Natural Attacks Can Turn Your Pathfinder Character Into a Monster

The party has battled its way through the blighted forest, scaled the cliffs of the blackened reach, and now finds themselves in the den of Flame Breaker, the ancient red wyrm. The adventurers manage to survive the great beast's breath, but those who rush in foolishly find that the dragon has other, more personal weapons at its disposal. After two claws, two wings, a bite, and a tail slap, those members of the party who aren't dead are going to spend the rest of the round ducking for cover and trying to heal.

Should have brought your A-game, my tiny morsels.

While the sheer array of natural attacks a dragon can rain down on a party is impressive, it's far from the only monster in the manual that gets so many powerful strikes. What a lot of players either don't know, or totally forget about, though, is that natural attacks aren't a toy reserved for the DM. You can add them to your character, as well, and often to truly devastating effect.

What Are Natural Attacks (And How Do They Work)?

Since we're crossing into territory a lot of players never enter, let's begin at the beginning. A natural attack is when a creature has some variety of natural weapon they can attack with. This might be a bite attack for a wolf, or a slam attack for a golem, a gore for a minotaur, you get the idea. All the different types of natural attacks, and their damage by size, are listed in the Universal Monster Rules.

With me so far? Good.

There are also two types of natural attack; a primary, and a secondary. A primary natural attack is made with the creature's full base attack bonus, ability modifiers, feats, bonuses, etc. just like a regular attack would be, and it adds the creature's full strength modifier to damage. If a creature only has one natural attack, it is considered a primary attack, and it adds 1 1/2 times its strength modifier to damage. A secondary attack is made with the creature's base attack bonus -5, and only adds 1/2 the creature's strength modifier to damage.

So bite is good?

Some of you are probably nodding along, but you're not sure where this is going. Sure, getting to add 1 1/2 your strength on a bite attack is great, but your bite only does 1d4 points of damage, and you could swing a greatsword to much bigger effect.

Remember the dragon example above? All creatures with multiple natural attacks get to take all of them as part of a full-attack action. No matter what level you are.

Time For Some Examples

All righty, let's reach for some low-hanging fruit. Let's say you're playing a 2nd level alchemist, and you take the feral mutagen discovery. This grants you a bite attack that deals 1d8 damage, and 2 claw attacks that deal 1d6 damage when you imbibe your mutagen. All of these attacks are listed as primary attacks. So, even though you're only level 2, you can claw, claw, bite as a full-attack action, with each attack getting your full bonuses, tearing someone to shreds like Lon Chaney on crystal meth. Not only that, but natural attacks can be modified by feats like Weapon Focus, Weapon Specialization, Power Attack, etc.

But wait, there's more!

You're probably thinking sure, natural attacks sound pretty cool for lower-level stuff, but once I get a magic weapon they just aren't going to keep up. Hold onto your hats, folks, because you don't have to choose between your iterative attacks (the ones with weapons we're all so familiar with) and your natural attacks.

You see, you can choose to make a full-attack action using both your iterative attacks, and your natural weapons. The only catch is that, when you do this, all your natural attacks are considered secondary attacks.

How does that work? Well, let's say you're playing a level 2 barbarian with the Lesser Fiend Totem Rage Power. This means that, when you Rage, you grow a pair of horns, and gain a gore attack with them. But, because you raided a sweet dungeon, you also have a flaming greatax. No problem! First, you take your regular attack with the greatax, adding your full BAB, bonuses, etc. Then you take your attack with your horns. They're now a secondary attack, instead of a primary, so you subtract 5 from your total.

There is a caveat here, though. You cannot make natural attacks with a limb that is holding a weapon. So, the alchemist we mentioned earlier could swing a mace, then take a bite, and a claw attack, both as secondary attacks, if he wanted to, but he can't make two claw attacks because one of his hands is holding his bludgeoner. Make sense?

