Having studied or tried every edition of D&D (including Pathfinder), I find myself exhausted by the later super-crunchy rule sets. For me, at least, they stifle creativity and dampen enthusiasm.
So many different ways to tell a player what their character can and cannot do at any given time during a game. Personally, I don't want to be browsing my character sheet in search of my next action in the middle of an encounter. I also don't want to be planning my brand-new 1st level character's entire career out to 20th level while I'm wading through skills and feats.
My anxiety and OCD really don't like those systems. D&D was a dream come true for me. A game of creativity. An area where I could shine. At least, that was how it would be at first.
I'm told (in no uncertain terms) that the countless class options, race options, skills, feats, and advantages allow for more creativity and individuality. It is possible I will never truly agree with this. I feel all of that simply offers more and more tiny pigeonholes in which to stuff a character. I guess I just don't need to be told every single little thing my character can and should be able to do. It's probably because I have always been a DM far more than a player. I'm used to a minimum level of trust in my ability to make decisions and come up with solutions to problems.
My wife did not grow up playing D&D - despite spending her childhood not terribly far from Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. By the time she met me and got dragged into playing the game, we were using the D20 System of rules. She learned D&D by possibly the most unnecessarily complex means necessary. It turned her off a bit to running characters that used magic - as that was a rules-heavy option with a lot of choices to be made. Still, she created characters and ran them in my campaigns. She only really learned the rules that applied to her own character. I honestly couldn't blame her for that. The Player's Handbook is essentially a colorful textbook with more pages than strictly necessary. During the game, my wife would come up with practical solutions to in-game problems. It warmed my heart to see her play the game.
The party comes to an ancient rope bridge spanning a bottomless chasm. They start to carefully cross the bridge. From the far side, a rust monster comes into view. Smelling the tasty metal worn and carried by the party - the rust monster starts across the bridge. Panic ensues.
My wife is running a fighting character that happens to be wearing non-metallic armor and wielding non-metallic weapons. She rushes forward and grapples with the rust monster, lifts it up, and carries it to the far end of the bridge - where she dumps a pile of disposable metal items like iron spikes and extra daggers for the creature to eat. Thus distracted, the monster allows the rest of the group to pass.
No, she didn't have Animal Handling. She didn't have some kind of specialized wrestling feat. She just saw the problem and came up with a logical solution. And it worked. Had she stopped to consult her character sheet, things would probably have gone very differently - but not necessarily in a good way. There was nothing on her character sheet to prompt the very simple reaction that she employed to such good measure. Certainly not the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom-inspired plan the rest of the party had been about to settle upon. Rust monsters have no hands with which to grip - how could this possibly fail?
I'm not a cranky grognard lamenting the destruction of my beloved game. I'll play your fancy, newfangled fantasy games. I've run my campaign using 3.0, 3.5, and 3.75 edition rules. For the most part, it went well. I don't begrudge players their preferred editions of the game - though I have had plenty of forward-thinking gamers tell me how wrong I am for preferring older editions. I just don't agree that D20 is the best. And, I definitely feel it tends to stifle creativity by defining everything in terms of modifiers and challenge levels. I didn't get excited about D&D for the math - I'm in it for the adventure. I'm also not one to cut a rope to spite my face.
So many different ways to tell a player what their character can and cannot do at any given time during a game. Personally, I don't want to be browsing my character sheet in search of my next action in the middle of an encounter. I also don't want to be planning my brand-new 1st level character's entire career out to 20th level while I'm wading through skills and feats.
My anxiety and OCD really don't like those systems. D&D was a dream come true for me. A game of creativity. An area where I could shine. At least, that was how it would be at first.
I'm told (in no uncertain terms) that the countless class options, race options, skills, feats, and advantages allow for more creativity and individuality. It is possible I will never truly agree with this. I feel all of that simply offers more and more tiny pigeonholes in which to stuff a character. I guess I just don't need to be told every single little thing my character can and should be able to do. It's probably because I have always been a DM far more than a player. I'm used to a minimum level of trust in my ability to make decisions and come up with solutions to problems.
My wife did not grow up playing D&D - despite spending her childhood not terribly far from Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. By the time she met me and got dragged into playing the game, we were using the D20 System of rules. She learned D&D by possibly the most unnecessarily complex means necessary. It turned her off a bit to running characters that used magic - as that was a rules-heavy option with a lot of choices to be made. Still, she created characters and ran them in my campaigns. She only really learned the rules that applied to her own character. I honestly couldn't blame her for that. The Player's Handbook is essentially a colorful textbook with more pages than strictly necessary. During the game, my wife would come up with practical solutions to in-game problems. It warmed my heart to see her play the game.
The party comes to an ancient rope bridge spanning a bottomless chasm. They start to carefully cross the bridge. From the far side, a rust monster comes into view. Smelling the tasty metal worn and carried by the party - the rust monster starts across the bridge. Panic ensues.
My wife is running a fighting character that happens to be wearing non-metallic armor and wielding non-metallic weapons. She rushes forward and grapples with the rust monster, lifts it up, and carries it to the far end of the bridge - where she dumps a pile of disposable metal items like iron spikes and extra daggers for the creature to eat. Thus distracted, the monster allows the rest of the group to pass.
No, she didn't have Animal Handling. She didn't have some kind of specialized wrestling feat. She just saw the problem and came up with a logical solution. And it worked. Had she stopped to consult her character sheet, things would probably have gone very differently - but not necessarily in a good way. There was nothing on her character sheet to prompt the very simple reaction that she employed to such good measure. Certainly not the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom-inspired plan the rest of the party had been about to settle upon. Rust monsters have no hands with which to grip - how could this possibly fail?
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