#deathtrap dungeon

[bizarrobrain]

Was it Good? - Deathtrap Dungeon - Josh Strife Plays

[domjordanillustration]

trap sprung

[retrocgads]

USA 1997

[all-action-all-picture]

Deathtrap Dungeon by Ian Livingstone. Fighting Fantasy Gamebook No. 6 from 1984. Cover and interior illustrations by Iain McCaig.

[playstationgamemania]

[miaqc1]

[ninebaalart]

Red Lotus

deathtrap dungeon is a really neat little ps1 title with some excellent touches

[downthetubes]

Fighting Fantasy Fest returns in September, celebrating 40th anniversary of "Deathtrap Dungeon"

Fighting Fantasy Fest is back in September, to mark 40 years of Sir Ian Livingstone's bestselling Fighting Fantasy gamebook, Deathtrap Dungeon.

[richardcowen]

Review: Fighting Fantasy 6: Deathtrap Dungeon

[vintagerpg]

This is Deathtrap Equalizer Dungeon, the second Tunnels & Trolls adventure module, and one that saw several printings. The first two pictures are from the spiral bound 1977 edition, the second set of two from the revised 1981 edition. It is cool to see both the Flying Buffalo production value increase and to see how Liz Danforth’s skill as an illustrator evolved over the four years between the two versions.

I said adventure module, but really, this is an adventure gamebook meant for solo play. It is, I believe, the first “teleport” adventure, in which a quest master—in this case the demon, Umslopagaas of the Shiny Teeth, the fellow on the cover—blinks you in, around and out dungeon situations, rather than adhering to more prosaic methods of exploration and traversal. There are two modes, the frog trail and the lion trail. Frog adventurers dip in to test themselves in a single encounter, where lions proceed through the gauntlet of all sixteen.

The encounters offer a variety of challenges, many of which break the conventional rules of the game (hence the “equalizer” in the title). I don’t really know what to make of it. Characters were supposed to move through a series of solos in T&T, growing as they go, but the teleportation here seems at odds with, say, exploring the City of Terrors or even taking part in the battles of Arena of Khazan. You can use the frog ring multiple times to minimize risk and maximize reward, sort of a gamebook version of save scumming or XP farming. S’weird. On the other hand, this is literally the second adventure gamebook published, after Buffalo Castle, so it seems wrong to hold it a super high standard.

[thathomestar]

this might have been a pb if i hadn't been watching a video

[dailyadventureprompts]

See You Back at the Bonfire: Checkpoint Based Resurrection in D&D

Artsource

Between doing a writeup on soulsborne inspired campaign settings and another on the oldschool/newschool disparity between challenge and story, I got to thinking about death and its place in gamified narratives. Darksouls was the obvious influence, but I couldn't help but think of Dungeon Meshi, World of Warcraft, and supergiant's Hades.

Back in the day death was common in d&d, the challenges were unforgiving and the characters were expendable as they were simple. High level might as well have meant "high scoring", as the rewards for overcoming deathtraps and monsters with save-or-die abilities were directly translated into character progression. Death in this instance amounted to a combo breaker, being sent back to square 1 in a roguelike to do it all again. Over time though we started getting attached to our avatars, especially those of us who played primarily for story, leading characters to become too emotionally or mechanically complicated to feed into the blender.

This leaves the modern DM in a bit of a lurch: death by mooks or misadventure denies a satisfying (or heartwrenching) endpoint to the story you're collectively telling with your players. Look no further than Critical Role, where there are a small number of plot-meaningful deaths ( Vexhalia in the Tomb, Mollymauk to the Iron Shepards) and then a much larger tally of obligatory moments where someone fails one too many death saves and requires the use of a spell slot. The DM is forced to play with gloves on much of the time, holding back from creating real challenges because they don't want to kill any of their characters at the wrong time.

What I’d like to propose is that when it comes to challenge vs story we can have the best of both worlds if we’re a little more freehanded when it comes to resurrection. It'll take some tinkering and it won't fit for every story, but as a baseline assumption to the d&d formula, I think it could be quite useful.

