I do a lot of game design seminars and I always meet “The Guy.” He always says the same thing, too. He raises his hand and says, “I’ve been designing a roleplaying game for twenty years now…”
I stop him. Right there. I know exactly where this is going and I need to stop it before it gets any further. I say, “In twenty years, I’ve designed almost thirty roleplaying games. You need to crap or get off the pot, pal.”
That’s usually when The Guy gets up and walks out. And in twenty years, he’ll still be designing the same game. He’ll never be finished.
That’s because he’s unwilling to do the hardest part of design or writing or painting or anything else: letting it go.
I told Mike Curry and Rob Justice this. “Every day, you wake up and know how to make your game better. Every day. Even the day after you sent it to the printer. Even the day after it shows up in bookstores. Even a year after that. Every day.”
The hardest part is letting it go.
I’m elbow deep in the second draft of Born Under the Black Flag, the second 7th Sea novel. The first one was damn hard. This one was easier. Not a lot easier, but I did a few things I did not do with the first novel. First, I made an outline. Black Flag jumps back and forth through the life of Thomas St. Claire, a pirate in the world of Théah, and I wanted to know where the past and present were going to be. I outlined the chapters on index cards and put them down on the floor with numbers. Then, I picked them up in the order I wanted the novel, giving them letters. I shuffled them around a bit, scratched out some numbers and letters, and when I was finished, I started writing.
I finished just as my deadline hit. I mean, on the same day. Daughter of Fate—the first novel—got pushed back 30 days because I wasn’t finished with it. But St. Claire had a goal, a simple goal, and he was able to reach it because he was willing to spill blood to do it.
First draft done, I sent it off to Amanda Valentine and take a year end vacation, not thinking about the novel for a while so I could approach it with new eyes. Also, I spent some time doing research and reading Patrick O’Brien.
I knew a novel about pirates would need some O’Brien in it. There was already a little—maybe 1 O’Brien’s worth—but I wanted more. Not a lot more, but enough to satisfy myself and the other fans of his work.
O’Brien was the author of the Master and Commander novels—among others—and his storytelling made my heart ache. I couldn’t capture the same authenticity he did—I simply did not have the level of knowledge he had—but I wanted to make sure the nautical elements felt authentic enough.
I told Amanda that when I sent it off to her and she said she would help me out. She had a couple of friends who were O’Brien fans, so when I finished the second draft, she would hand it over to them for feedback.
Last night, I was going through her edits, making changes both big and small, when it came time to introduce the first ship in the book. And this is where I needed to raise the O’Brien Factor. I spent an hour and a half writing a single paragraph. One hundred and thirty words. I wanted them to be the right words. To make St. Claire’s inspection of the ship feel authentic.
Ninety minutes on those words. It was some of the hardest writing I’ve ever done. But I went to bed happy. This morning, I sent them to Ben Woerner who gave me feedback and added a little bit about hammocks. And then, I read it back to myself—out loud. And I was happy. Damn happy.
The Galente was a fluyt out of Vestenmennavenjar. A merchant ship smaller than those from Montaigne or Castille, clearly influenced by recent Avalon designs. The ship was round like a pear when viewed from the fore or aft and the forefoot had greater rake. Despite its size, she could handle shallower waters than most and the aftcastle was tall, giving plenty of room to the officers and the captain. A sure sign of vanity. The masthead caps were wide and she had little room for cannons. All of it was for crew and cargo. Her rigging was designed to minimize the first of them. She was tall and proud, few guns. And she was fast. Damn fast. Just a few carpenters and the right directions, and she’d be a fighting ship in a month.
After I was done, I sent the words to Jessica. She’s my Jane Austen fan. I sent them along with the request, “Please tell me if you get lost in the jargon.” I wanted to make sure there was just enough she could understand what was going on. She sent me this reply:
This is the sort of paragraph I skip when reading. If a fluyt is a real ship, then I don’t want someone spelling it out for me in text. That’s what Wikipedia is for. Talk about the significance that whoever’s POV would be considering.