Of course, this can get really crazy when you start playing a brawler or a monk, and your character has several natural attacks as well. A brawler with a bite attack and two claws, for example, could declare his iterative attacks are kicking his enemies, and then he could take his three natural attacks, albeit as secondary attacks, to become a whirlwind of death. Or when you have a tiefling who's a two-weapon fighter, who also gets a gore attack, and two hoofs because of his goatish inheritance.

The Limitations of Natural Attacks

Before you get too excited, putting together a half-human, half-beast death machine, it's important to remember that natural attacks have limits in what they can do. For example, lots of spells that grant weapon bonuses do not grant those bonuses to natural attacks. When you buy magical enhancements, you'll need to get an amulet of mighty fists in order to add magic to your strikes. Additionally, you may need to eat up several feat slots taking things like eldritch claws or improved natural attack and multiattack (the latter two are found in the Bestiary under "Monster Feats") in order to make sure your attacks keep pace with the monsters you're fighting.

Whatever they happen to be.

It is important to remember, though, your natural attacks aren't something that can be disarmed, and you always have them with you. Also, they benefit from class features like favored enemy, smite, and sneak attack the same way any other weapon would. So if using a lot of natural attacks is something you want to do (especially in conjunction with two-weapon fighting to get all the attacks in), you might want to see how you can turn your body into a weapon.

Some Ways You Can Get Natural Attacks

For those of you who've read this far who are wondering how to make natural attacks a part of your character, there are a lot of ways you can acquire them. Here are just a few of the more common ones you won't have to beg your DM for too hard.

- Rage Powers: Powers like the lesser fiend totem, beast totem, and animal fury grant you natural attacks while raging (gore, claws, and bite respectively). It's also worth noting that the greater beast totem grants you pounce, which could be a nightmare for anyone caught at the end of your charge attack.

- Mutagen: The feral mutagen mentioned in the example above is another great way to get a full bevy of natural attacks. If you're planning on taking levels of Master Chymist, it also allows you to hit harder, and hurt more, with those natural attacks.

- Class Features: Several sorcerer bloodlines grant natural attacks for a certain period of time at lower levels. Draconic sorcerers, or those who take levels in Dragon Disciple, will gain claws and a bite for a certain amount of time during the day. Druids who use their wild shape will gain the natural attacks of the creatures they become. Rangers can choose to take the natural weapon fighting style, which doesn't grant natural attacks itself, but it does give you access to feats which do, like Aspect of The Beast.

- Racial Features: This is where most natural attacks come from, because to have them all the time you've got to be born with them. Races that gain natural attacks, or have the option to gain natural attacks include orcs and half-orcs (bite), catfolk (claws), tieflings (variety of natural attacks, with racial feats), skinwalkers (bite, claws, or gore, typically), Tengu (bite, and sometimes others), and goblins (bite). There are other available races that get, or can get, natural attacks, but these are some of the more common ones.

- Magic Items: Though not common, there are some magic items that grant natural attacks. The Demon Hand, in particular, grants you a natural claw attack that's one size category bigger than you. The only requirement is that you have to replace your hand with a demon hand. This was one of my favorites mentioned in Replacing Lost Limbs With Magical Prosthetics in Pathfinder.

- Feats: There are a lot of feats that grant natural attacks to certain races or classes. Aspect of the Beast lets druids gain natural attacks, while Razortusk gives orcs and half-orcs a bite attack if they swapped out the racial feature.

For those who've been missing my long-winded crunch lists, hopefully this week gave you plenty to chew over. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, then why not drop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today? For as little as $1 a month, I  can keep the faucet open, and the flow coming straight to you. Also, if you haven't started stalking my updates yet, why not follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter?

Calm Down, No One is Taking Your Games Away

I've been running this blog for a few years now, and I've been fortunate to attract a much bigger audience than I ever thought I'd manage. Also, because keeping my readers happy is something I like to do, I pay attention to the comments and feedback my posts generate. Especially the ones that end up with a lot of views, and which generate a lot of attention. Because while I love gaming, I also have bills to pay. There is something I've noticed, though, and I'd like to address it here. Something that I would like everyone who sees this to read, internalize, and remember the next time I say or publish something you disagree with as a player or a DM.