How It'd Work: If someone dies before their appointed time , their body can be brought to a local temple to have the gift of life restored to them. Temples of their own deity are thought to work best, but lifegiving deities like Pelor or Illmater are known to be quite freehanded when it comes to raising the dead, and even small countryside shrines are known to work in a pinch. The resurrection may not work if the body is damaged, desecrated, or incomplete, though sometimes the spirit is simply incapable or unwilling to return.

For adventuresome types, this means that if you bite it while exploring the wilderness or some dank ruin you best hope your companions like you enough to drag your corpse back to the nearest altar. Likewise hope that you've kept on good terms with that god. If your entire party wipes, there's a chance for a good samaritan (or enterprising corpse picker) to help you out, though they'll usually help themselves to what's in your pockets in the meantime.

Some temples also sell rare tokens or burnable offerings that can transform any mundane campfire into a one-use resurrection altar, though the expendable nature of these charms mean they are in high demand.

Behind the scenes: what we've done here is turn character death from a plot derailer into a plot generator. Whenever someone in your party dies, it's your excuse to introduce new npcs, questhooks, and worldbuilding. Hades uses this trick to soften the blow of defeat with story progression, and DunMeshi uses it to build out the setting.

We can likewise take a point of inspiration from soulsborne games which use the player's desire to find a safety granting bonfire to spur exploration; What's the first thing the party are going to when hitting a new settlement after renting a room at the inn? Check out the neighbourhood temples to see which of the local gods is sympathetic to them. Same thing with seeking out the shrine nearest to the dungeon entrance before descending lower to face greater threats, which has them engaging with the location's story while discovering a minor questhook to endear themselves to the shrine god.

This is also to say nothing of all the fun adventure-fodder surrounding the mechanics including all the delightful "came back wrong" possibilities.

Finally let's talk about some gameplay assumptions: It's a tricky art building d&d encounters, especially since 5e play tends to default towards having fewer encounters per day, meaning a greater importance on these encounters being more challenging. This is a problem that I and many other DMs have wrestled with; finding the right degree of challenge for the encounter to be meanacing and meaningful, but without going so far as to risk an unexpected character death derailing my game. There's only so many permadeaths a player (and a story) can endure, to say nothing of the narrative killing tpk, which can scrap months of investment and storytelling potential.

Videogame designers figured out this balancing act of narrative and risk a long time ago, bumping characters back to a checkpoint when the player is overwhelmed by a challenge. The Soulsborne franchise built it's reputation on this "If at first you don't succeed, die, die again" mentality, which let them build the challenging ( read: engaging) gameplay the series is known for. Games like Hades go so far as to make this reset a centeral point of furthering the plot, allowing the narrative to expand with each stumble along the player's insurmountable climb.

By allowing characters to be easily revived, we end up with the best of both worlds when it comes to narrative vs. difficulty. The encounters we build can be more challenging in the moment if we know we won't accidently end a campaign if the dice get mean. This also makes players more likely to make big swings and try for optional content knowing the campaign less likely to end if they fuck up.

While some people might take umbrage with the idea of making resurrection commonplace, D&D already allows for characters to be revived though in-game mechanics at the cost of cleric spells and diamond dust. The devs figured out pretty early that even in a game centred around frequent violent clashes, it sucks to have a character you're invested in die unexpectedly, and it's better for the health of the game/narrative to be able to get those characters back at a cost. The problem is that these resurrection mechanics are siloed off to mid/high level characters, when it's the low level adventurers who are most fragile and thus most in need of an in-game safety net.

Secondly, look at the Soulsborne series as the inspiration for this post: part of the reason players are able to "Git Gud" is because the fast respawns allow for players to get right back into the action after making a fatal error, allowing for a "die, die again" playstyle focused on persistence and adaptation. This likewise allows developers to develop gameplay scenarios that are properly intimidating:

[retrocgads]

USA 1997

[charmed-quill]

Stella Maris// S.B x reader chapter 2

authors note at end.

summary: She was the Duchess-to-be, bound by duty and expectation. He was Sirius Black, the most notorious pirate to sail the seas. When Sirius interrupts her wedding and claims her as his grand prize, Y/N is thrust into a life on the ocean she never wanted.

