It’s the time of the month I’ve set aside for talking about these new-fangled modern games that the darn kids today play. Which means I should read another piece of Daggerheart, but the problem is that… it’s horrible and painful and I don’t wanna. So I’m going to chicken out again and read another grim, dark and depressing game full of certain death and grisly horror to cheer me up.
Yes, I am aware that I have odd ideas about what is cheering.
But yes, we’re going to tackle Shadowdark! It’s an odd beast of a game in that it really has no business being as appealing and interesting as it is. If I had to do an elevator pitch of Shadowdark, I wouldn’t be able to name any particular part of it that stands out, sets it apart, or establishes its brand. Even the name is so generic that it sounds like parody. “Shadowdark”? As opposed to the bright, shiny sort of dark, I guess?
But let’s see if I can explain its charm.
We start out getting hit in the face by a bunch of tables and lists and a super-concise summary of pretty much all the salient mechanics. All of which are very much things you’re going to want to look at a lot, so it’s very convenient for them to be right inside the cover, but it also feels rather abrupt to get them before you even see the credits page. This is going to be a bit of a thing going forward, folks. Shadowdark is big on giving you exactly what you need with absolutely zero preamble or sugar-coating.
We do eventually get an actual introduction, but notably absent is the usually-mandatory “what is a roleplaying game?” section. The designer here pretty much assumed that if you picked up this book, you already know damn well what a roleplaying game is, and what you need to know is what sort of roleplaying game this is. Thus, we’re told that it’s a rules-light, fast-moving game of constant danger, where there are no guarantees and you have to think on your feet to survive. Fair enough.
The rules are, indeed, quite simple. You have your standard six stats that go from 3 to 18, and from those you derived a modifier. A stat of 10-11 is a +0 modifier, and from there it goes up and down in ranges of two, so 12-13 is +1, 8-9 is -1, 14-15 is +2, and so on. You perform any action by rolling 1d20+your relevant modifier against a Difficulty Class, with 12 being the standard.
When attacking, you roll with Strength or Dexterity depending on whether it’s a melee or ranged attack, with the DC being the target’s Armour Class determined from the armour they wear and their Dexterity. If you hit, you do damage per the weapon you used (you do not add anything to the damage roll, notably). Damage is subtracted from Hit Points, and if your HP reaches 0 you’re unconscious and will die in 1d4+Constitution modifier rounds unless healed or bandaged (the latter requiring a DC 15 Intelligence check) before then. While bleeding out, you also roll a d20 each round and if you get a 20 you regain 1 HP and wake up on your own.
There are not normally any modifiers to checks other than from spells and other special abilities; if you have some sort of circumstances helping or hindering you, it’s instead represented by rolling with “advantage” or “disadvantage,” meaning that you roll an extra d20 and take the highest or the lowest number rolled. Advantages and disadvantages cancel each other out. You can gain Luck tokens for impressive roleplaying and spend them to get advantage on a roll, though you can only have one Luck token at the time.
That really is about it. It’s basically what you get if you take all the things that are simple and functional in OSR games and mix them with all the things that are simple and function in D&D 5E, without touching all the stuff from either one that are clunky and annoying. It’s really amazingly… usable. Like, someone sat down and went, “hey, different subsystems for a thousand different things is a hassle, let’s not have those. And meticulously simulating every conceivable situation is also a hassle, let’s not do that either. Let’s just focus on the stuff that we’ll actually use a lot, and make it simple enough that you can keep it all in your head at once.” It feels like it shouldn’t be particularly revolutionary, and yet, it’s the only game I’ve seen so far that resist the nerdy temptation to add a whole bunch of cruft.
Magic, of course, does add a few more wrinkles, but even that has been mercilessly pruned. Any caster class can attempt to cast any spell they know, and it requires a check with an appropriate stat (either Intelligence or Wisdom, for the core classes). If they succeed, the spell goes off, and they can attempt to cast it again later. If they fail, they can’t use the spell again for the rest of the day. If they botch (roll a natural 1), they either lose the spell until they’ve performed an act of contrition (if a Priest) or have to roll on a possibly-fatal miscast table (if a Wizard). Like most things in the game, the intention is clearly to make things uncertain and risky. There is also a concept of Focus spells, where a spell lasts while you sustain it by making another spellcasting check each turn. Once you fail it fizzles out, though this does not make you lose access to the spell like it does on the initial casting roll. You can still botch for a miscast, though.