Things like “A sure sign of vanity” are hints of a good direction. I want to hear the captain (or whoever) size her up, like a sailor would. I know no one knows what a fluyt is anymore, but ignore that. hide the information in the captain’s evaluation of his dreams and plans for her.
A merchant ship means he can hide his nature. That should be emphasized rather than comparing it to other nations.
A sure sign of vanity, but he could afford that. or maybe it would extend to his men, proud to have such a vessel. They will work harder.
I don’t know. But make it personal. Make it real. This is a text book description. Jargon smargon. It’s missing the people and the reasons.
Needless to say, I was heartbroken. I loved those words. I worked hard on those words. Dammit. DAMMIT.
Okay, okay. Take a breath. You know why you’re upset. You know why.
So, after stomping around the room for a little while, I set myself back behind the keyboard and began editing. Looking at Jessica’s feedback and using it. And what I got, after another hour of work, was something better. Not just better, something that Ben Woerner said “gave me chills” after reading it.
Yeah. It was better.
I wasn’t The Guy. I wasn’t going to walk out of the room when someone challenged me. I was going to listen and think.
And let it go.
St. Claire walked along the Galente, his eyes and mind taking in all the details. She was a fluyt out of Vestenmennavenjar: a merchant ship smaller than those from Montaigne or Castille, clearly influenced by recent Avalon designs. She was round like a pear when viewed from the fore or aft and the forefoot had greater rake. That meant he could sail her in shallower waters, hiding behind islands from larger ships. He could sail her up rivers, giving him access to ports and escape routes larger fighting ships could not manage.
The aftcastle was tall, giving plenty of room to the officers and the captain. St. Claire snickered. A sure sign of vanity on the part of the captain. Made the officers’ cabins easy targets for other ships. That would have to go.
She had little room for cannons. Only six per side. Instead of cannon decks, the Galente had room for cargo. She was a merchant ship, after all. Claire didn’t need many more guns, what he needed was speed, and the Galente had plenty of that. Her rigging was designed for minimal crew and outracing pirates. She was fast. Damn fast.
He knew what he had to do. Lose some cargo space with double hammocks and she could carry plenty of fighting men along with a small working crew. Add chase guns to the fore and aft, keeping sharp shooters in the rigging. Hiding in shallow waters at night, waiting for larger ships to go by, sailing right up to their hulls, moving so fast, the enemy’s cannons would fire too long, splashing cannons behind them. Then, unleash the marines. If he got that close, most ATC ships would surrender without ever firing a shot.
Just a few carpenters and the right directions, and she’d be a fighting ship in a month.
A great power summoning forth the brightest souls, and the darkest. These are the Heroes and Villains of Théah. For every knife-twisting assassin, there is an ever-diligent bodyguard. For each great act of courage and hope, there is a dastardly deed performed in darkness. For every Hero there is a Villain.
We’re proud to announce that 7th Sea: Heroes & Villains has sailed into port. Presented in full-color and fully illustrated, the PDF includes:
• 40 Heroes to use as NPCs or pregen characters
• 40 Villains ready to drop into any campaign
• Plot points and storylines for all characters
• Tips and tricks for creating your character
• History and Goals for all Heroes
• History and Schemes for all Villains
• New Mechanics and Dueling Styles
Welcome to spirit of the 7th Sea, an interview series with experts and enthusiasts who share a passion for early modern European history.
Our first interview is with Jacob Lefton, an artist blacksmith who divides his time between the Pioneer Valley of western Massachusetts and Germany. After graduating from Hampshire College in 2008, Jacob spent six months traveling Europe as a journeyman blacksmith. His work can be found in homes, businesses, and public spaces up and down the east coast of the Unites States and in Europe, and has been featured in galleries on both sides of the Atlantic.