Now listen very, very carefully.

I am a yutz on the Internet with a blog and an opinion. I have no power over you.

So do your best Fonzie impersonation, and chill the hell out.

No One's Taking Your Games Away... Least of All Me

One of the most common negative comments left on my posts goes something like, "it's SJWs/overthinkers/politically correct/negative adjective people like you who are ruining gaming. Shut up, and stop trying to take away my fun."

Now, those kinds of comments are usually left on controversial posts like Sexuality Matters in Roleplaying Games (And Here's Why), or The 5 RPG Characters We Should All Stop Playing, but sometimes they're left on more innocuous posts. Posts which are expressly suggestions for how you could play a class, or which offer alternatives to the traditional views we've had of certain fantasy RPG mainstays. Posts which aren't telling anyone to do anything, but simply pointing out that there is often more than one way to do something, especially if you think outside the beginner box.

Like how I can rock 9 samurai levels like it ain't no thing.

Here's the truth of the matter, ladies and gentlemen; nothing I say has any authority behind it. I am not the lead designer or creator on any of the games I talk about, and I don't have the ability to force anyone to play any RPG in a certain way. I am simply writing my thoughts on gaming down on this blog, and hoping that other players and DMs find them helpful.

If you find what I have to say really helpful, then take it and run with it! If you don't find it useful, then that's fine, too. If you feel compelled to have a discussion over an article I've written, or you want to express your own opinion to me, that's what I have a contact button for. But if your breast swells with outrage, and you think that proclaiming I'm "wrong" because that's not how you do it at your table will have an effect, then please stop.

You're only making me more powerful.

The Irony of Outrage

I'm guessing most of my regular readers don't read my sister blog, The Literary Mercenary. If you have and you've already seen the post How to Make Money as a Writer (By Embracing Your Inner Troll), then you've already learned the lesson I'm about to lay out. If you haven't, and didn't click-through to get the full explanation, here's the cliff notes version of why slinging your outrage into the comments section (especially on social media) is a terrible idea.

If you want to hurt, not help, my numbers, anyway.

Here's how the process of being a blogger works. I write a blog post, edit it, and then publish it. The next day I post it up in the forums and social media pages which have proved receptive to my work in the past. People who approve of the posts will like them, share them, and leave comments on them. That last one is important, because whenever there are new comments on the Paizo forums, or on a Facebook group, my post is pushed up to the top of the order. That means more people are going to see it, and the views it gets go up. In fact, social media sites like FB will also inform the commenter's friends, which will give them a chance to see what it is that caught Ralph's attention.

Now, if you see something you don't like, the best way to make sure it doesn't get any bigger is to walk on by and ignore it. Sort of like Freddy Krueger, content creators lose their power when no one knows who they are. If, on the other hand, your first reaction is to immediately post a whole bunch of comments about how the poster is just out to steal your fun, and they're playing the game wrong, and they're pushing politics into your storytelling circles, all you're doing is making that post more visible. If you add to the mess by sharing the link on your own page, possibly with the message of, "it's assholes like this that are what's wrong with gaming," then all you've done is increased the number of people who've seen the post. And the more page views the post gets, the more money the creator gets, and the more people know about that person's blog.

It is in my best interests to court outrage at every turn, because it's good for my pocket book. But I think it would be better for us, as a community, to step back, take a breath, and ask why we feel the need to lash out when someone suggests we could play differently? Not that we have to play differently, but that we can if we want to.

As always, thanks for stopping in to see what I have to say on my Monday updates. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, then why not go to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today? All it takes is $1 a month to help me keep the content flowing. Also, if you haven't already, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter to stay up-to-date on my latest creations.

