Category: role-playing (Page 1 of 6)

Funnels Using Spellburn & Battlescars

I love DCC’s funnel adventures, and in my continuing quest to make DCC more streamlined, combat faster, etc., I delved a little more deeply into using Spellburn & Battlescars for the DCC funnels.

First, I made my own zero-level character sheets that mimic the “fancy” zero-level sheet from DCC, but with the three stats of S&B (Body, Mind, Luck), no alignment, and slots for equipment.

Then I rolled up the three stats using S&B’s rules (2d6+3, lowest score goes to Luck), hit protection 1d6, and then I used the DCC rules for Lucky Sign and Occupation.

These took some modifications, since many of the Lucky Sign rolls include bonuses to saving throws or stats or attack rolls or whatever, none of which works for the Into the Odd-style system of S&B. For some of the Lucky Signs, it makes sense to simply increase a stat by one (or hp or whatever).

For other Lucky Signs (like ones related to specific DCC mechanics that aren’t found in Spellburn & Battlescars), it probably takes some creativity on the part of the judge and players to see how they could work, but it’s doable. The great thing about these Into the Odd-style games is that they won’t break if you start homebrewing.

After the Lucky Sign, I rolled on the DCC Occupations chart and used the weapon and item as the starting equipment (some items I classified as “small items” that didn’t count against my inventory). After that I rolled 1D6 for gold, rolled for one random item on the equipment chart, and let my PCs do a little extra shopping if they wanted.

Finally I thought up a name, wrote it on the top of the sheet, and the character was complete. This process was even faster than the DCC character creation at zero level (which is already pretty darn fast!).

To test my new zero-levels, I decided to run a quick solo funnel using Portal Under the Stars, the funnel included with the quick start and core book.

Since Spellburn & Battlescars (like Cairn and other ItO-style games) only has three stats (Body, Mind, and Luck), I figured that when a DCC module asks for Intelligence checks, I would either simply tell the players the information (per Cairn’s philosophy that players need lots of information to make informed choices), or I would have them make a Mind check (if failure is interesting or risky).

For the first challenge in Portal, the characters saw the stars shining on the floor, and because they would have no way of knowing that the changing constellations would magically open the door in two-hour’s time, I did have them each roll a Mind check, thinking that if they failed they might try to break down the door which would (of course) lead to a magical attack and possible injury or death (this is a funnel, after all). However, my woodcutter character was able to make his check and see that the constellations would eventually change and shine on the door, so they waited and the door opened.

In the next room, there were the four statues with spears, but instead of making attack rolls, in S&B you just roll for damage, so if I played the module as written, my first player through the door would take 4d8 damage.

I ruled that this was too much of a “gotcha,” so instead, I allowed the players to act before the spears if they passed Body checks. The woodcutter was going to dive out of the way, and the trapper was going to press herself against the hallway wall to avoid the spears. Sadly, they both failed their saves, so the spears hit. Two went to Philomena Skunk, my trapper, and two went to Jimminy Bark the woodcutter. In S&B, if more than one attack is aimed at a single target, only the highest die hits. Philomena got hit and her hit protection went to zero exactly, earning her a roll on the Scars table (a chance to increase one of her stats! Luck! Yay!). Jimminy also got hit but still had hit protection. (To keep this game in the spirit of the DCC funnel and high body count, if a PC takes Body damage and fails the save, then critical damage = death.)

After that, since neither had taken critical damage, they took a short rest and recovered their hit protection. At first I thought this might be too overpowered for a funnel: Wouldn’t these characters end up surviving to the end instead of being mowed down in grisly, gruesome, and hilarious fashion, which is the intention of the funnel?

However I was soon disabused of this worry because in the next room the statue that throws flames at whomever tries to leave the room totally took out Jimminy as he opened the door to the left, got hit with a fireball, and failed his critical damage roll. The funnel was doing its job of killing characters.

Philomena was able to run out the door before being hit by the fireball, but in the next room she encountered the giant snake, Ssisssuraaaaggg, and even though she got in a few hits, the beast was simply too strong. One person against a giant snake is not going to last very long (of course, in a “real” funnel, I would have at least four zero-levels and other players at the table with me). Philomena did take Body damage in the first round but made her saving throw, so she was able to fight again, but then she took Body damage a second time and failed her saving throw (with only 3 points of Body, it was gonna be tough to survive).

If this were a normal funnel and there were multiple zero-level PCs, then most likely a few more PCs would have died, but the party would have been able to take out the snake eventually, especially if they were all attacking it at once. That would have given them advantage and the highest attack roll would succeed.