Jacob shared wonderful insights with us about blacksmithing, both present and past. We hope these insights inspire your adventures!
Thanks for taking the time to share your expertise with us, Jacob! Blacksmithing is a frequent feature in 7th Sea—from the Blacksmith’s Guild to the elegantly forged hilt of a Montaigne Musketeer’s sword. I’m excited to learn which pieces of your smithing knowledge players can fold into their own 7th Sea games.
Q: First, what drew you to blacksmithing? How did you get your start and what was the apprenticeship process like?
Jacob: I’ve been surrounded by metalwork for my whole life—when I was really young, my father would go forging damascus (pattern welded) steel with friends, and he said it was too dangerous for me to come, so I think that embedded the idea in my mind. When I went to Hampshire College, I found out there was an intro to blacksmithing class, and I jumped at the chance to take it. I messed around with it a bit more in college, and thought I was heading in a different direction for a while. However, after working for several months after graduation, I was really unhappy and quit my job in order to go to an artistic blacksmithing festival in Ukraine.
From there, I hopped from workshop to workshop across Ukraine, Sweden, Finland, and England for six months, sucking up as much knowledge of metalworking as possible. Part of it was really hard, because the language and isolation from traveling alone was difficult, but part of it was great, because there’s a kind of universal language of craft—I found there’s a level of thinking and building with my hands that allows me to communicate with almost anyone. I came back to the States with the thought ‘use it or lose it,’ so I started selling forged work. In six short years, I went from struggling to feed myself to making some pretty big, nice pieces of functional work, as well as sculptural art.
This only thematically stacks up with a regular apprenticeship as one in the 17th century would look. Around 14, a kid would become an apprentice to a master. They would spend 3-4 years working in the shop, first doing menial tasks like cleaning and taking care of equipment, and slowly working up to more important tasks like making nails or tools or helping with the shop’s commissions. One guy I know had an apprenticeship back in the early 1960s, and spent his early years straightening metal, because they got one type of steel in large coils, another blacksmith who apprenticed in the early 1900’s spent some of his apprenticeship time forge-welding scraps back together, because the metal was expensive. Apprenticeships still happen in Germany for many trades, though they start at 16-17 now.
After an apprenticeship comes the journeymanship, which lasts for several years. During this time the journeyman works towards a master-piece, and may have the option to join a guild. Journeymanship is still a structure across Europe for some trades, but it’s far less pervasive than it was.
The journeyman leaves home with the clothes they’re wearing, a small bag of belongings (including personal tools like a hammer and tongs), and they’re not allowed to come within 50km of their hometown for the period of their journeymanship. They get a gold earring (the hole is punched with a small punch on the anvil), and the earring can be torn out by an angry master or used to pay for their coffin if they don’t make it back home. Photos on the wikipedia page show you the traditional clothes a Geselle (german for ‘companion’) would wear. I doubt these go back to the 1680’s, but definitely late 18th century/early 19th century. The bell-bottoms are so you don’t get scraps and shavings from the workshop in your shoes (woodworkers would have worn wooden clogs). I’ve met french compagnon and Danish journeymen carpenters, some women and some men. It was likely mostly men in our 17th century.
A note on women in the workshop: Many women practiced these crafts. Families often supported the workshops, and women were quite capable craftspeople. Especially in societies that would levy the able-bodied men for wartime, women would take over the craft-work on the homefront, and I’m sure they would help run the business side of the workshop during peacetime, which would require them having working knowledge of the craft… and there’s plenty of woodcuts and sketches of women working in these workshops.
Q: If I were to walk into a 17th century blacksmith’s shop, can you describe the scene I’d expect to see? I don’t have any specialized blacksmithing knowledge, so I’m picturing some coal, a fiery forge, an anvil, and…maybe an iron poker. Can you help me expand on that visual?
