suggestive of exciting military applications, if two streets over from the workshop was an academy of war wizards suiting up for another day of hurling explosive fireballs, turning city walls to mud, and setting things on fire with their minds. Even assuming magical arts were at the time in their infancy rather than developed, they would have a competitive advantage due to their comparative versatility. So, inverted pseudo-anachronism: Solved.

(Conversely, if you wanted to take it in the other direction, and have gunpowder keep up with or surpass violent forms of magic, a world with fantasy materials might have better ingredients for a propellant. Materials that were more common, cheaper to make, easier to discover, safer to store, produced a more powerful reaction, burned smokelessly, negated the sound of their own explosion, or whatever.)

Pseudo-anachronistic systemic technologies

There were a few technologies I left out of the first article because they are more processes than inventions.

1. Classic fantasy has machines but no factory mass production.

There's an artificer, wright, engineer, or (sigh) 'alchemist' who makes devices. There's steam power, clockwork, waterwheel power, or complex systems of gravity power or compressed springs powering elaborate mechanical traps. There might be non-magical 'automata'. Sometimes it's almost a genre shift into steampunk or clockpunk. Sometimes it's subtle: the dungeon gates open and close with the right series of lever pulls and Detect Magic doesn't turn anything up, but further details about the mechanism aren't forthcoming.

Luckily for our settings, there are major societal factors necessary for factory mass production to flourish. It's not enough to have the idea and the metalworking skill. Labour must be at least moderately expensive (compared to thoroughly pre-industrial eras, not compared to today). There has to be the wealth and systemic control to acquire, move, and stockpile large quantities of raw resources. There must be pretty good ways to transport input and output goods. There must be at least a little hint of standardisation in the cultural zeitgeist. Things must be sufficiently peaceful and stable locally that the wealthy feel confident investing huge amounts of capital starting up a new kind of business whose nature is that it must be continually fed or suffer major costs. And it probably helps if there are enormous costly wars going on in the background to drive both demand and development.

Two thousand years ago, the Ancient Greeks had clockwork, a simple steam engine, and Heron of Alexandria described mechanical automata and a vending machine (a coin-operated mechanical holy water dispenser). But the conditions weren't right for industrialisation: It wasn't Steam Engine Time.

Still, if you want to play it safe, consider adding a rare, non-scaleable magical element to the setting's contraptions (some bit of fantasy metallurgy or alternative physics power source or unique irreplaceable artefact).

2. Classic fantasy implies advanced food production.

My impression of the typical TTRPG fantasy milieu is that even small settlements have great numbers of skilled workers outside the fields of food and textile production. Compare that to almost all preindustrial places and times, where the farmer-to-specialist ratio is somewhere between 90:10 and 99:1. The implication is advanced food production technology, but this is seldom directly shown.

There's two avenues to resolve this. You could say there's an enormous spiderweb of little farming hamlets and fishing villages, mostly ignored by the setting focus, diligently toiling to feed and clothe themselves and send their crop of food or textiles to market to pay their taxes (or send them directly to the tax collector, in less moneyed societies).

Or you could add the milieu-appropriate equivalent of spray pesticides, antibiotics, massive greenhouses, John Deere tractors, chemical fertilisers, advanced irrigation, and GMO crops. Let's say that stirge blood repels all insect larvae, and breaks down into a decent fantasy fertiliser. Water mages harness tiny elementals for drainage and irrigation. Weather witches work the weather. Migrating flocks of giant eagles regularly fix the soil nitrogen. The obsidian bullock pulls a plough slowly, but forever, night and day, without needing to eat or drink. A growthstone is costly, but all plants within two leagues of one grow at twice the rate, so you just have to keep up with the weeding. The peaceful living dead keep birds away for a while before degrading and nourishing the loam. And to cover gaps, the magic temple is happy to dispense endless miracle bread to the sufficiently needy.

3. In classic fantasy, big things don't decay.

Speaking of nourishing the loam... In the real world, everything is subject to entropy. Even stone degrades over time. There are startlingly close to zero stone buildings whose original roofs have stood the test of centuries. Earth settles, tunnels collapse. Most metals corrode. Wood rots or gets eaten, even in the dry. And – you know where I'm going with this – dungeons aren't usually well known for being dry. Ancient megastructures like lost castles and sprawling dungeons are sort of a fantasy anachronism, in that they are basically supernaturally well-preserved archaeological sites. In our world, furnishings and materials in them would be rotten within years, everything mechanical would have completely seized up within decades, the entrances (at a minimum) would get thoroughly sealed by a bunch of debris blowing in, and eventually the structure's integrity would fail.