As for the spells, they are your basic D&D set, albeit streamlined and simplified, without a lot of futzing with saving throws and exact ranges and edge cases. Some of them may be a little different as a result. For instance, Burning Hands hits every target at Close (arm’s reach) range, since fiddling with maps and angles is against the spirit of the game, but that does mean that you need to be within striking distance of the enemy before popping it off and without anyone standing next to you, either. Depending on how the GM arbitrates things, that might be a very unhealthy thing for a squishy wizard to do. On the other hand, Magic Missile is now always cast with advantage, presumably so a wizard has a decent chance to hang on to it for a while each day and thus having something to do in battle. Some unexpected ones have been nerfed, like Floating Disc, which now lets you transport extra burdens for… ten rounds. This is presumably because encumbrance management is a major part of the intended playstyle, so having wizards create magical forklifts would cancel out way too much of it, but… ten rounds? When are you going to need to carry something for ten rounds that you’re not going to need to carry for longer than that?
Making a character is really super-simple, you can get done with it in five minutes. You first roll 3d6 six times in order. The GM might allow you to reroll sets that doesn’t contain a single stat of 14+, though. You know, if you want to be a wuss about it.
You then choose an ancestry, most of which are ye olde standard fantasy races of human, dwarf, halfling, elf, or half-orc, though for some reason you can also choose to be a goblin. Each ancestry has a single bonus or ability that it gives you; no stat modifier or anything like that. For instance, a halfling can turn invisible for 3 rounds once a day, and a goblin can’t be surprised due to its razor-sharp senses. I like it, it’s simple yet flavourful.
You then choose your class, hopefully taking your rolled-up stats into account. You can be a Fighter, Thief, Wizard or Priest, which decides what weapons and armour you can use (and it is definite; you really cannot use, at all, any weapon not supported by your class), decides what sort of die you roll for your starting Hit Points, gives you one or more special abilities, and also gives you a table on which you roll for a Talent. Wizards and Priests can cast spells, and learn more as they gain levels. Fighters have advantage on checks to “overcome an opposing force” with Strength or Dexterity (you have to pick one when you create the character), can carry extra equipment if they have decent Constitution, and get +1 to attack and damage with a weapon they specialise in. Thieves do an extra die of damage when attacking a surprised opponent and get advantage on checks to sneak, pick locks, find traps, or disguise themselves. Talents usually add to the class’ main competence in some way (like letting a Wizard learn an extra spell) or let you increase one of the stats that are significant for the class (such as Strength and Wisdom for the Priest).
I have some minor quibbles with some class abilities. For one thing, the big thing that Thieves get is that they do extra damage when surprising an enemy, yes? But… the game also makes a big deal of the fact that you’re usually going to be in some dark basement where you can’t see without lighting a torch, but all the enemies around you definitely can. So how are you supposed to ever surprise someone, exactly? If you can see them, they can definitely see you! I mean, there are some highly situational ways you could maybe manage it, but it seems like the strongly enforced playstyle of the game renders Thieves incapable of using their main ability.
Also, I kind of wish they’d let Wizards have some kind of ranged weapon. I admit that it looks kind of silly to have a magician in robes carting around a crossbow like they tend to in D&D, but it’s just… Well, when you can’t wear armour and you probably have 1 or 2 Hit Points, you really don’t want to go up to the enemy and bonk them over the head with your stick, on account of you’re dead the moment they fight back. And since spells are dangerous to use and you can easily lose access to them, it can lead to Wizards having nothing to do in combat but cower behind their friends and wait for the shouting to stop. Admittedly you could interpret the rules as allowing them to throw knives, which is at least something…
Anyway, you then roll for your background, letting you know what your civilian job was before you left it for a life of adventure. You get advantage on checks where you can explain how your background helps you.