That One Time I Brought Calvinball to a Changeling LARP

So, we finally finished The Saga of Majenko (all 10 parts of it), so I thought this week we could all use a Pathfinder palate cleanser. For those who don't know, in addition to slinging dice across a tabletop, I'm also a fan of World of Darkness live-action games. I've been an on-again-off-again player in Mind's Eye Society's Changeling: The Lost venue. While I currently play in the Chicago venue, the story I'd like to tell took place in DeKalb, back when it was a hopping place to be. And, I like to think, it shows the sheer willingness of some members of the ST staff to run with any concept that came their way.

No matter how oddball it was.

And boy did WE have a doozy.

Of Changelings and Calvinball

For those of you unfamiliar with Lost as a game, let me give you the crash course. You are a mortal who was stolen by a being of god-like power called a True Fae. While in their realm, you were twisted and altered to become something else. You managed to escape, in time, and find your way back to the real world. What you find is that the world has become strange to you, and you now have to make a new life for yourself, altered as you are by faerie magic.

So, it's basically a modern-day fairy tale with a heavy dose of cthonian horror. Solid? Solid.

As a player, one of the things that appealed to me most about Changeling in the new World of Darkness setting was that you could do nearly anything. You want to play a comic book character who finds himself in the real world, and uses his powers to fight injustice? You can do that. You want to play a slick-talking businessman whose words can cloud people's minds, and who can read the skeins of fate in order to turn every investment into solid gold? You can do that too. Psychotic homeless shapeshifter? Bounty-hunting wolfman? Dragon who is also a prosecuting attorney? These are all concepts you can make right out of the gate, with no special permissions from the storytellers, and no paperwork required.

The idea I had was a little stranger, and I got two friends to go in on it with me.

Don't hate the players, hate The Game.

One of the big things that Lost took from Irish mythology was that True Fae love games. Games are how a lot of mortals end up getting taken in the first place, and it's also how a lot of changelings end up escaping their keeper's clutches. What I wanted to do was to create a sport that would appeal to the nonsensical, solipsistic nature of the True Fae. A game where the rules could change from one breath to another, and where players would need to operate at a level of superhuman skill in order to follow all of the constant fluctuations of fouls and goals. A game where winning once would be a triumph of will, and where never losing was all-but-impossible.

In short, I wanted to play Calvinball, from the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes.

To drive the ridiculousness of the idea home, the team of players we had were serious business. Two ogres and an elemental, all of them rippling with muscle, and with a fanatic devotion to their sport typically only seen in certain World Cup games. They called it The Game, and were confused no one else had ever heard of it. The Summer Court, who was in full attendance, wanted to play.

The three players agreed, handed the referee's whistle to the mute Harlequin from the Winter Court (because who else would we possibly give it to?), and we all turned to the storyteller.

This Was Where The Magic Happened

Some storytellers would look at this, and shake their head because it wasn't serious enough. Others would look at the backstories, realize that one of the unshakeable rules of The Game in Arcadia was that the losers were put to death, and decide this was too serious (even if the Aztec-style victory celebration was no longer a requirement now that they'd escaped). The storyteller running this particular game gave us a huge smile, and said, "All right, let's do this!"

Queensbury rules, motherfuckers!

The storyteller added up each team's physical stats, athletics dots, and bonuses gained from activated powers, as well as kith and seeming blessings. Then he pulled randomly to decide how the rules were going to affect each team. We were tied. Then we started spending Willpower. When that was said and done, we were still tied. Then, before there could be a deciding victory one way or another, an outside force (another player who wasn't in the competition at all) swooped down, and stole the ball.

For the first time in the history of The Game, there was a tie. Not only that, but in a venue where outsiders are looked upon with distrust (and occasionally with outright hostility), three new PCs with no ties and no history were immediately embraced as if we were all long-lost friends.