But as old secrets resurface and sparks ignite between them, she begins to wonder if freedom, and love, might be found in the most unlikely places. when the Crown comes calling, will they be able to hold on to the freedom they’ve found—or will the weight of duty and reputation pull them apart?

next chapter

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word count: 2.6k

She wasn’t able to stay out on the hull of the ship for long. As soon as they were aboard, she was swiftly guided, more like dragged, down a narrow set of steps and into what appeared to be a room.

It was small and sparsely decorated, with walls of dark wood that smelled faintly of salt and dampness. The single porthole near the ceiling let in a sliver of light, illuminating a rough-hewn table, a rickety chair, and a hammock swaying gently in the corner. The air was heavy with the tang of the sea, mixed with the faint scent of rum and tobacco.

Y/N stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, her wrists still bound, biting back the fear that was creeping up her throat. The space felt claustrophobic compared to the grandeur of the palace, and yet it was strangely fitting, raw, unpolished, and utterly devoid of pretense.

Captain Black moved around the room with an ease that made her stomach churn. He rifled through a battered chest, the hinges creaking as he threw the lid open. She couldn’t see what he was grabbing, but his movements were quick and purposeful, as though he had done this a hundred times before.

Finally, he straightened, a bundle of clothes in his hands. Striding over to her, he thrust them unceremoniously into her bound hands.

“Here,” he said curtly. “You can’t walk around in that... thing.�� He gestured vaguely at her wedding gown, his lip curling in disdain. “Too conspicuous. Besides, I can’t have you tripping over that monstrosity and taking us both down with you.”

She glared at him over the gag, her wrists straining against the ropes as she fought the urge to hurl the offending clothes back at him.

“I’m going to take the gag out now, Duchess,” Captain Black said, stepping closer. His tone was almost playful, but there was an edge of warning beneath it. “Don’t bite my fingers.”

Her glare only sharpened, her eyes daring him to test her patience.

With a quick tug, the gag was gone, and she worked her jaw, savoring the relief of being able to speak freely again. For a brief moment, silence filled the room, the only sound the gentle creak of the ship and the distant cry of seagulls.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she snapped, her voice low but brimming with venom. “Dragging me onto your filthy ship like I’m some piece of cargo.”

Black leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. His grin was maddeningly relaxed. “It’s been an entertaining afternoon, I’ll give you that,” he replied smoothly, tilting his head. “Although you might want to work on your gratitude. Not every bride gets a free ride out of a forced marriage.”

“Gratitude?” she spat, her voice rising. “You’ve kidnapped me! Bound me like a criminal, stuffed a rag in my mouth, and dragged me onto this floating deathtrap. Why on earth would I thank you?”

Black shrugged, unbothered by her outburst. “Because, Duchess,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm, “I’ve given you something your father never did, a choice.”

Her breath caught, her anger momentarily faltering as his words sank in. But she quickly recovered, her fury flaring even hotter. “A choice?” she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yes, what a generous offer. Rot in your dungeon of a ship or marry the Duke. Truly, my options are endless.”

Black chuckled, the sound low and rich, as though her anger were a source of great amusement. “You’re quick-witted, I’ll give you that. But I’d think twice about wasting your energy yelling at the one person who might actually help you.”

“Help me?” she scoffed, stepping toward him despite the bindings on her wrists. “You think you’re some kind of hero? You’re nothing more than a thief and a liar, Captain Black. And I don’t need your help.”

He straightened, his grin fading just enough to reveal a flicker of something more serious. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice softer but no less confident. “But for now, I suggest you change out of that dress before it drags you to the bottom of the ocean.”

“You’ll have to untie me,” she said, her voice steady but edged with steel as she held out her bound wrists. Even now, stripped of nearly everything, she refused to let herself sound weak.

Captain Black raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, before stepping forward. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a small knife from his belt. The blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, and she swallowed hard but held her ground, meeting his eyes with a defiance she clung to like a lifeline.

He sliced through the ropes in a single motion, the fibers falling away like a shackle broken. She rubbed at her wrists, her fingers brushing over the raw, irritated skin. It stung, but the dull ache was nothing compared to the fire of her indignation.