I was making up the stats for the giant snake on the fly, but I think if I were actually running the funnel I would spend a little bit more time thinking about how many hip protection points it had and its armor and its Body score, etc. The snake was probably too overpowered as written for S&B, and I didn’t make the necessary adjustments in this little practice funnel. Or maybe if the party had been bigger, the casualties would’ve been in keeping with the spirit of the funnel.

All in all I think my modifications to S&B, including the incorporation of the DCC Occupations and items as well as the Lucky Sign roles all ended up working just fine. This is what I like about into ItO-style games: They are easily hackable, and hacks don’t break the game.

If my PC had survived the fight with the snake she would have probably taken up the horn and received the Invoke Patron spell. Using the spell mechanics for S&B, she could try to cast it, spending as many dice as she has inventory slots available (up to five). I practiced this just to see how it would work, and she used all five of her inventory slots to roll five dice. She did roll a misfire (rolling doubles on the dice), and using the table in S&B, I got a result that her grimoire burned up. This was irrelevant (she didn’t have a grimoire), so I had the misfire burn up something random on her inventory instead.

Her spell result for Invoke Patron was pretty high, rolling a 21 (she took four slots of exhaustion as a result). I wasn’t sure which patron to use so I just looked on the entry for Sezrekan, and her result would have given her a +5 on her next spell casting. Since this was a funnel, she didn’t have a scroll or a grimoire to cast any spells with (yet), but if she were to find one, a +5 bonus would be pretty handy.

All in all, the spell-casting mechanics can be modified to use with the DCC spell charts. I’m still not a huge fan of looking up spell results in the DCC core book because that takes time, but it does open up more opportunities for more spells and more DCC flavor to a game of S&B.

This little experiment has really whetted my appetite to try a full-length funnel using the Spellburn & Battlescars rules. Not only is making a zero-level PC super-fast and super-easy, but it still retains the flavor and fun of the DCC RPG funnels. Of course the dirty little secret is that any DCC RPG module can be used with any set of rules; just modify the monster stats and a few other things and you’re ready to go.

What I like about S&B as a DCC hack is that S&B is easy to mod in general and also fits the flavor of DCC in ways that other OSR games might not. You can dial-up the power level if you want, making PCs a little hardier and able to withstand some of the crazy stuff that comes with a DCC module. And in S&B, magic is something that any player can use; it’s not tied to a specific class, which suits DCC better than even the original DCC rules (which restricts magic to wizards, clerics, and sometimes thieves when they read scrolls).

If we’re looking at Appendix N literature, often the heroes are not magic-wielding types, but there are instances in which warriors, thieves, and adventurers of all sorts end up finding magical books or scrolls and reading the spells. Also, think of a warrior-wizard like Elric. In S&B, you can definitely have a character like that. In some ways, S&B hues closer to the pulp literature than even DCC does.

It would be interesting to see how Spellburn and Battlescars really stands up to a true funnel, with a group of players around the table each controlling four zeroes. I think it would work, and I am itching to try.

Cairn Crawl Classics?

I really love the aesthetic and attitude of Dungeon Crawl Classics RPG, and I don’t even mind the general d20 system and game mechanics, but when I think of my ideal system, I’m much closer to the rules-lite side of things: Cairn, Into the Odd, Mausritter, Mythic Bastionland, etc.

I like DCC’s mechanics, but I don’t love them. Too much time looking things up in charts (and yes, I have the Crawler Companion on my phone, but even that takes several seconds to look things up). Too many stats that don’t end up meaning much. Roll-to-hit combat that means when it’s a player’s turn, they may end up missing, and then they have to wait for the next round to see if they can maybe try to succeed at hitting again, and too many misses in a row becomes frustrating for the player, and combat becomes a slog of misses and misses and misses. Roll-for-damage combat is the way to go. Faster, more intense, and nobody’s sitting in frustration because they’re not really involved in the action.

Part of this was spurred by a recent Questing Beast video about three-round combats, a hack that’s meant to speed up and make combat more meaningful. I’m not sold on it, frankly, but it got me thinking about my biggest pet peeve in D&D-like RPGs: the roll-to-hit mechanic. Having just been a player in a 5e game, it was beyond frustrating to keep missing with my spells during combat, and to then miss with my weapons during melee. It made the experience frustrating and not very tense.

(Why not tense? If the baddies are whoopin’ on us and we can’t seem to hit them, then shouldn’t that be hella tense? Surprisingly, no. It wasn’t tense at all. Tense is a ratcheting up of tension, but this combat wasn’t ratcheting up anything, it was just bandits hitting us and us missing them, but because we had just enough healing magic and a bottleneck so only one of them could attack at a time, we didn’t feel particularly in danger. Maybe if our rolls had continued to suck and we’d lost a few PCs, then tension would be there, but we avoided that outcome by eventually rolling successfully.)