Next you choose alignment: Lawful, Neutral or Chaotic. The way they are described, though, they are more like Good, Neutral and Evil; if you’re Lawful you want good things for everyone, if you’re Chaotic you don’t give a toss about anyone but yourself. You can also pick a god that you worship. There are two Lawful ones, Saint Teragnis who was a virtuous knight who ascended to godhood, and Madeera the Covenant, who has every moral law written on her skin. The Neutral ones are Gede, who is the god of nature and wild parties and thus presumably some sort of Bacchus-like deity, and Ord, who is the god of magic, knowledge and secrets. To this is added three baddies: Ramlaat who is the god of everyone who loots and burns, Shune the Vile who’s the goddess of black magic and enemy of Ord, and Memnon, who is Madeera’s twin brother and wants to flay her alive to destroy all morality. Yaiks. There were ones two more gods, and people still speak of “the nine gods,” but no one can remember who they were.
Titles are an interesting quirk. See, every character has a title determined by her class, alignment, and level. Thus, a Lawful Fighter starts out as a squire, then becomes a gallant at level 3, a knight at level 5, a thane at level 7 and a Lord or Lady at level 9. It’s a very simple system, but it does a surprising amount of work at implying what sort of character each alignment-class combination is meant to be; for example, a Lawful Priest of the highest level is a Paladin, while a Neutral one is an Oracle. The exact same mechanics, but you get a very different picture, don’t you? And the character progression also hints at how the players will be treated at each level – roughly speaking, at level 1 they’re rookies who no one expects much of, at level 3 they’ve proven themselves competent but nothing special, at level 5 people have started taking notice, at level 7 they’re sought out for the toughest jobs around, and at level 9 they’re legendary heroes or nightmarish villains who only handle things personally when any lesser people would surely fail.
The equipment section is mercifully brief. There is one table of weapons (the coolest is the bastard sword that does 1d10 damage if wielded two-handed), one of gear, and three different kinds of armour as well as a shield, most of which can be made of mithril for less encumbrance and no disadvantage on swimming and sneaking.
Ah yes, encumbrance. Like I said, this is absolutely something you’re supposed to be worrying about – no infinite backpacks allowed! You have as many inventory slots as your Strength stat, or 10, whichever is higher. Since some items take up more than one slot, this gets very punishing very quickly, and this is apparently entirely by design. You don’t have the option to bring everything but the kitchen sink with you into a dungeon, especially since you’re hoping to bring treasure with you out. So choose wisely, and prepare to be sorry you didn’t bring some particular thing. Mua haha.
Level advancement! Every time you assemble as many XP as your current level x 10, you gain a level. On every odd level, you get to roll for a new Talent. You get nothing explicit at even levels, but the class abilities for each class is written in such a way that they increase at even levels (usually by getting you “your level divided by two, rounded down” of something). On every level, you also add another die roll to your HP, the same as the one you rolled for the first level. You don’t add your Constitution modifier to your roll on the second level and up, though you do add it to the one you make for the first level.
You gain XP by finding sweet loot. Then you can get even more XP by investing it in “carousing.” The whole party pitches in for a big celebration, and the more money you get together, the more XP you gain from it. You also get some sort of randomised plot hook, asset or problem, like finding out that you managed to insult a noble while drunk. I like that, it gives you something to actually do with your funds after you’re past the grub-for-ever-copper-piece early levels. You can also gain XP from getting “oaths” (having someone promise to help you, basically) or learning “secrets,” but mostly it’s about finding the shiny stuff and dragging it back home. Which feels… refreshingly to the point.
Thus far the player-facing sections, which are quite clear and concice. The GM portion of the book I found to be a little more confusing. This might admittedly be because it, too, assumes a certain base understanding of how games like this usually work and sees no reason to belabour it – and I will admit to never having made it through any edition of D&D beyond the parts I needed to make a character and play it. I might be lacking assumed context, is what I’m saying.
The description of how the game is meant to be run is clear enough to me, mind you. Effectively, it’s one of your mercyless old school games where the world is what it is, and the players are meant to be gaming the GM more than the actual mechanics. However, the GM is also instructed to be generous with information – if the players think to look for traps, then don’t bother rolling, they can find the traps if they’re there; that’s their reward for showing forethought and caution. It is also recommended that you make the most of the looseness of the mechanics. Anyone can attempt anything, as long as it’s not actually magical, so the players should be encouraged to attempt out-of-the-box solutions instead of just running in and rolling attack at everything.