This is of course no fun. Luckily there are plenty of possibilities. Lingering enchantments. Automata or invisible demons or extensions of the Gygaxian 'cleanup crew' which eat dust and grit and drifts of leaves. Magical materials that don't corrode or rot. Something to bear in mind is that most of these anti-entropy fantasy technologies are going to be valuable to people in the world, so by adding verisimilitude to your dungeons and ancient monuments you are also adding stuff that people are going to want to mine/harvest/tame/imitate and put in their own homes.

4. Classic fantasy makes outdated arms and armours contemporaneous with later ones.

Okay, this is mostly just a pet peeve, but it's close enough to the topic for me to justify cramming it in.

Particularly in the case of armour, your generic fantasy setting offers armours from radically different warfare/civilian contexts (almost always getting the armour itself wrong, but that's another story) as if any of them could be reasonable choices. In practice, people going into battle wore the best armour they could afford, perhaps modulated slightly by considerations of comfort. Let's look at mail vs plate, which is the biggest example (apart perhaps from 'leather armour' which is somehow both protective enough to sometimes be chosen over metal and quiet/fast to move around in; yeesh).

If a setting has the technology, expertise, and capital investment to make plate harness, then a fully protective suit of mail (hauberk including coif + aventail + chausses + gloves etc) is strictly worse than a suit of plate armour: the mail is either heavier or much thinner (because of ring overlap!), and more expensive (it takes more labour to make and rivet the large number of rings than to shape the smaller number of plates, and both are kinds of skilled labour!), and less protective (because mail flexes at points other than the joints!), and no less encumbering (assuming the plate armour is properly made, you can't do yoga in it, but that's about the limit of its limits).

The only advantages you could argue for mail are that it's slightly less hot to wear, due to its breathability (except, it tended to be worn over thicker clothing), and that it's easier to don and doff (definitely true: maybe twenty or thirty times faster, and you don't need assistance from a servant or colleague). Did both mail and plate exist at the same time? Sure; transitional armours increasingly covered the body with plate and retained mail at the tricky gaps (goussets, and then just voiders). Should a setting book place 'full plate' next to 'chain mail' and 'leather clothing armour' as options that just have different tradeoffs? No way.

Can we find a good rationale for having mail hauberks in the same setting as sophisticated high-coverage plate armour? Only, I think, at places and times when expertise in making armour plates is tightly controlled and/or slowly leaking out into the wider world. The only good reason to offer both these armours as reasonable options to player characters is if the massive difference in time to don/doff them is actually going to matter in play, and this must be the way the opportunity cost is framed instead of nonsense like 'plate costs more than mail' or 'plate is heavier than mail'.

This all applies to some extent to weaponry, too: fantasy TTRPGs love big lists of weapons from across many centuries, and some of them ought to be modeled as strict improvements of others. And to weapons platforms, like the chariot, which was thoroughly superseded by horseback riding, but still pops up in fantasy from time to time. Also the galley, which has three core assets (incredible maneuverability, naval ram, and capacity for beach landings) and three core drawbacks (high crew requirement, low cargo capacity, and relative fragility), but I've seen settings which included galley-like ships to evoke an Ancient feel while managing to ignore all of those factors.

Arms and armour are the products of a continuous technological competition – hence the term 'arms race' – and classic fantasy almost never includes what you would actually expect: weapons and armour (and tactics, troop formations, earthworks, etc) that are specifically designed for fighting giant enemies, invisible enemies, winged enemies, hordes of extremely small enemies, enemies that can't be cut or pierced, enemies that are slow but kill with a touch, and so on. Instead, at best, real-world weapons are used against them in novel ways. This is one of the few areas where fantasy actually needs to make more stuff up.

Pseudo-anachronistic societal features

Finally, I'm going to briefly go over a few things that aren't technologies. They're arguably pseudo-anachronistic, but are beyond the main scope of what I've been talking about with and frankly would need a whole series of articles to get into, and touch on topics which deserve a deep and sober treatment. For many of them I also think they could have become widespread features of societies earlier in our history, they just didn't happen to do so.