Which really goes to show that sometimes all it takes is a zany idea, crazy players, and a brilliant storytelling staff, to create some truly remarkable memories. Also, in case you were curious, that was not the last time The Game was played in that particular venue.

As always, thanks for stopping in to listen to my ramblings! If you're more of a Pathfinder or tabletop player, rest assured, I've still got one or two more stories up my sleeve. If you'd like to support Improved Initiative, then stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page. All it takes is $1 a month for me to keep getting hot, fresh content right on your screen. Also, if you want to stay up-to-date on my latest, then follow me at Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter.

Check Out Chaotic Animations For Classic Animation With Attitude

So, as a resident of the stranger corners of the Internet, I run into a lot of cool projects that no one's heard of. Recently I came across a small animation group who's trying to provide all of us with stories we want to hear, and to present them in a tone that will jangle our nostalgia bells. If you've ever been a fan of old-fashioned Disney cartoons, then you need to check out The Forgotten Toon.

Now, that little video is just a proof of concept from Chaotic Animations. And while they'd love to do more with both this story, and with others they have waiting on their drawing boards, it takes a lot of time, effort, and support to create full-fledged animation. Way more than it takes for almost any other kind of project out there. Which is why I'm doing my part to help boost their signal, and asking my readers to check them out. If you like what you see, then become a subscriber to stay on top of their latest offerings. If you find their videos amusing, rate them, and share them with a few friends. If you're feeling particularly daring, say something nice in the comments. Trust me, it takes serious fortitude to step out onto that no-man's-land with a positive attitude.

We have someone offering encouragement... permission to engage?

For those of you who really want to see where Chaotic Animations is going, though, you can also check out their Patreon page. Every little bit helps, as I like to remind folks.

Speaking of helping, if you'd like to keep Improved Initiative going, then stop on by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page as well. As little as $1 a month will keep my posts coming right to you, and I never charge for these little Monday updates. Also, if you want to stay on top of all my latest updates, then be sure to follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, too.

The Unexpected Barbarian

Alvin Dragonborn is one of the most infamous of the realm's crown princes. A tall, broad-shouldered youth, his handsome face is nearly as famed as the powerful sword arm he loves to show off at tournaments. That dragon on his shield and armor isn't just for show, however. Those who've come to grips with the princeling in field melees have said that when the horn blows and battle is joined, his eyes glow bright within his helm. Scales and claws spring out over his arms, and his roars are more those of a beast than of a man.

Because, contrary to popular belief, you can find barbarians anywhere. If you look hard enough for them.

Sometimes you don't even have to look very hard.

How Can You Do That?

The example I opened with isn't some unusual archetype, or some multiclass concept. As long as you take a feat like Noble Scion at level one, or even a trait like Prince/Princess, you have the character's noble background taken care of. At that point all you need to do is take barbarian levels, the same as you would with any other warrior of passion.

Problem?

I can hear the clearing of throats, and the, "actually, you can't," warm-ups already, so allow me to quote Pathfinder's core rule book. On page 31, the barbarian class description boasts this line, "These brutal warriors might rise from all walks of life, both civilized and savage..."

What that means, ladies and gentlemen of the dice cup, is that there is no restriction on where barbarians come from. While you can take the Urban Barbarian archetype if you want to change-up your Rage, you aren't required to do so just to play a city character with barbarian levels. If you want to play a back-alley bruiser, a war hero, a noble champion, or even a fist of the church (a role typically fulfilled by a paladin, warpriest, or cleric), you can do it with the barbarian class. In fact, with the right traits, and perhaps a level dip in another class, it's possible to make up for the barbarian's lack of skills, while still enjoying Rage Powers, a banging Fortitude save, decent armor proficiencies, and the ability to swing one hell of a big ax.