No, the part where I get a little confused is all the random tables. Don’t get me wrong, they are very interesting and flavourful – there are tables for random encounters, tables for random treasures, tables for random hazards, tables for random cities, all of them absolutely oozing personality and sly morbid humour. What I get confused at is when I’m meant to be using them. For instance, there is a table for random events in a dungeon, but when should I actually use that, given that there are also rules for randomly generating a dungeon? I don’t think a random event is the same as a random encounter, which there is rules for when they occur, but I don’t know where else to use them. Just when I feel like it? It’d be nice to get some suggestions for just what is intended, is what I’m saying. Again, it’s quite possible that this would make perfect sense to me if I had already internalised the D&D design philosophy that this is a slimmer, more elegant version of.
Oh well. One thing that is made clear is that the players are always meant to be squeezed for time. Partly those random encounters come into play for that, but there is also the issue of light. It’s crucially important to have some sort of light source at all times, because there is no way for a PC to have dark vision, whereas all monsters have dark vision per default. And torches burn for a set amount of time (the default rule is that they burn in real-world time spent playing the game, but there are optional rules for online play and the likes) and take up an inventory slot each. Tick tock.
Also, you’re supposed to emphasise gritty realities. Even at level 10, the players aren’t superheroes, and they can still die ingloriously for exceedingly mundane reasons. Makes sense to me.
The antagonist section takes up a big chunk of the book. It doesn’t have a lot of surprises, mostly, just the standard selection of fantasy critters (having both demons and devils felt excessive to me – it makes sense in the D&D cosmology where there’s meant to be a difference between fascists who want to control you and robber barons who want to loot you, but since in Shadowdark the Chaotic alignment covers both it just feels out of place). There are one or two idiosyncratic parts, though, like the Wandering Merchant who is some sort of ambiguously-human salesman of all things. He’s notable on the random encounter table for every kind of environment, meaning that no matter where you are, the Wandering Merchant might pop out and try to sell you something. Heh.
NPCs have levels like PCs do, though they can go higher than 10 for really horrific boss monsters. Levels are supposed to add up so that two level 3 players are roughly matched to one level 6 antagonist, but we’re also cautioned that a lot of weak attacks can be a lot more lethal than a single powerful one, so don’t be too sure that it’s just a matter of addition. They also have about the same kind of stats, not that those are terribly complex or anything.
In addition to the wide variety of beasts, there are also random tables for generating unique kinds, because of course there are. Or you can add some random “mutations” to an existing thingawhatsit, just to keep the players on their toes.
Treasure likewise gets a big chapter to itself, it being after all what it’s all about. There are tables to roll on for random treasure, depending on the level of the people finding it. There’s a number of pieces of quirky mundane stuff that’s worth a few bucks, and of course there is magical items, both randomly generated and a long list of examples. Magic items can have regular powers, but they can also have curses (sometimes instead of a positive effect, sometimes alongside it) and, in some cases, sentience and personalities, which of course can cause their own problems. One “item” that leaps out at you is the True Name – like, you literally find someone’s True Name and it gives you advantage on every roll against them. Nice bit of implied setting lore there.
Scrolls and wands are also a thing, they let you cast a spell you don’t know (and might not be able to learn) as if you knew it, with all the normal rules. Scrolls are single-use, wands work until someone botches a roll with them, at which point they break and the wielder has to roll for miscast. Wizards can also use scrolls to learn the spells on them if they’re within their range. There are also potions, which bestow the effect of a spell on you, free of charge.
And that’s about it! It’s a pretty thick book, but most of it is tables and lists – the actual rules really are very simple and flexible. The whole thing feels like a distillation – all the stuff that is appealing about dungeoncrawling, purified and simplified and reduced to its finest essence. I’m still fond of Dungeon World, but I’m actually considering taking Shadowdark for a spin. Certainly I can tell you from experience that it runs very smoothly from the players’ end of things, and that the campaigns tend to last longer.
And most gloriously of all, of course? No. Freaking. Safety. Tools. Oh, there’s a section reminding you to be nice to others and make sure everyone at the table has a good time, but then the writer left it at that, like a sane person. You know, that’s three games published after 2020 that lack the loathsome things. I am starting to think I should begin collecting them. And the fact that all three of them so far have been fun and heartfelt and looked exciting to play helps, of course.