She expected him to leave, surely he would have the decency to allow her even this small shred of privacy. 

But he didn’t.

He simply stood there, watching her with that insufferable calm, as though her discomfort were a matter of no consequence. The weight of his gaze made her skin crawl.

She cleared her throat pointedly, lifting her chin as she addressed him. “Are you going to leave?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed, anger surging to the forefront. “Why?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

He shrugged, as though her question didn’t merit an answer. As though her dignity, her one remaining claim to herself, was a trivial thing.

That simple, careless gesture was enough to ignite the full force of her fury. She stepped closer, clutching the plain clothes he had thrust into her hands, her knuckles whitening against the coarse fabric.

“So, let me get this straight,” she began, her voice trembling, not from fear but from the sheer strength of her emotion. “You barge into my life, take away everything I’ve ever known, my home, my future, my reputation, my freedom. And now you won’t even give me the decency to change in peace? You’ve taken everything else. Do I not even deserve that?”

Her voice cracked on the last word, but she didn’t look away. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. If she had nothing left, then she would cling to her pride, her dignity, whatever pieces of herself remained unbroken.

For a moment, something shifted in his expression. The smirk faltered, his gray eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t name. But then, just as quickly, the mask of arrogance slipped back into place.

“You’ve got a point,” he said, his tone light but carrying an undertone she couldn’t quite decipher. “But let’s not pretend you had much dignity left to lose, Duchess. That dress?” He gestured at the wedding gown, its intricate lace and pearls now rumpled and stained. “That wasn’t dignity. That was a costume, part of the show they made you perform.”

Her heart twisted at his words, but she refused to let them show on her face. “You don’t get to decide that,” she bit out. “You don’t get to decide what matters to me. And right now, all I want is for you to leave this room.”

His gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, she thought he might argue. But then, with a slight incline of his head, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

“I’ll be outside,” he said casually, his voice carrying none of the tension that buzzed in the air between them. “Don’t take too long.”

The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, leaving her alone in the dim, claustrophobic room. Y/N exhaled slowly, her hands trembling as she clutched the simple clothes to her chest. She had nothing left, not her title, not her family’s protection, not even the life she had been raised to expect. 

She quickly realized there was no way she would be able to get out of the dress on her own. The bodice was tight and unforgiving, the intricate laces and delicate closures at the back so intricately secured that it felt as if she had been sewn into it. Her fingers clawed at the fabric, but it was futile. Each tug only made her feel more trapped.

Her eyes darted around the small room, taking in the rough, utilitarian furnishings. The wooden walls were dark and weathered, marked with scars from years of life at sea. The hammock swayed gently in the corner, its frayed ropes creaking faintly with the movement of the ship. The battered table bore scratches and stains from countless meals and scuffles, while a cracked mirror on the wall reflected her frazzled appearance.

Then her gaze landed on a pair of heavy, rusted scissors lying forgotten on the table. They were crude and worn, the metal dulled with age and salt, but they would do.

With a surge of desperation, she snatched them up, the cold metal biting into her palm. She set to work, the blades tearing through the fabric with jagged, uneven strokes. The lace ripped with a satisfying sound, the delicate pearls scattering to the floor like tiny, traitorous beads. Each hack of the scissors felt like a small act of defiance, a rebellion against the confines of the life she’d been forced into.

After a minute or so, the heavy fabric pooled around her feet in a crumpled heap. The once-beautiful gown now lay discarded, a relic of the person she had been expected to become. She stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, her arms trembling from the effort. The cool air of the cabin brushed against her bare skin.

She turned her attention to the bundle of clothes Captain Black had given her. The shirt was simple and rough, made of a coarse linen that was clean but carried the faint scent of salt and woodsmoke. The trousers were equally unremarkable, a faded brown that looked as though they had been patched and mended countless times. Both items were clearly made for someone much larger than her, the shirt hung loosely over her frame, the sleeves falling past her hands, and the trousers required rolling at both the waist and cuffs to keep them from dragging. A belt, worn and fraying at the edges, helped secure the pants in place, though it was far too large, forcing her to improvise a knot.