It's also important to remember that the barbarian class isn't reserved specifically for humans. Sure, we've seen our share of barbarian half-orcs, but what else could you do with it? Make a dwarven shield captain, whose Rage Powers are all about goading his enemies into attacking (which is a nasty combination when put together with the Stalwart Defender prestige class)? Perhaps you'd prefer an elven dervish that's part of Kyonin's elite guards, and who turns into a whirlwind of steel when battle is joined, sundering enemies' shields and armor with hammer blows from her curved blade? Perhaps a tiefling barbarian enlisted in the Worldwound crusade, turning his passions and deadly inherited powers, against the forces of the abyss who helped birth him?

Barbarian is Not a Job Description

As I mentioned in What's in a Name? How Your Character's Class is Limiting Your Creativity, no one goes around calling himself a barbarian. This is especially true if someone says, "so, what skills do you bring to this endeavor?"

There are so many different ways you can describe yourself.

 

The thing that barbarians all share, based on the class description, is a passion, and a fury, that is only truly unleashed in combat. However, the places barbarians come from are as wide and varied as the forms their Rage takes, once it's let loose to ravage the battlefield.

If you enjoyed this post, but you're still looking for inspiration, you might want to check out 5 Tips For Playing Better Barbarians, as well as 50 Shades of Rage: Flavoring The Barbarian's Signature Power.

Also, for those who are interested, Prince Alvin Dragonsborn is now a part of Dungeon Keeper Radio! Check out his debut in the first episode of Mythconceptions monthly, "Barbaric Assumptions."

Like, Follow, and Stay Tuned For More!

That's all for this installment of Unusual Character Concepts. Hopefully this one gave you something to chew over, whether you're a player, or a game master.

For more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, and stop by the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio. Or if you'd prefer to read some of my books, like my alley cat noir novel Marked Territory, my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife or my most recent collection of short stories The Rejects, then head over to My Amazon Author Page!

To stay on top of all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, and now Pinterest as well! To support my work, consider Buying Me a Ko-Fi, or heading to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron. That one helps ensure you get more Improved Initiative, and it means you'll get my regular, monthly giveaways as a bonus!

When Did We Stop Trusting Our Dungeon Masters?

As some of you no doubt know, I was at Capricon on Valentine's Day weekend. I've been on that convention's programming schedule for a few years now, but this was the first year I was on panels about roleplaying games. I was surprised to find them at a sci-fi convention, more surprised by how well-attended they were, and even further surprised by the attitudes of the audiences.

Specifically I noticed a trend which, now that I'm looking at it, I should have seen before. Simply put, the older the edition a gamer started with, the more likely that player is to trust the DM. The newer an edition, the less likely a gamer was to just take the DM's word for it.

You triggered the trap. No I'm not showing you the die. Take 25 damage.

The Issue of Player Trust

I'll give you an example. A little less than a year ago, I wrote a post titled Should You Use A DM Screen? There were two types of responses to that post, with almost nothing in between. The people in the first group said, "of course you should, the screen is there to help you keep the story going." The second group said, "no, any DM who tries to hide his die rolls from you isn't someone you should play with."

So much fear, over such a little thing.

This break down in trust, I think, comes from how the DM's role has altered over time. In older editions, the rules were pretty fast and loose, which meant that the DM was a much more hands-on influence in the game. As games evolved, though, they became more codified. While there are a lot of games out there which are light on the crunch, games like Pathfinder and Dungeons and Dragons chose to spell out the rules for practically everything in specific terms.

That means if a player wants to tumble past an enemy to get on his weak side, he doesn't have to ask the DM to randomly set a difficulty; it's already in the book. If a player wants to climb a wall, intimidate a foe, or craft a specific magic item, those things are all in place already. While the DM still has the power to make things harder, or to do things differently, the mechanics in the book have already been carefully balanced and tested. In many situations, it would be like building your own bike from scratch when there's a perfectly functional BMX already sitting in your garage.