Jacob: If you walk into a 17th century blacksmith’s shop, you’re likely going to see something quite similar to what you imagine today. There’s a forge or fire of some kind in one part of the shop, anvils and metal bits, there will be benches for working on smaller stuff, as well as tools lining the walls. There will be all kinds of specialized tools depending on what kind of shop it is: devices for making tires for cartwheels, water and oil to quench material, a big fireplace to hang things over to put on a blackened linseed oil coating for weather protection, all kinds of specialized tongs and stakes… The anvil may or may not look like the horned shape you expect. Many anvils were trade-specific shapes, and might be a short squat square with a weird corner for specific applications, or a set of specific stakes. Depending on where you are in the world, you could have an anvil stone. And, there’s going to be a set of bellows to stoke the fire, that could be worked by the blacksmith, an apprentice, or a child.
Additionally, it’s probably really dim in there—a blacksmith often judges the temperature of the metal by the color of the glow, which is obscured by bright light. The floor might be made of small hardwood blocks on end, which take impact and wear pretty well and smoke when something hot falls on them, so one can find it easily. Plus, they’re softer than brick or stone, so it’s less punishing on one’s back.
Q: And what about a modern blacksmith’s shop? Have there been major technological advances in blacksmithing since the late 1600s, or have the materials and techniques remained more or less the same?
Jacob: When we think about pre-industrial revolution blacksmithing, we tend to think of people working with all hand tools and no power tools, which is right, in a sense. I’ve heard die-hard historical accuracy blacksmiths say that power tools make them feel sick, but it’s kind of a weird position to have. Workers have been trying to gain a mechanical advantage for as long as they’ve been working, and one generation’s primitive tool is a previous generation’s cutting-edge technological marvel. You won’t find electrical tools in a 17th century smithy, but you will find things that amount to power tools. (You can be sure that if you did let an angle-grinder or electric welder wander into one of those shops, it would be used in an instant).
Depending on the work they do and whether they’re near a river, a shop might have a waterwheel to power a water hammer (the one in the video below is much newer, probably 18th/19th century). There’s still a 13th/14th century water hammer running in Ukraine.
It takes two people to operate, one to control the hammer speed and one to move the steel. They make something like ten farm tools a day with the hammer. They don’t talk to each other when it runs —the master smith (the one holding the material) simply nods or shakes his head. One of the sites I came across while researching this has a roman-era waterwheel. Basically any source of energy people have been able to utilize, they have.
Don Dupuis from Hampshire told me about a knife-making town he visited in France that was organized around a river, and each shop specializing in a different part of the process was hooked up to a water wheel.
In other places, like forging anchors, you’ll find sledgehammer teams. Every group has their own way of keeping rhythm, but you can see how it is when they get going.
Because they don’t have power tools that can be pushed to the edge and used inappropriately to still attain decent results all their tools are going to be very specialized and valuable. For example, there will be files of all sizes—and I mean all sizes! You’ve probably seen and held little files for doing fine work, but some of these things are four feet long and have comparatively giant teeth. Because there’s no angle grinder or power sander, people would square things up by hand, using the weight of the tool to do the work.
In terms of being different from a modern shop, it’s hard to say. I think the details would be unfamiliar, but the structure would be familiar. There was a project from some US blacksmiths through a few decades between the 70’s and 90’s to collect photos of every blacksmith’s shop they visited in the States, to see how people worked. The thing was, after a while, they all start to look the same. There are patterns of craft work. Because the general techniques and workflow are similar, and people set their shops up in similar ways, you’ll find that blacksmith/fabricators today have similar shops across the world, and toolmakers and machinists are going to have some broad similarities across the decades and centuries. Certainly, some people are more or less clever or more or less organized, but overall, I think the craft space is going to be familiar.
Q: Before the industrial revolution, you were likely to find a smithy in every European town. What are some common household items that are now industrially produced, but would have required the work of a blacksmith back then?