Actually, in an attempt to rein in my impulse to go on typing for hours, I'll switch to bullet points. These tropes show up in 'classic' fantasy quite often:

• General stores and grocery shops. Pretty modern idea.
• Lots of off-the-shelf products rather than things being custom-made, commissioned, or at least assembled on the spot. Historically, if you wanted to buy a knife, you'd likely visit a blade seller (who sells blades bought from a blade maker), and a hilt maker, and possibly even a separate knife maker to join them together if neither of the first two offered that service, and then you would go somewhere else to get a sheath made for it. If you were rich, you would possibly have any or all of those parts made to your preferences, and then might visit yet another craftsperson specialising in decorations (embellishing, engraving, insetting, etc).
• Civil police forces, or town guards who for some reason serve as constables. Not completely unheard of historically, but you're more likely to run into the local aristocrat's enforcers, or a town militia/guard with strictly military responsibilities, or just three people (a reeve, a coroner, and a magistrate) to be the law system for an entire shire, county, or small fief.
  
• Minor professions inexplicably organised into guilds; guilds that lack a religious/charitable structure; guilds operating like labour unions rather than corporations trying to suppress competition; guilds envisioned by people who learned the word from MMOs; guilds for major military technologies that really ought to be state-controlled... I could go on. I usually just shake my head and assume the word 'guild' is a spotty translation from the invented language the characters are speaking, not meant to bear any relation to the real world.
• The (correct, to be clear) modern perception held by almost all individuals and even by most states that war is bad.
• The notion that a war is likely to be for some abstract goal of 'power' or to extend a ruler's 'reach' rather than for territory and loot. In a world where land equals wealth, a successful war is a financial investment with a huge payoff (things like holy wars, wars of succession, etc, notwithstanding).
• People (correctly, to be clear) being viscerally and morally repulsed by what we now call war crimes and torture 'even' against 'the other side'. It's a depressing reflection of how groups of people operate that this is only a modern concept.
• Modern principles of individual liberty and rights, personal equality, and other individual rights. Anyone with basic knowledge of history knows that these were incredibly hard-earned and we are lucky to mostly now live in societies that have them at least in principle. It's not clear whether fantasy imports these because we're so immersed in them or because it's not fun to play without them.
  
• People living without major societal obligations and without a rigid societal, contractual, or familial relationship with the people ruling them. e.g., vassalage. I think fantasy settings tend to just pay lip service here, because it's not fun to have to bend the knee to your 'betters'.
• Conversely, in some settings, absolute tyranny existing unchallenged. Arguably more historically plausible, but even more plausible would be: the lieutenants and rich vassals think the rulers have far too much power + the rulers think they're giving up too much power and are trying to claw it back + there's a backdrop of masses of poor tenants and peasants desperately trying to get their established rights upheld. See e.g. the Magna Carta.
• (Pseudo-)democracies where everyone is franchised.
• Large numbers of empowered women with equal rights and with societal roles overlapping with those of men (or without distinct societal roles). Again, to be clear, a good thing, but rare historically. I have absolutely no expertise here but I usually see an explanation for how the systemic oppression of women came about that goes [average male physical strength advantage + power derives from strength-based violence + societies were more likely to succeed when the powerful set the rules + people tend to support existing rules (or, successful societies encourage supporting existing rules) → men seize and then hold and maintain power almost exclusively]. The good news is that you can excise this from a fantasy world by having magic more powerful than strength, or by reducing biological differences between the sexes, or by having interventionist gods who support equality, etc.
• More generally, no bigotry, slavery, or systemic prejudice. Sometimes this is because everyday common people are space aliens, by which I mean they aren't under-educated, clannish, selfish, fearful, violent, and ignorant of the wider world. Sometimes people are portrayed plausibly but intolerance magically doesn't happen at a wider scale. There are good and obvious reasons not to want bigotry in your setting or to confront it in your games, but (and now this list is just making me sad) pervasive intolerance has historical verisimilitude. Yeesh. How about we say that the fantasy world's populations are massively cosmopolitan, driven by ancient diasporas of hundreds or preferably thousands of peoples; everyone looks different to each other, even very locally, and innumerable culture are constantly blending. Or maybe we resort to magical divine intervention again to fix things.
• Speaking of which, there's the trope of 'everyone's religious beliefs are strictly compatible'. In a classic TTRPG fantasy, the gods definitely exist, everyone agrees on what they're like, everyone mostly agrees on their names, most people worship a single god even though there's a pantheon, and nobody is erroneously worshipping a god who doesn't provably (or provably doesn't) exist. This has always been quite funny to me. Maybe I'll write an article about interesting alternatives.
• Immortality as a desideratum only of evildoers (e.g., liches and sorcerer-kings). Likely imported from major modern religions; I don't think many nonreligious people are keen to grow old and die. The trope is kind of compatible with there provably being a good afterlife, but that's not always the case in a fantasy world, especially when you're not one of the tiny number of people with a divine magic pipeline.
  

There we go. If you think I missed any notable pseudo-anachronism, leave a comment!