Because players know so much of how the game functions (if they read the manual, at least), there's also this idea that they're on a more even footing with the DM. Sure, the DM can still choose the monsters, the weather, and the terrain, but there's a sense that the rules apply to every character on the board, and that everyone should be held to the same standard. So, when the DM rolls dice behind a screen, there's no guarantee that the DM isn't just making up numbers. When a player puts in the crunch time to build a powerful character by the rules, there's something galling about the idea that the DM can just say "no, it hits you," or, "no, you miss," regardless of your efforts as a player.

The Advantages of The Unknown

On the other hand, the DM screen is a valuable tool for creating tension, and for keeping a story going. Even something as simple as making the rogue's Perception checks behind the screen can keep the party guessing. Even if you never once fudge the dice, either for or against your party, not letting the party see the number on the die takes away their ability to extrapolate what a monster's AC really is, and it cuts off any metagaming when they roll a natural 1 on the die, and are told they don't see any traps.

I check again... for no particular reason.

The same is true of almost any situation. If you're in the middle of combat, and you roll a die behind the screen, your players are focused on how the dragon's claw slammed into the ground bare inches in front of the fighter, glancing off his shield. The implication there is that the fighter's shield bonus to his AC is all that saved him from the beast's claws. Even better, there's no 5 on the D20 for players to see and think "oh god, it nearly hit our tank on a 5... we're so screwed!"

And, while not required, there is the ability for a DM screen to change the way the story is going. If, for instance, random orc #4 rolls a natural 20 against the party wizard, then the DM can just say it was a regular hit. Or, if he's feeling generous, that it was a near hit, but the ax tore through the mage's robe, glancing off his protective barrier of magical force at the last second. That isn't an option you have available when the entire table saw you roll that natural 20, and you're at a "let the dice fall where they may," sort of table.

Can You Get Your Players To Trust You?

All too often a DM's attitude is, "it's my game, so it's my way or the highway," but if there's a trust issue between the players and the DM, that's just going to throw kerosene on the blaze. So, instead, it's important to discuss how you want to do it in your game during your Session 0.

If you're unfamiliar with this idea, Session 0 is basically where you lay out what you want to do as a DM, including the game you're playing, house rules you're putting into play, restrictions you want, and of course, how you intend to roll your dice. For more about this, in case you haven't been doing it at your table, check out The Importance of "Session 0" in Your Tabletop Games.

Some groups will simply never agree.

If you have players who want you to roll your dice out in the open, and as a DM you'd rather keep them to yourself, that's something you should talk out. Ask, for instance, why your players want that. Is it just during combat they want to see the dice? Or is it all the time? And is it just because that's the way they've always played, or because they don't trust you to give them the straight dope on what actually happened?

There's a lot of ways that conversation can go, but it's something you need to have settled before you start your campaign. Additionally, there's nothing that says you can't start one way, and then change it if the table agrees they don't like it.

And if you're the sort of DM who can't get his or her groove on with/without a screen in front of you? Well, then make sure your players know that's part of the deal when you extend the invitation. That way you know, up-front, whether it's going to become an issue.

As always, thanks for stopping in to see what I have to say. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, then stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page. Even a pledge of $1 a month can make a big difference. Lastly, if you want to keep up to date on my latest posts, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter.

Want to Play a Ninja, But Your DM Said No? Call it "The Agent" Instead

So, back in 2015 I published a fairly well-circulated entry titled Want to Play a Samurai, But Your DM Said No? Try Calling it a Knight Instead! There was a lot of discussion on both sides of the issue, but the main point I was trying to drive home was that, unless your class is specifically tied to a place in the world's canon, it's just a name used to refer to a set of skills. For example, in Pathfinder, a Red Mantis Assassin is a specific member, of a specific organization, which lives and trains on a specific island. A Hellknight, or an Eagle Knight, is tied to a specific country, and has to follow the orders and edicts of the in-game organization. Even a Harrower is part of a particular tradition that is prominent in the nation of Varisia, and among its native peoples.

No base classes have that inherent tie to a certain section of the world.