Jacob: While it is true that you’re likely to find a smithy in every town, it’s not necessarily true that every town would have a blacksmith equipped to handle the necessary work, or that there’s enough work in a small town to support a full time smith. The village of Rixdorf is part of Neukölln in Berlin, and it has an old forge location. The Rixdorfer Schmiede has existed in one form or another since 1624, and back then, it wasn’t occupied all the time. A blacksmith would travel out from the city periodically to the various towns around Berlin, probably with some of his own equipment, and would stay for some time fixing and making things.
However, it’s important to keep in mind that there are so many different metal trades. Pre-industrial revolution, manufacturing was done by hand! Pretty much every single piece of metal good would have to pass through a blacksmith’s hands. Remember those specialists I keep mentioning—Das Ständebuch, a book of trades from 1568 lists and illustrates at least these: the Locksmith, the Spurrier (makes spurs), the Coppersmith, the Nailsmith, the Scythe-Smith, the Armorer, the Smith, the Basin-Maker, the (Mail) Armor-Maker, etc. There will be clockmakers, goldsmiths, silversmiths, casting specialists, anchor-makers… everything. So, pretty much every single piece of metal good is handmade! Cart tires and horseshoes are a big industry. Carriage bolts (really any bolts) are hand cut, and each nut is specific to the bolt it goes on—so don’t lose one!
Most blacksmiths were making these mundane everyday objects. Cowbells, hinges, nails, metal bowls, fittings of various kinds. Railings, gates, hooks, lots and lots of hardware, farm tools, workers tools, scissors…
Remember those files I mentioned earlier? There’s a specialist, a file-maker, whose job is to literally cut every one of those teeth by hand using specialized sets of punches that he likely makes himself. He’s probably going to have a bench by a window somewhere, and a fire where he can anneal, harden, and temper the steel.
The craft of ‘whitesmithing’ was equally important. This is the process of filing out all those ugly hammer and forge marks. Things for everyday use close to people, like candle holders, silverware, doorhandles, etc, would be sanded and filed and polished and waxed. For example, half of scissor making is taking the rough forged blanks and polishing them… The aesthetic we have today of liking the rough forged hammer texture definitely did not exist back then!
Q: How were blacksmiths regarded in early modern Europe? Did blacksmiths receive any special treatment or accolades?
Jacob: I think this is definitely a mixed bag! In some stories, the blacksmith is called the king of trades, because he can make his own tools, whereas any other trade that requires metal tools must go to the blacksmith. There’s a story about King Arthur deciding this after quizzing all the tradesmen.
However, blacksmiths were also linked to the devil, because of their association with fire. There’s a Russian or slavic story about the devil running through the blacksmith’s shop to get shined up again. I don’t really know the details of this one, only that someone made a sculpture of the story that I saw in the east Ukrainian city of Donetsk.
I do know that often blacksmith shops were positioned at the edge of town or near bodies of water. They had a tendency to burn down, and there was an effort to prevent them from taking the rest of the town with them.
Q: A blacksmith works with iron and steel. Would a 17th century blacksmith have worked with other metals as well, or would they have sought the help of a silver or goldsmith if a piece required precious metals?
Jacob: This isn’t something I can really speak to, but I think a blacksmith is going to do a little bit of copper work if he needs. However, most blacksmiths aren’t going to be collaborating too much. Unless it’s really high end or complicated work, I don’t think the average metalsmiths will be intermingling. More likely, the shop that’s producing the multiple-metal pieces (jewelry, specialized mechanisms, etc) will have the expertise to work the materials as necessary, or pieces of a larger operation will be subcontracted by an engineer/inventor, artist, or architect.
Q: And a followup question! Because so many pieces require mixed materials, what other artisans and craftspeople might a blacksmith work closely with? How often do you use mixed materials in your own work?
Jacob: I would expect blacksmiths to work with woodworkers and stonemasons. Much of their work is going to be making tools or fittings for others’ work. Coopers who make barrels need metal bands. Carts need cartwheels. Carpenters will have chisels. They can make handles for knives, though I assume a knifesmith is going to be equipped to make their own handles. Shipwrights will have dedicated blacksmiths. A boat at sea will have a blacksmith to make simple repairs in a safe place (what with the fire).