Anyway, all these things made me think about ways to hack DCC to make it mechanically more like Cairn and other ItO-style games, while maintaining the unpredictability of magic and some of the Sword & Sorcery/Appendix N flavor of DCC.

I had a few brainstorms right before bed and stayed up till 1:00 a.m. thinking about them, then the next day I spent a couple of hours trying to hack together Cairn and DCC (“Cairn Crawl Classics”?). I simplified the stats (STR, DEX, WILL, LUCK), switched to a roll-under system, and for spells, created a new mechanic called “press your luck” where a luck save could bump a spell up to the next “entry” on the spell chart but a failure meant misfire and possible corruption. I also figured that characters could still spellburn to move a spell up to the next “entry.” This would allow players to succeed on their spell with a successful WILL save, but still give the spells their various levels of power.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the other classes (Warrior, Thief, the demihumans), so I played around with both Deed Die/Luck Die mechanics as well as offering advantage/disadvantage for various class-related things.

In the end, I “playtested” it by making a Warrior, Thief, Wizard, and Cleric and “running” them through the Abbot in the Woods module from the core book (written by Harley Stroh).

The playtest was a bit meh. The PCs were either overpowered or utterly unable to overcome certain situations. Combat was faster, for sure, but the module itself wasn’t very combat-heavy, so it meant that some of the other changes I had made overpowered the thief (advantage on thief-skill checks was way too much), and the Cleric Turn Unholy spell was simply too strong (I eliminated the HD-tiers and it was just Will SV=success at lowest result, “Turn 1 enemy;” but with “pressing your luck” and a little spellburn, the Cleric was easily able to dispatch two ghosts). It turned the game from one in which clever play, interaction with the fictional world, and teamwork makes a difference into one in which players “press buttons” on their character sheets to overcome obstacles.

Back to the drawing board. Except, I decided to do a quick search to see if anyone else had tried hacking DCC with Cairn, and low and behold, someone had indeed done such a thing: it’s called Spellburn and Battlescars.

Well, well, well. This game did several similar things to my own attempt, but instead of my “press your luck” mechanic for increasing spell results, S&B went with a GLOG-influenced “power” mechanic where a player can increase the power of the spell by spending equipment slots and adding more d6s to the dice pool. This was brilliant! I could easily take a DCC spell, set the first success result (normally 12-13 for Level 1 spells) as 1-6, and then each successive entry on the spell chart would go up by 6: 12-13 becomes 1-6, 14-17 becomes 7-12, 18-20 becomes 13-18, etc. Players who want a result that’s normally a 21 in DCC, would need to roll a 19 total, so they might spend 4 slots and roll 4 dice hoping for the sum to be high enough. (Of course, per S&B’s rules, this increases the likelihood of some corruption happening, because if you roll doubles you have to roll on the mishap table, but even here, I could use the corruption tables from DCC and the spell could still have this more explosive result for the player.)

(And yes, I know I wanted to avoid all the “looking up on charts” hassle from DCC, but I figure, these spell results can be shortened/adapted for use in S&B, and the corruption table could be something I homebrew, maybe modifying what’s in DCC with what’s included in S&B. I would have all this on my GM screen instead of flipping through the massive DCC book, and that alone would be a time saver. But no matter what, S&B generally simplifies combat and makes magic and fighting successful for players because there’s no more roll-to-hit mechanic.)

S&B also solved the problem with making each class unique by having a list of abilities that players can unlock as they complete tasks related to their archetypes. The game doesn’t have levels per se, but it does have players keep track of what they’ve accomplished in the game world, and if it’s related to their archetype, they get to try for improved skills, hp, and more special abilities. Simple mechanics, story-focused but still retains the flavor of “classic” character classes from DCC, this was much better than my advantage/disadvantage and Deed Die/Luck Die/etc. stuff. PCs are not too overpowered but also not too squishy either.

The one thing I’m not sure about is the cost of equipment in S&B; some items seem wildly overpriced. But that’s easily tweaked, and frankly, with only ten item slots, PCs can’t be buying a lot of stuff anyway unless they hire retainers to carry equipment. The game seems less interested in inventory management than games like Cairn, partly because the archetypes are a bit more powerful and problems can be solved more readily through combat (which is true in DCC too).

All in all, I’m glad I tried my hand at homebrewing my own “Cairn Crawl Classics,” but I think if I want to play DCC with faster, more streamlined rules, I’ll use S&B to do it. Frankly, I’m so excited by a faster, rules-lite DCC, that I kinda want to play a one-shot with S&B characters and a DCC module. I imagine it could be incredibly fun, fast, and still feel very “DCC,” just without some of those sluggish mechanics.