"None of them." - David Stonefist, Ulfen Wizard

We, both as players and as DMs, tend to see character classes in terms of tradition, and the art style of the iconic character. That impression can be hard to shake off, which is why characters who subvert stereotypes can leave you asking, "how can you do that?"

For example, a heavily-scarred half-orc with a lash at his hip and a take-no-prisoners attitude could be a bard just as easily as a fighter. The bare-chested brawler with a cestus on his right hand might be a monk, or he might be a magus, suckering his opponents in close before hitting them with a spellstrike. The tall, broad-shouldered princeling with the dragon crest on his masterwork armor might have been born into a house of privilege, but his blood bred true, which is why his character sheet says he's a level 5 barbarian.

Which brings us to the ninja, and why they don't have to be what you think they are.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Let us break down this class for a moment, and ask what it does. It is a skill-heavy class meant for infiltration, whose combat focuses on tactics and unexpected strikes, and which undergoes rigorous training in order to master extraordinary and supernatural tricks. Masters of disguise, these characters are one-half monk, and one-half hitman.

Sound like someone familiar?

Take a moment, and ask yourself how you'd feel about this class if it was called The Agent, or The Spy. Or if we gave it a fancier title, like The Hidden Hand or The Shadowstalker. None of those has changed the mechanical capabilities of this class... but what they have done is removed a term many people use to try and tie the class to a specific region, and culture, in the game world.

Now, let's say you create a character that is a cultural ninja. The character is an agent in the employ of Tian-Xia, spies for the government, and uses her skills to infiltrate secure structures to steal secrets, or assassinate targets. That character doesn't necessarily have to have ninja levels. She might, instead, be a rogue. Or an alchemist. Or a ranger. Or some combination of those things, with another class entirely. The name of the class doesn't mean anything in-character; it's just a handy way to refer to a particular package of abilities.

Final Thoughts

This isn't a new issue, and it isn't one that's going to be resolved one way or another any time soon. But I do have one more point that always crop up whenever I talk about this issue, as I found to my surprise when I wrote What's In A Name? How Your Character's Class is Limiting Your Creativity.

Your character class isn't supposed to be an in-game term for people with your skill set. It is something that exists as a meta concept to allow us to talk about the game mechanics that underlay the roleplaying that is supposed to be going on. Sometimes this is clearer than others.

Case in point.

For example, we all pretty much acknowledge that no one goes around calling himself a rogue. No one claims to be a barbarian, especially not when they're making a case for why they should be hired to do a job. A character with ranger class levels might think of herself as a woods guide, or a trail warden, and an elite scout might call himself a ranger as a military designation that has nothing to do with his class levels.

This gets hinky when it comes to other classes, though. Wizards are the easiest example. In character or out of character, a wizard is a wizard at most tables. Also, despite their rarity, many gamers feel that a paladin will be called a paladin in-game, regardless of the nation they hail from, the creed they follow, or even the languages they speak. There is no way to completely eliminate this in-game appropriation of out-of-game terms that I can think of. However, eliminating as many meta terms from in-game usage as possible can lead to much more satisfying, much more inquisitive, games. And if you invert expectations, players are less likely to take things at face value, and to think of them in meta terms.

For example, the next time your players have to seek out the Dean of Conjuration at a wizard's college, make that character a sorcerer. If they're having a meeting with the head of the thieves' guild, make the actual leader the hulking thug with barbarian levels everyone thinks is there as muscle. For added points, put a decoy behind a desk who is a stereotypical slick-talking con man, but who is much further down the chain of command. And if they're seeking out a cleric, direct them to the unassuming fellow who lives in the low district who ministers to the poor. He isn't a priest, but for some reason the gods chose to work through him.

Thanks to everyone who stopped in, and I hope you found this week's Fluff update useful. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, then stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today! As little as $1 a month helps me keep the faucet turned on, and the content flowing your way. Lastly, if you want to keep up-to-date on all my releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter.