[No-Artpunk] #15 Chateau Montgrise (AD&D 1e)

Chateau Montgrise
Dick Sprinkles

AD&D 1e
Lvl 9 (on average)
Pages: 43 + 5 maps
Classification: The Bucentaure

Aaah D&D. The crumbling ruins, open steppes, monster haunted catacombs. The ziggurats, the swordplay, the sorcerers, the dragons, the bare-chested nubile women bound to altars of basalt sculpted by prehuman hands. I love sword & sorcery. But sometimes we want a change of pace. Sometimes we want something a bit more sophisticated.


Enter Chateau Montgrise by the pseudonymically titled Dick Sprinkles is a tasteful, eloquent foray into high-level adventure gaming that does away with some of the more tired, plebian tropes that have come to cling to this more obscure format and seeks to instill it with the patrician dignity, class and exclusivity that truly seperates high level gaming from the literal lower ranks. Although some, and here I hesitate to call them people, might enjoy crawling through the muck and chucking lamp oil at shit-covered rats for coppers, for some time is a precious resource, spent only on the choicest morsels.

The premise is completely relatable. Uncle Larrimore of a well-to do family living in the countryside has sought to excavate a larger cellar for the family’s prestigious and highly valuable wine collection only to inadvertently open a doorway to hell. With their uncle dissapeared and great embaressment at risk, the family is paralysed. Only a tip from a local clues the PCs in on the grand opportunities that awaits them, if they manage to tastefully convince the family of both their breeding and ability, by sneaking into the cellars at night and retrieving a certain exquisite vintage

As an elaborate bit of buffoonery Chateau Montgrise delivers but what cinches it and what makes its japery not only defensible but downright admirable is that at its core, Montgrise betrays an attention to detail and a familiarity with the fundamentals of AD&D that is positively delightful and makes for a fairly solid adventure, despite some unconventional choices.

In the first part of the adventure the party will have to avoid faux pas which can cause all manner of inconveniences and interact with the inhabitants of the chateau, possibly get embroiled in a dalliance with a lusty chamber maid, get attacked by the Lord’s ferocious and overenthusiastic wolfhounds and get clued in that something is afoot by his rather creepy children. In this entire section, you would expect massive amounts of jewelry hidden everywhere but this is tastefully avoided, and a section that mentions jewelry but neglects to provide the exact amount makes it abundantly clear that such actions are for 1st level thieves with nothing to lose, not aspiring lordlings seeking to impress their betters and gain great wealth. Actually getting into the cellar requires a bit of finesse, with guard schedules and occupants laid out, and the PCs not posing as upper class having to sleep outside the chateau, although for a 9th level party, this should not prove very difficult and there are multiple ways suggested in the key. A time limit and a chance to get caught does complicate matters, which is another tasteful choice. Note also the little details, the bonuses to reaction rolls to impress the lady of the house for characters that are unusually brawny or tall.

The adventure then proceeds to make heavy use of AD&D’s unarmed combat rules for its hordes of humanoids and animals, omitting the vestigial second percentile modifier die (a sign of discerning intellect and superlative taste) use narrow spaces and flanking to enforce weapon selection, enforces saves vs crushing blow where appropriate, and specifies intelligent tactics (using, say telekinesis) for the demons leading the hordes of humanoids, tastefully named Dweezil, Chuckles and Sneed. There are elaborate tactical scenarios for the different bands of humanoids (hobgoblin slaves, drunk goblins and cross-dressing borderline transgendered bugbears) attached to each area, hindered only by the way the information is presented at the back of the level. Probably some sort of color coding or other visual indicator would have helped to match tactic to area but this is no critical loss. Recovering the barrels requires that they first be discovered and then retrieved (500 pound weight) without damaging them. Secret door placement is, you will find, a tad amateuristic, allowing an observant mapper to tease their location out of the geometry with relative ease. If not, there is always locate object a tool for the discerning player.

There are a few quixotic decisions w.r.t dungeon adjudication and information presentation that I don’t wholly endorse. The random encounter mechanic is to my eyes unneccessarily baroque for what should be a simple exploding diceroll table meant to increase time pressure and simulate the movement of inhabitants through the dungeon. Monsters are not highlighted and hp is not prerolled. By now you know the refrain, this does not render the adventure unusable but a greater degree of memorization or some note-taking will have to be done before the adventure can be run on the fly or quickly referenced during play. Information that is vital (what is Snead’s turf, what is Dweezil’s turf) is hard to differentiate from information that is incidental. This could of course be attributed to early-onset dementia resulting from reading too much Artpunk but I believe such re-organization would be of benefit even to illi sine layout.

There are admirable qualities, the loopy-doopeable nature of the whole, the refined descriptions and their at times almost wodehousian wit, the many tasteful ways of egress, some of them via the latrine, into the multiple levels. The way challenges are not neccessarily composed of brute force but are the product of combining different types of adversary, restricted geometry, environmental features or unconventional tactics, each layered atop the other like the folds of a hattori hanzo sword. Sprinkle with occasionally vicious traps for color. The actual demons and their retinues are suitably formidable, an appropriate challenge for mere 9th level PCs. This is something the italians refer to as fare sesso gay.

My concern, and this is a matter of decorum, would be the somewhat scandalous lack of treasure during the adventure followed by a flood afterwards. I don’t mean the lack of reward, if they are succefull the PCs can walk away with something on the order of a preposterous 3 million gp worth of truly rare wine (less if they damage certain valuable barrels near the final confrontation or fuck up in other, discrete ways) and the special vintages (each lovingly furnished with an elaborate backstory), if recovered serve as essentially limited use magic items to great effect. I am concerned the by now well-ingrained player character instinct for on site resource procurement shall go haywire when confronted with such a relative dearth of available treasure during the course of the adventure, even if the final reward is positively gluttinous.

There is a general lack of beating about the bush, an earnest joie de vivre, a gamut of truly interesting encounters and all of it using tasteful entries from the Monster Manuals (Neo-Otyughs, Stench Kows, Rutterkin paired with Wolverines, minotaur lizards) and knowledge of the rules that inclines me to overlook some of the more unwieldy excesses of presentation, verbosity and organization that predominate Chateau Montgrise as well as some of the eccentricities. And look at the wit, the savoir faire, the espirit du corps. My god. Look at this description of the rare CHÂTEAU DE LA GUIMAUVE 1123.

Magnifique! Chef’s kiss! And then, for starting characters, the minimalist ‘use characters from G1.’ A last, utterly pragmatic, minimalist finish.


What Chateau montgrise lacks in sheer awe, potency and scope it attempts to make up for in sophistication, an unconventional premise, a certain elan, a certain charisma, a certain je ne sais quois. Don’t run this one as a first exposure to high level gaming, but run this one if you want to instill in your players, not just challenge and mastery of the real game of AD&D but taste, like a fine merlot, like sipping pinot noir in the afternoon sun on a terrace in the provance.

Delightful.


27 thoughts on “[No-Artpunk] #15 Chateau Montgrise (AD&D 1e)

  1. It’s beautiful. The pretensions contrasted by breaks in pretensions, the chaos of the maps, the gonzo use of ordinary monsters, the deep understanding of the system and abuse of subsystems. Smells like peak AD&D.

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  2. Ventregris! Le Tenfootpole would have pulled a Pepe Le Grenouille and REEEEEed for using single column and TROP DE TEXTE, but woulda loved Le Gonzo.

    For me (the tragically and dim-wittedly serious Scythian nincompoop that I am), the hokey names, the overall Joss Whedonian/Taika Waititian writing style, and other elements of the tongue firmly planted in cheek are a major turn-off. Like, a Castle Greyhawk instead of a Castle Amber (geddit?).

    I fully subscribe to the 90 IQ adage floated around the blogosphere claiming that the setting should be the straight man for the characters’ antics. This is one trying too hard to do the opposite.

    Also:

    >>>Stench Kows

    It’s Stench KINE, plebeian! 🧐

    Liked by 2 people

    1. To be fair, as a native English speaker I almost never use the word kine. I forget it even exists. In fact, the first time I probably came across the word was when I was reading the Stench Kow entry in the original MM2.

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  3. Certainly my sensibilities are appeased simply reading the review.

    But, like baroquenik, I do wonder how much the players would end up feeling like spectators invited to the stage of the DM’s baroque participatory theatre.

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    1. That’s an interesting bet. The use of obscure D&D rules implies deep familiarity but the design betrays someone who is not so totally immersed in the rhythm of the long campaign that they are unable to selectively break the rules. After my last attempted reveal of a secret identity, I am hesitant to point fingers, but we can state conclusively that this is a gentlemen of great taste and erudition.

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      1. It could also be someone trying to mimic Melan, or maybe they picked up a few things from his adventure design.

        The transvestite bugbears and the reference to Hungary cinched it for me.

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      2. No no no, Henchman97, Prince didn’t write this one. He did write a few comments as Tacitus on the review for The House of Lost Loves on Tenfootpole, however.

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  4. This adventure could be easily slotted into an ongoing campaign, a point in it’s favor in my book. Many of the entries thus far are practically campaigns unto themselves, which is a good demonstration of the scope of high level play but not as immediately usable.

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    1. Forsooth! So many of the entries are Brobdingnagian in scope, and come with their own mini-settings (which often have in-built assumptions very different from “vanilla” D&D). This is clearly more minimalistic and modular (gonzo implied setting notwithstanding).

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  5. I read this review yestereve, and have been thinking about it since. I have decided that this particular vintage tastes sour to my palette.

    Not because it isn’t delightful. Not because it doesn’t exhibit flair and creativity. Not because it isn’t “functional D&D” though, to be honest, I’d need to see a bit more of the nuts-n-bolts text to make any kind of determination (or, rather, form an opinion) on that last bit.

    [what’s the phrase? “If you can’t dazzle them with dexterity, baffle them with bullshit”]

    No, I think (if I’m articulating this right) what I dislike is the light-heartedness, the lack of seriousness, with the author’s particular approach. Too much humor, too much un-seriousness.

    And before anyone starts to take umbrage with my particular dislike, please allow me to state:

    1) D&D does NOT have to be all grim and dark and serious, NOR DOES high level play have to be filled with “gravitas” or devoid of “whimsy,” and

    2) I am well aware that Mr. Sprinkle’s design sensibilities would NOT be out of place AT ALL in the creative group that staffed TSR, Judge’s Guild, etc. in the late 70s and early 80s. The stuff churned out in those days was filled with humor, anachronisms, and irreverence…while still being deadly, challenging material.

    SO THEN: what’s the problem?

    Here’s the problem (and it may be only particular to me): my preferred form of D&D is the long-term, campaign play in which one might see characters grow into the “high” levels…the levels for which these NAP3 adventures are ostensibly designed. And for that to occur, for that growth to happen naturally (i.e. “in play”) requires a sustainable engagement of the setting by the players…and the players are far more likely to HAVE that sustained engagement when the world is sensible and has a degree of verisimilitude, i.e. when it is taken seriously.

    If the DM doesn’t take the game seriously, there’s no reason to expect the players to (and, in fact, players who DO take the game seriously will be EXTREMELY DISAPPOINTED with a DM who does not). What I am reading here, in this adventure is delightful. It is entertaining. It makes me grin and chuckle (I especially like the bit about the True Cask of Christ). I like reading it.

    BUT…in my opinion…you cannot run a campaign this whacky, over the long term, and expect to sustain buy-in from the players at the table. You would never advance AD&D characters to 9th level in a campaign setting that has name level characters sneaking into wine cellars.

    And, I realize that not every DM cares for my style of gaming…I was just reading some silly back and forth on tenfootpole the other day about how MORE low level (1st to 3rd) adventures are NEEDED because some people don’t want a campaign where PCs rise higher than 6th level. Silly, right? But some people don’t want to play more than Little League D&D…they want to play a few sessions and then start over with a new group, a new setting, a new system, whatever. They get bored easily…or perhaps they have other priorities in their lives beside running long-term campaigns and world building. That makes sense, sure. I have very little time for gaming myself…which is why I reserve my time for a better brand of gaming.

    So I’m a snob…just in case that wasn’t already evident. I will note that even in a “serious campaign” (I use that phrase loosely…it’s still D&D) there’s plenty of room for whacky-ness and irreverence, even (perhaps) something as over-the-top as Chateau Montgrise. Just not, I don’t think, for 9th+ level characters…that doesn’t ring true for me.

    Others may beg to differ.

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    1. Yes, you are a very wordy snob, but we appreciate you nonetheless!