The clothes felt foreign and awkward, a far cry from the tailored silks and embroidered gowns she was accustomed to. 

She dressed quickly, her hands moving with urgency. She didn’t trust Captain Black to keep his promise to leave her alone, not entirely. The way he had looked at her earlier, with that maddening smirk and unshakable confidence, made her skin crawl. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, half-expecting it to burst open at any moment.

As she tightened the belt and adjusted the oversized shirt, she caught a glimpse of herself in the cracked mirror. The woman staring back at her was almost unrecognisable. 

Gone was the polished image of the noblewoman she had been raised to be. In its place stood someone rougher, unrefined, and undeniably different.

Her gaze flicked back to the pile of fabric on the floor, the remnants of her old life.

The door burst open without warning, the hinges creaking under the force. Y/N spun around, her temper flaring instantly as Captain Black strode in as though he owned not just the ship, but the very air she breathed.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” she snapped, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “Or is barging in uninvited another one of your charming habits?”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even flinch at her tone. Instead, he leaned casually against the table, his infuriating smirk firmly in place. “Knocking would imply you have some kind of authority here, Duchess. And let’s be clear, you don’t.”

Her jaw clenched, the weight of his arrogance pressing against her like a physical force. “What do you want now?” she bit out. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough for one day?”

His gray eyes flicked to the shredded remains of her dress on the floor, his smirk deepening. “Impressive handiwork,” he remarked. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

She stepped closer, her anger boiling over. “Don’t change the subject. Why are you here?”

“To let you know you’ll be staying in my quarters,” he said, as if the matter were already decided. “It’s safer that way.”

Her laugh was sharp and bitter, like the crack of a whip. “Safer? For who? You or me?”

“For both of us,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “I don’t trust my crew not to stick their noses where they don’t belong. And I’m certainly not going to risk you doing something reckless.”

Her temper snapped like a rope pulled too tight. “Oh, I see,” she said, her voice rising. “You’re not content with kidnapping me and dragging me onto your filthy ship. Now you want to control where I sleep, too?”

“It’s not about control,” he said, though his smirk suggested otherwise. “It’s about keeping you out of trouble.”

“Trouble?” she repeated, her voice almost a shout now. “You’re the one who’s put me in trouble! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? To my life?”

He straightened, his smirk vanishing as a darker expression took its place. “Your life?” he said, his voice low and sharp. “That’s what you’re clinging to? The one where you were being sold off like a prized cow?”

She took a step closer, her chest heaving with fury. “At least it was mine. At least I knew who I was, what I was. You’ve ripped all of that away from me, and for what? Your own amusement?”

His eyes flashed, and he closed the distance between them in two quick strides. “You think this is amusing for me?” he growled, his voice crackling with barely restrained anger. “Dragging your stubborn, spoiled self out of a gilded cage you were too blind to see? I’ve done you a favor, Duchess, whether you like it or not.”

“A favor?” she shouted, her voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Black! You’re not my savior, you’re just a thief who’s too full of himself to see the damage he causes!”

They stood inches apart now, the tension between them almost unbearable. Her breath came in quick, furious bursts, and his chest rose and fell as though he were fighting to keep his own temper in check.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “I’m no savior. But I’m the only one standing between you and the life you hated so much you were willing to tear that dress apart to escape it.”

The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her oversized shirt, the coarse linen grounding her as she tried to steady her racing thoughts.

“I don’t need your protection,” she said finally, her voice quieter but no less fierce. “I don’t need anything from you.”

He stepped back, the distance doing nothing to lessen the intensity of his gaze. “That’s what you’ve always told yourself, isn’t it?” he said. 

Her heart skipped, her breath hitching as his words settled over her like a shroud. She opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but he was already turning toward the door.

“You’ll stay in my quarters,” he said over his shoulder, his tone flat and final. “And you’ll follow my rules. End of discussion.”

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small room. Y/N stared at it, her chest still heaving as she tried to process what had just happened.

[playstationgamemania]

[miaqc1]

Fighting Fantasy Classics

I got then all, until new releases.