(One last thing for those of you thinking, “What about the funnel?!” Because S&B includes “Backgrounds,” players could still play zero-level PCs in a funnel, using the equipment included as part of their PCs’ backgrounds, and then, if they complete something related to one of the archetypes (they most definitely will in a funnel, unless they die), they could “level up” to that archetype, get the archetype equipment and special ability, and be ready for “level one” modules. I could even see them answering the “Origin Question” on the character sheet with an answer from their funnel adventure, making the funnel and character creation even more story-focused than it is in the original DCC game. And not only that, you could easily use DCC occupations instead of S&B’s backgrounds, so gongfarmers could still be a thing!)


Dolmenwood Solo: TPK

[This play report contains spoilers for Dolmenwood’s Winter’s Daughter adventure module. First part of this solo adventure is HERE.]

The snowstorm only hindered them for a bit. They were so close to Sir Chyde’s burial mound when the storm began that they found it and groped their way to the stone entrance.

Joremey was ready. He wanted to find the Lady, find her ring, be a hero. He led Lady Pouncemouse and Obb through the door, prying it open with a crowbar so they could get out of the snow and cold.

The tomb kept the snow out but not the cold. Obb managed to shake off the frigid air, but Joremey and Lady did not, further adding to their exhaustion (and hindering their ability to fight and do damage). Still, they were glad to be out of the snowstorm as they entered the tomb and descended twenty feet down stairs caked with dust. Everything was deathly silent, and there was a dank smell in the air. Moisture and mold pervaded the space. Lighting one of Joremey’s torches, Lady held it and led the way.

She stopped at a square room made of stone blocks. It was musty and wet, and the first thing she noticed were the four plinths, one in each corner of the room. Atop each plinth was an object covered in mustard-yellow mould. Her eyes lit up at the thought of treasure, but as soon as Lady stepped into the room, the objects floated into the air and screamed at her in shrill voices:

“Heathens! Repent, ye sinners! Godless fairies, godless heathens!”

The objects–a silver chapes, a wooden cherub statue, a holy book, and a thick liturgical candle–launched themselves violently at Lady, trying to strike her dead.

Luckily, my PCs won initiative, so Lady booked it across the room to a doorway on the right side, Obb and Joremey following quickly behind (Joremey’s plate armor clanking noisily). As soon as they fled into the other room, they heard the objects shout, “Serves ye right!”

Huffing for breath, Lady led them all down a ten-foot hallway to another chamber, a circular room that seemed less hostile (at first). This room was also constructed of stone blocks, but there was a chill atmosphere as they entered it. On the southeastern side of the circular room was an empty marble plinth (3′ across, 1′ high) with a full-length mirror behind it on the wall. The mirror was framed in silver and faced a set of stairs on the opposite wall (northwest side of the room).

The stairs were stone-carved with the archway over them also carved of stone to look like tree branches hanging over the entryway. Next to the stairs was another hallway leading out of the room.

Joremey was quite interested in that mirror and went right up to the plinth, faced the mirror, and looked.

Lady, for her part, was interested in the stairs and the beautiful tree motif carved into the stone archway. Obb followed Lady and peeked into the nearby hallway as they went. What they didn’t see was poor Joremey, so transfixed by his glance into the mirror that he turned still as a stone.

In fact, he really WAS frozen in place!

“Joremey, lad! Come see!” Lady called, noticing that on the stairs there wasn’t a hint of dust (unlike the rest of the tomb) and that at the bottom there was a watery shimmer in the light from her torch.

But Joremey said nothing.

“Cat got your tongue?” Lady teased, turning around and seeing immediately that Joremey was now frozen solid.

“Stay back from the mirror!” she warned Obb as they both skirted the wall of the room to reach Joremey without looking directly into the mirror. They pulled at him, but he was utterly frozen. Together, they managed to lift him up and pull him away from the mirror, but it was no use; he was still cursed.

Obb broke out his pan pipes and tried to play a tune, hoping it would break the spell, but it appeared this was holy magic and not fairy…

“Best to head back to Lankshorn,” Obb offered. “Let Fr. Dobey handle it.”

But Joremey was much too heavy for little Lady and Obb to carry. They could try dragging him…

“Let’s strip off all his stuff,” Lady said, “he’ll have to be glad we’re taking him back even if he leaves his gear behind.” They stripped him of everything but his traveling clothes, and heaved him up in their arms. He was heavy, and they couldn’t move very fast… Could they outrun the screeching objects in the first room?

They tried, but this time, initiative was not on their side. They lost and the objects attacked.

“Back for more, eh? Ye heathen fairies!”

Two objects (the candle and the book) hit Lady, and one (the chapes) hit Obb. Lady went down (taking five damage, more than her total), and Obb couldn’t help but drop Joremey without Lady’s help. Terrified, he simply fled for his life, but lost initiative again, meaning two objects hit him (the chapes was joined by the cherub). He took five points of damage and fell to a crumpled heap. Poor Joremey was frozen like a statue on the floor, while his two comrades lay dead on either end of him. The holy objects–satisfied that they’d destroyed the heathen interlopers–returned to their podiums.

Now Joremey must rest here, frozen seemingly forever in the tomb of Sir Chyde unless some other adventurer should find their way into the tomb and rescue him…


Yikes. That was an ugly defeat. I suppose if initiative had gone differently, my party might have made it out alive, but as it was, they did not. I thought fleeing the first time was the right call (four objects vs. three PCs didn’t seem like good odds), but once Joremey was frozen from the mirror’s magic, things got much dicier. OSR-style gaming is not for the faint of heart!

I do really like how simple the mechanics are. Combat (though deadly) is quick, and my characters were able to explore and make choices without too many rules or fiddly skill rolls getting in the way. Exploration means describing character actions and seeing what the modules says they see/hear/smell/etc. It’s very narrative in that way, very immersive.

For group play, if one of my players investigated the plinth and mirror, and I knew looking into the mirror caused paralysis, I would telegraph that danger. I might say that he gets an ominous feeling as he approaches the plinth and looks around. Maybe say that he feels especially cold as he comes nearer the mirror, “freezing cold,” or something similar.

But for solo play, I wasn’t sure how to handle that since I can’t really “telegraph” danger to myself. Perhaps I should have rolled dice and used my oracle to determine whether Joremey approached cautiously and avoided getting frozen. Having him simply “be cautious” while knowing (as the player) that the mirror is magical feels like cheating. This might be a case where letting the randomness of dice determine a PC’s fate should’ve been the way to go. As this is only my second “solo play” session, I can’t be too hard on myself. I’m learning as I go.

Now that my trio of adventurers is dead/paralyzed in an ancient tomb, I have two choices: send some of Joremey’s cousins off to find out what happened to him OR start with a totally new adventure and character(s).

I’m somewhat inclined to go with the second option… I’m already envisioning a human thief who meets a human or breggle fighter in a tavern and together they go adventuring… Fafhrd and Gray Mouser, Dolmenwood-style!

Till next time!

OSR Arrietty

Last summer, we watched the fifteenth anniversary screening of The Secret World of Arrietty, Studio Ghibli’s adaptation of Mary Norton’s novel The Borrowers, a film I’ve seen twice already, and one that was incredible to see on the big screen. What stood out to me during this screening was how very OSR-ish the film is in its presentation of Arrietty’s world and adventures.

She’s a dungeon crawler. A problem-solver. The world is big and full of dangers and she’s just an ordinary borrower, looking for treasure, watching out for traps, avoiding giants and monstrous cats.

The spaces under the floorboards, the heights of the kitchen countertop: Arrietty and her father have to make their way through these environments using their tools and their wits, and the creativity of their solutions reminds me a lot of how players have to navigate the “dungeons” and fictional worlds of an old-school RPG. The answers aren’t in “stats” or magic spells but in one’s inventory and the creative use of the fictional environment. It’s about clever solutions to problems that don’t have one “correct” answer.

And most of all, it’s about the bigness of an environment that encompasses merely a country house and the fields and gardens that surround it. Arrietty’s world is huge to HER, and that’s all that matters. Her adventure doesn’t have to span continents or involve saving the world. It’s the opposite of “epic.”

And yet it has incredibly amounts of tension and high stakes because the world matters to Arrietty. She’s fighting for her home and her family. The stakes aren’t “big” but they are deeply personal.

This is a good reminder for OSR-style gaming. The stakes don’t have to be earth-shattering, but they have to matter to the lives of the characters. Saving one’s village from destruction can be enough to drive an entire campaign. Finding a way to survive against giants in your midst can be enough to tell a wondrous tale.

And the characters don’t have to wield great magic or be mighty warriors. They can survive on courage and cleverness and kindness too.

The other movies we watched with the kids this summer were Labyrinth, a film close to my heart, and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, my favorite of the Potter films. Both of these movies also speak to the OSR sensibility, to the idea that growth comes from in-world experiences (Harry learning the Patronus charm) and magic items (the Marauder’s Map) and that “dungeon crawling” is more about “player skill” than what’s on the character sheet (after all, Sarah is merely a human from our world, and yet she solves the puzzle of the Labyrinth and gets her brother back).

Think of how Sarah works her way through the Labyrinth using problem solving and non-combat skills. She can’t rely on a Strength stat or a special power to get her through doors and around obstacles. She has to use her own wits, her own ability to form relationships with the denizens of the Labyrinth.

We also played Mausritter, an OSR game that uses rules similar to Into the Odd and Cairn. My kids had to use clever ideas and the physical tools available to them in the environment or their traveling packs to solve problems and get past the Ded Ratz gang. They rolled dice occasionally, but they soon figured out that making those rolls meant a pretty high chance of failure. Wits and creativity mattered much more to their success than straight-up fighting (just like it did for Arrietty and Sarah and Harry Potter).

I also ran a one-shot of Cairn 2e, and the same OSR principles applied. We only played one session, but already, per the rules of the game, I could see ways in which the characters’ interaction with the world, their in-game choices and actions, changed them. Using experience points and other metrics to advance characters is totally fine (and many games I love use those procedures), but there was something really bold and exciting in the way Cairn 2e eschews XP or levels for advancement and embraces a fiction-first process: Characters grow and change based on what they do in their adventures, the alliances they form, the daring-do they perform, the knowledge or items they discover, the people and creatures they interact with along the way, just as Arrietty, Sarah, and Harry grow and change because of what they do in their adventures. No “levels” or “XP.” Just choices.

I think what I love most about OSR-style gaming is the way that it makes me feel like I’m a slightly more capable version of myself, going on adventures in a dangerous but living world, and that my choices impact that world; my ideas can lead to clever escapes, daring adventures, and meaningful outcomes. Things are smaller-scale, but they’re not without thrills or real danger. Sarah in Labyrinth isn’t saving the world, she’s saving her brother. She isn’t traveling over vast continents, she finding her way through the maze. Harry Potter saves more than one life in his adventures in the third movie, but he does it within the confines of Hogwarts.

I’m not against grand, sweeping epics, or stories with world-saving stakes. But there’s something to be said for the smaller-scale drama, for the tension and excitement of navigating the space beneath the floor boards.

Many children’s adventure films understand this kind of drama and adventure. In some ways, they are closer to the OSR spirit than adult adventure films. And if nothing else, they’re a great place to gather ideas for OSR gaming.

Mio, My Son

(This is part of my foray into the Dolmenwood Inspirational Media. For more, go HERE.)

I hope many of you have taken the chance to read Mio, My Son. I’m writing not so much a “review” or even a formal analysis as I’m writing my impressions, my ideas as they relate to the novel. I’m interested in the ways Mio, My Son inspires Dolmenwood, but I’m also interested in the book as part of the larger fabric of fantasy literature. What threads does it weave and carry forward through the tapestry? What can we take with us into our own writing and gaming? I’ll be writing about the book for an audience familiar with it. I do not hesitate to mention important plot details (so be warned). If you haven’t read it yet, I encourage you to do so. It’s a short text, but utterly lovely and memorable. Like a fairy tale.

The threads of trauma and neglect, of emotional abuse and loneliness, weave their way throughout Astrid Lindgren’s Mio, My Son. I can’t help thinking about the final page, the italicized lines: “He is in Farawayland, I tell you.” The insistence that all is well with Mio—not Andy, the boy on the bench in the park, the boy with foster parents who care little for him, who certainly do not give him any love—no, he is Mio, the King’s son, who lives in Farawayland. That one line—“I tell you”—is a desperate line, an urgent line. The narrator—who is Andy—needs us to believe that Mio is in Farawayland. He needs to believe it himself.

Because our main character Andy is a boy without true parents, who is dominated and unloved by “Aunt” Hulda and “Uncle” Olaf, who has only one friend—Ben, a good friend—but who lives a sad, second-hand life. Farawayland must be real and Andy must be Mio, or else the sorrow is too much to bear.

This is why the Sorrowbird must sing even amidst the King’s beautiful Garden of Roses. This is why the Sorrowbird continues its song even after the happy ending and Mio’s victory over Sir Kato: “I don’t know what he could have been singing about, now that all the captured children had come home. But I thought Sorrowbird would probably always have something to sing about.”

Sorrowbird always has something to sing about because sorrow will always be part of life.

He is in Farawayland, I tell you.

But somehow, we doubt. It would be wonderful if he was, but sorrow cannot be banished so easily.

The book’s mixture of joy and sorrow, happiness and pain, reunion and loss, are what make it deeper than it first appears. At first, it feels too perfect, too wish-fulfillment (though goodness knows, Andy deserves to have his wishes granted). Andy/Mio gets whisked away from all his problems by a genie in a bottle and reunited with his father, the King of Farawayland. Farawayland is perfect. His father loves him unconditionally. He makes a true friend in Pompoo (who reminds him so very much of Ben). He has a magical white horse named Miramis (who reminds him of the real horse, Charlie). Everywhere he goes and everything he does is beautiful and life-giving. The bread is literally called the Bread That Satisfies Hunger. The water is literally the Water That Quenches Thirst. There is no want in Farawayland. Only abundance.

But there is Sorrowbird singing in the trees. And soon we learn that all is not quite well in Farawayland. Nonno’s brothers have been taken, Totty’s sister has been taken, the Weaver’s daughter has been taken. Sir Kato has taken them. Evil, horrible Sir Kato. He is the blight upon Mio’s newfound life, upon the King’s realm. Even in a magical paradise, evil waits upon the borders, in the Outer Lands. Even in Farawayland, there is sorrow.

There is a distinct “fairy tale” style to Lindgren’s prose. Sentences are short, simple, and direct. Even the emotional register is straightforward. Mio was sad and neglected in his old life, but he is happy and fulfilled in his new. Miramis is perfect, Pompoo is perfect, the King is perfect.

But always along the edges of things, in certain moments, we are reminded that this perfect life is not without strangeness, mystery, and, of course, sorrow. Mio doesn’t know why the Sorrowbird’s song hurts him at first—and the pain goes away once his father comes and reaffirms his love for Mio—but we know why. We know that Andy is an emotionally abused little boy without true family and only one friend. A boy who feels the taunts of bullies and the ugliness of life. Even though Mio has joy upon coming to Farawayland, even he can’t help but remember the pain of what came before. So Sorrowbird must sing.

There are also elements of the uncanny—an eerie, otherwordliness—that creep into the story despite the cheerily idyllic life Mio now leads. That uncanniness is what Dolmenwood, the game, does so well.

My first real sense of “Dolmenwood” came in the chapter about the Well That Whispers at Night. When Mio meets Totty and his siblings, they are sitting beside a “fairy-tale” cottage and a stone well. Totty is cheerful, and his family is just as kind as all the other friends Mio meets in his father’s kingdom. But the Well is not for water. This comment from Totty immediately makes the Well mysterious. The uncanny is now introduced to what had been, just a few lines earlier, an idyllic scene.

“‘It’s the Well That Whispers at Night,’” says Totty.

A Well that Whispers. No water rests at the bottom but something else instead. Not even a someone else. It’s not a man or fairy or creature that whispers from the depths of the Well; it is the Well itself that whispers. The whispers send up their own whisperings.

I found myself shuddering a little at this moment, and yet it wasn’t meant to be scary or sinister. Still, there was something strange… that uncanniness creeping along the edges.

And the Well does whisper. Mio and the others lie down beside it and listen, and just as evening comes (for it must be evening before the Well begins to speak), they hear the whispers.

Tales are told from these whispers. Fairy tales.

I’m reminded by my British Literature students, as we study literature like Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and read a few Grimm’s tales, that fairy tales—not the modern Disney kind—are often strange and unsettling, even as they have heroic heroes and happy endings. They are weird.

So it is when the Well begins to tell its fairy tales, they are not frightening or bad—they are the very best tales, the most beautiful Mio has ever heard—but still. The moment is uncanny. There is magic here, and it feels unsettling. Why the Well whispers is never explained. How it came to be is never told. We only know that it whispers, and that one of its tales might be about Mio himself…

“‘Once upon a time there was a king’s son riding in the moonlight. He rode through the Forest of Moonbeams…’”

As soon as Mio hears this story, he can’t stop thinking about it, and this story is what sends him off, away from his father and his idyllic life. It’s almost as if the Well had put a spell upon him, as if the story both foretold his fate AND compelled him to make it true. After this whispering at the Well, Mio longs to find the Forest of Moonbeams, and from there his quest will begin.

So many of these seemingly simply things—Wells, Forests, Birds, Moonlight, Swords, Caves—are imbued with the uncanny, with an vitality that makes them special. Capitalizing them as proper nouns helps, but so do the details Lindgren includes. The description of the Dead Forest is one such instance: “We went on through the night and at last we came to a forest where there wasn’t a breath of wind and no little green leaves rustled because there wasn’t a single leaf left to rustle. There were only dead, black trunks of trees with gnarled, dead, black branches.”

The repetition here is simple but effective: “rustled,” “rustle,” “leaves,” “leaf” “dead, black trunks,” “dead, black branches.” The image is clear. It’s the “dead forest”: trees upon trees, but all of them dead. It’s a thick, tangled forest that Mio and Pompoo get lost in, but it’s the opposite of the verdant, leafy woods we’re familiar with. It’s unnatural. There might be a dead tree here and there in a woods or in our neighborhoods, but an entire forest made of “dead, black” trees is nearly impossible. The wrongness of it invites that uncanny feeling again.

I’m reminded of Tolkien’s point about how fairy-stories contain both magical elements as well as natural ones: “Faerie contains many things besides elves and fays, and beside dwarfs, witches, trolls, giants, or dragons: it holds the seas, the sun, the moon, the sky; and the earth, and all things that are in it: tree and bird, water and stone, wine and bread, and ourselves, mortal men, when we are enchanted” (“On Fairy-Stories,” 9).