Q: Finally, can you share any blacksmithing terms or lingo that can be used to make smithing in 7th Sea feel more authentic?
Forging — make or shape by heating an object in a fire or furnace and hammering it. Cold forging is a real thing. Copper alloys are often cold forged until they work-harden and then they are annealed.
Annealing — the process of heating a metal object so the internal stresses relax.
Hardening — the process of heating and quickly quenching a metal object to build up internal crystal structure and internal tension.
Tempering — Heating hardened metal to relax it to a desired hardness. The simple description: tools and knives are annealed so they’re uniformly relaxed, then hardened all the way, and then tempered to reach the desired hardness of the cutting or working surface.
Dies — the upper and lower forging surfaces. A hammer is a top die and the anvil is a bottom die.
Swages — specially shaped forging dies for particular shapes.
Jig — a device that holds a piece of work and guides the tool operating on it. ** IMPORTANT NOTE ** most things that a blacksmith makes regularly are going to have a set of swages and jigs for working and bending the form in repeated ways. Most of production blacksmithing is about figuring out the most efficient and usable jigs possible to repeat the making of objects as fast as possible. Even nail-making has special plates for preserving the point and forging the head flat.
Blank — an unfinished/unpolished piece of work. A knife blank is the metal in the shape of the knife, no edge, unpolished. Hinge blanks might have no detail put in, and no holes for securing to the door.
Drawing out – making the bar longer.
Fullering – using something rounded to push the metal in controlled direction – think about the groove in the center of a sword, for example.
Pointing – making a point.
Upsetting – pushing the metal back into itself to thicken it up.
Punching – using a blunt object with sharp edges to remove a slug from the bar.
Slitting – cutting the metal using a sharp object.
Welding – Sticking the metal together using heat to melt it to itself.
Brazing – sticking the metal together with a lower heat to melt a binding material.
Soldering – even lower heat joining of metal.
Pattern welding – folding layers of different alloy steel together, which produces specific desired characteristics (strength, flexibility), and with an acid etch treatment the different metals show up as layers.
“Damascus Steel” – what we often call pattern welding today. True damascus steel was traded from Damascus which was the Western interface of the silk road. The actual material came from a specific geography in India and is called “Wootz steel”, a completely different alloy from the carbon steel.
This was fantastic, Jacob! Thank you again for sharing your time and enthusiasm. Smooth sailing to you!
Want to follow Jacob’s work and adventures? Find him on Twitter @watermosaic.
(from the forthcoming 7th Sea: Second Edition Game Master chapter)
People always ask me how I feel about hearing GMs change the rules of games I’ve published. I always say the same thing: “Great! I’d love to see what they came up with.” That answer tends to confuse people, so then I often have to explain that I see RPGs as a kind of oral tradition. You can go to different cities, sit down at different game tables and play different versions of 7th Sea. To me, that’s exciting. And it was hard for me to explain why… until recently.
A few months ago, I read an article online called “How I helped to pull the rope that tolled the bell for OD&D.” (You can read it here.)
The article stunned me. In summation, the author—a kindly gentleman named Tim Kask—talks about the earliest days of Dungeons & Dragons, and how the rulebook wasn’t a rulebook at all, but a list of example rulings. The difference, he argued, was that rulings gave the Dungeon Master freedom to improvise creatively while rules limited the DM’s ability to run the game. He lamented that later editions went to the side of rules vs rulings and the game has suffered ever since.
Like I said, the article stunned me. (I could talk about it for hours, really. And have.) And it also got me thinking about how I run my own table. Many times, if I can’t think of a specific rule, I make something up on the spot. A quick ruling that’s fair, but also fast. I make the promise, “After the game, I’ll look up the rule,” and I do and try to keep it in my head for the next time. But, generally, if I can’t think of a rule, I ask for a quick roll of the dice. If the player has an Advantage that would benefit him, I let him use it. Sometimes, I even ignore an existing rule and create a new one that better fits the circumstance.