      I agree with your assessment. This doesn’t seem like a high level adventure. I felt the same about Sleepless, one of the best adventures in Dungeon (I forget which issue number). In that adventure you are in a band of 8-12 level adventures and you just happen to witness a magical accident while wandering by a wizard’s tower while travelling through the wilderness. Definitely didn’t fit the level of the party.

      I feel the excessive humor in this adventure is just the writer having a lot of fun with the contest. It can be toned down at the table, if needed.

      I’m actually thinking of running this one, but reskinned for levels 5-7. My current campaign is based around a group of PCs who work for their previous (now retired) characters, and I could see this fit into the campaign quite well.

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      1. 5th to 7th does feel far more appropriate for the adventure’s premise…the difficulty are the (multiple?) greater demons. Perhaps ONE Type IV plus the Rutterkins? I mean…there’s a way to reduce the danger. But demons are definitely “high level” threats.

        RE Humor

        Oh, I agree that the DM can ‘tone down’ the humor when running the adventure. But then…why is there so much in the adventure? I would postulate it’s to set the tone for the DM. If not, then it’s…what? Extraneous padding? A writer grandstanding? Style over substance?

        All that smacks of the very thing NAP is supposed to oppose.

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      2. Shots fired, JB!

        Can it be true? Has the Prince of Nothing become vacuous and empty of substance in the very field of NAP he champions? Too absorbed staring at his own reflection in the refracted light of adoring NAPers? Lost his way in the very territory he helped chart?

        Over to you, Prince.

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    2. I would respond in parts.

      The first criticism is partially legitimate. Having (and I did call it preposterous) 3 million gp worth of wine in the cellars is a catastrophic error of scale, an unthinkable phantasm, where someone owns a wine collection that is more precious then one’s entire house by several orders of magnitude.

      I would take umbrage at the suggestion that you cannot slip a delightful romp in between more serious fare now and then even at higher levels in prolongued campaigns, provided no egregious violations of versimilitude take place. It is a question of how often and when.

      Now, I think some of Blackrazor’s commentary is legitimate. It probably would be disruptive to throw this into a campaign at about the level of G1, and a bracket slightly lower would be ideal (and clamp down on some of the wine cost excesses). So we have something that is likely to be enjoyable and functional but less suitable for a long form adventure. That will factor into my rating.

      Demons: There are Type I, Type II, Rutterkin, a phase spider, a Type IV etc. Most of these have retinues, use intelligent tactics, and have a terrain advantage. I suspect G1 PCs should be well challenged, particularly if there is time pressure.

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  6. A fair review. Thank you.

    So, I’m not Raggi. I’m not “Melan.” I don’t know even who that one is. I’ve never posted on any forum before, having anything to do with role playing.

    The title of the chateau is Montgrisé, accented final “e.” It’s a play on a slang term for “drunk” (“grisé”).

    The 3 million GP: It’s too much, I agree. Probably the most difficult detail for any adventure, I suppose, is the quantity and placement of treasure. Here, I wanted successful players to end up with something that would set up a PC for what comes after name level — something that could bribe an emperor, or build a Mont-Saint-Michel. To do that, of course any idiot could have simply referenced the price list, in the DMG, for stronghold construction — but the X-factor in D&D adventure design is that you never know what the players will miss (or accidentally destroy).

    Play-testing helps; however, like many of you, I suspect, I don’t really understand domain play, by which I mean Arnesonian domain play — that strange blend of role play, 1:10-scale combat, and farm-production quotas — the black box wherein the answer just might lie to many of the questions always asked about the game: the point of it all… the treasure, the ambition… where it all ends.

    Frankly, I don’t really know what kind of cash a 15th-level wizard needs, much less a 10th-level one, past the point when the sly bastard has managed to build himself a tower in a border region, perhaps in the Dordogne some place, where he’s scaring the shit out of the peasants and making all the local barons kiss his ass.

    If the completely unsubtle humor of this adventure channels anything, it’s that weird world of the Egg of Coot and Sir Fang, located on a game board that extends way beyond the dungeon door, where we might imagine a Pope in Rome freaking out over some goddamned necromancer in the ass crack of Gaul, fucking with his spiritual vibe, and that 58,000 army-construction points, plus maybe a last-minute alliance with the tight-fisted Knights Templar, says that the Church is about to lay down the law, unless said necromancer can pour a fuck load of cash into some fighter’s war chest, or locate a miracle.

    As for the “high-level” module, well, that’s where the miracle resides.

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