Lindgren takes those natural elements and elevates them to the magical, but not by making the trees talk or the stones glow with fairy magic. Instead, she strips them to their very essence. The Forest of Moonbeams is just that: a forest filled with moonbeams. The Deepest Cave in the Blackest Mountain is exactly what its name implies. But what does Deepest really mean? What is the Blackest of Black Mountain? When Mio goes into the caves, when he loses Pompoo in the darkness, when he travels through impossibly winding paths toward the heart of the mountain, we can feel this intensity, the primacy and power of darkness. These primal elements are made manifest, and that primacy is what gives the story power.

I think about my own gaming and how I might be able to bring this primal and yet uncanny feeling to the worlds in which I play. Calling something the Deepest Cave can do something, but I’m not sure it can do everything that Lindgren does in her book.

Still, I am curious to see how inviting the Well that Whispers or the sword that cuts through stone into my Dolmenwood game might also invite more of the uncanny into the game world. A creepy whispering well (and maybe that well tells my players a story in which they are the main characters, and that story compels them to make things come true…), or a stretch of forest that is Dead like the Dead Forest (I’m thinking of the Nag-Lord’s realm), or a magic item that is the Sword That Cuts Through Stone, or a bird that always sings sorrowfully and the players want to find out why… These are all possible hooks and world-building elements that can give the Dolmenwood game a distinctly fairy-tale flavor. It doesn’t take quirky or whimsical elements to do it either. It’s as simple as Moonbeams, Darkness, Water, and Bread.

Even as the last page of the book takes us back to Andy on that lonely park bench, we too hope desperately that he might be in Farawayland. In his imagination—in every reader’s imagination— he can be Mio who fights Sir Kato, Mio who rescues the children, Mio who plays and laughs with his father the King in the Garden of Roses. This is the great work of fairy tale: the building of otherworlds. In these worlds, there are wells that whisper and horses that fly, friends who gather and bread that satisfies, quests to undertake and parents who love us.

Next month in my Year of Dolmenwood

I’ll be reading “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti.

Please join me in reading this strange and bewitching poem for March 2026. I just finished teaching it in my British Literature class, so I’m primed and ready to look more closely at the connections between the poem and the Dolmenwood RPG.

As part of my students’ work with the poem, I challenged them (for a bit of fun) to pretend they were co-writing a new song with Kate Bush. She wanted to do an adaptation of “Goblin Market,” so their assignment was to condense and transform the poem into a “Kate Bush version.” For inspiration, we watched many of her best videos (including “Wuthering Heights” of course), and my students knocked it out of the park. You better believe there was quite the chorus of “Come buy, come buy!” as they performed their songs (no interpretive dances, alas).

Year of Dolmenwood (2026)

Now that the Dolmenwood kickstarter has been fulfilled, and I am in possession of all my books and extras, I want to start running the game for family and friends.

But I don’t just want to run the game. I want to immerse myself in all things Dolmenwood. For my tastes, my aesthetic preferences, my preferred fantasy setting, and my general love of folkloric fantasy, I’ve decided to make my way through many of the inspirational media creator Gavin Norman lists in the Dolmenwood Player’s Book.

A kind of book/cinema club focused around Norman’s inspirations.

Some of the things listed in the Player’s Book are movies, TV, and books I’m intimately familiar with, but others are new to me. I’m not able to read/watch everything from the list in 2026, but I’m going to try and cover as much as I can.

Below is my tentative schedule. Feel free to read/watch along with me, and check here and on my newsletter for my reflections on each text. I’ll try to post something about the text at the end of each month. For example, I’ll post my thoughts on Mio, My Son at the end of February, “Goblin Market” at the end of March, etc.

I’d love for this to start a larger conversation about Dolmenwood RPG, folklore and fairy tale fantasy, and classic works of fantasy literature overall.

YEAR OF DOLMENWOOD SCHEDULE:

February: Mio, My Son (Astrid Lindgren)

March: “Goblin Market” (Christina Rossetti)

April: The Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories (Susanna Clarke)

May: “Smith of Wooten Major” (J.R.R. Tolkien)

June: The King of Elfland’s Daughter (Lord Dunsany)

July: Lud-in-the-Mist (by Hope Mirrless)

August: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell (Clarke)

September: The Fellowship of the Ring (part 1) (Tolkien)

October: Gormenghast (Mervyn Peake); Over the Garden Wall (dir. McHale)

November: The Green Knight (dir. Lowery); The Wicker Man (dir. Hardy)

December: Krabat (Otfried Preussler); Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell (BBC TV adaptation)

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