That’s how I want you to look at these rules. These are the rulings we’ve come up with, that we’ve found fair and useful. Sometimes, they’ll get in the way and a quick roll of the dice may be a better solution. Sometimes, the rules we’ve given you will fit like a glove and add to the fun.
The end result of all this navel-gazing is a simple piece of advice. When it comes time to run the game, you don’t need to have all 300 pages memorized. Just stick to the basics:
You Create a Scene.
Players Create Raises.
Players use Raises to change the Scene.
That’s really all you need. Those are the only rules. All the rest is rulings. Suggestions we found useful. You may not find them useful. You may ditch one in a moment of forgetfulness or panic or dramatic necessity.
That’s okay. Nobody’s sending the 7th Sea Rules Enforcement Force to your door to make sure you get everything right.
Improvise. Have fun. And remember: it’s a storytelling game. And these are your friends. More importantly, this is your game. You bought it. You can change whatever you want in it, including the rules. Sometimes, especially the rules.
Here are the biggest questions. We’ll be adding/updating/editing them as we go. If you have a question we didn’t address, just add it as a comment!
Who goes first in Contested Risks?
Whoever has the most Raises spends the first Raise. By the way, we are re-designing contested risks in a big way. You should see something soon.
What if a player/GM uses a rule to be a jerk?
Sorry, I can’t fix that, and honestly, that’s the GM’s job. She maintains the order at the table. To quote our friend Jesse Heinig, “Best you can do is encourage desired behaviors and discourage unwanted ones.”
What does the “Reroll” tag at the bottom of the Skills list mean?
It means that, if you have at least two Ranks in a Skill, you can reroll one die every time you make a Risk using that Skill. If you had at least four Rank in a Skill, you could reroll two dice every time you made a Risk, but in the Quickstart, nobody has four Ranks yet.
Do the Heroes get 2 bonus dice against a Villain when the Villain has two Dramatic Wounds?
Nope. Villains just keep on tickin’ until you knock ‘em down.
When you reach your third Dramatic Wound, is it just nines that count as tens, or do you now only require a total of nine to make a Raise?
Your 9’s count as 10’s on the dice. To make Raises, you still need to make a total of 10.
Can Keen Senses be used for eavesdropping?
Can another Hero aid a dueling Hero by spending a Hero Point (such as shouting encouragement or yelling advice, or insulting their opponent)?
When performing a Duel Maneuver, does it cost 1 Raise for the Maneuver itself?
No. If you spend 3 Raises to slash, your opponent takes 3 Wounds. There is no “start up cost.”
It seems to me that the hero point system is designed so a player never uses their own hero points, but need to coordinate with the rest of the group and share them. Is that correct?
I wouldn’t say “never uses their own,” but a single Hero Point from your friends is worth more than a single Hero Point from yourself. It’s important to remember that you can only receive a single Hero Point from another Hero to help you in a Risk. You can use as many of your own as you want.
There are some other factors at play, however. The person giving you the Hero Point does need to play into the Risk in some way, even if it is only emotional or inspirational. They also have to have a Hero Point to give you, or one that they are willing to give; you can only receive Hero Points from other players to get bonus dice, not to activate effects. So if I really need to use my Second Story Work here in a second, I can’t afford to give you my Hero Point so that you can get dice.
Will there be a guide to convert characters from original 7th Sea to the new system?
Probably. If you want to play an experienced character from 1st Edition to 2nd Edition, use John’s Unofficial Conversion Rules:
Make the character you want to play.
If you have any questions, see Rule 1.
I have a question you haven’t answered. Can you answer it?
Yes! Send us the question and we’ll do our best to answer it quickly and concisely.