Oblivion Social Encounters using Errant's Lockpicking

There's been a lot of ink spilled about social encounters in RPGs. This is not a big theory post. This is not a "This is how I run it at my table and it works" post (I already did that). This is just an idea. Maybe you will like it.

Oblivion

Hey, remember the game Oblivion? It had a minigame where you had different options on how to respond to an NPC. The NPC either liked that option or hated it. You could tell by their very-articulate, hyper-realistic expressions which they liked best. 

Errant

Errant is one of my fave games. One of the things I like about it is that it has a hundred mini-games, procedures, and cool ideas tucked into it that you can use, ignore, or adapt for your purposes.

For example, it's lockpicking procedure has the would-be thief choose between the actions of twist, tap, or turn to guess the combination to pick a particular lock.

On the Non-player Character

In Courtney Campbell's On the Non-Player Character, NPCs are described as having locks (things they hate) and keys (things they like). Use a key to persuade an NPC to do something for you, but if you choose one of their locks, they'll seize up.

...Can you guess where I'm going with this yet?

Picking the Social Lock

When a player first meets an NPC, they have three starting attitudes. 

1. Friendly
2. Uncertain
3. Unfriendly

Friendly NPCs will generally act in good faith and try to help the PCs. They will perform minor favors for them willingly. Performing larger favors - funding expeditions, marriage contracts, or voting in their favor in front of the senate - will require some gift or favor in return on the PCs' part. 

If an NPC's attitude is uncertain, you can use this procedure to befriend them.

Conversation actions

The conversation actions are: 

Admire - Flatter or praise the NPC. Say something you like about them.

Joke - Tell a joke or otherwise introduce a bit of levity. If the GM actually laughs, this counts as two successes.

Mock - Say something mean spirited about the situation at hand or another NPC.

Share - Say something about yourself. Tell the NPC a rumor or a story.

Sympathize - Say something that empathizes with the NPC or the situation at hand. Be specific.

Every NPC requires 3 checks to befriend them.

• Using a conversation action usually gives 1 check.
• Each NPC has a key: an action they very much like. Choosing this action provides 2 checks.
• Each NPC has two locks: actions they do not care for.
• Upon selecting a locked action, the NPC will be offended. Once the NPC is offended, they remain so until they are befriended.
• If another locked action is chosen while the NPC is offended, they become unfriendly, and refuse to entertain this or future requests (unless the PCs take a future action that would change this status).

Basic rules

The player simply says what action they're taking, maybe with a little contextualization. "I want to joke with Captain Jake. I'll tell a funny story about a pirate's monkey or something."

Expert (thespian) rules

The player roleplays exactly what they say, and the GM determines what conversation action is actually used.

"Say, sorry you're having pirate trouble recently. You know what a pirate's favorite letter is, don't you know? It's Sea! Like C. Get it?"

"OK, that sounds like a joke to me. Captain Jake doesn't seem to like that you're making light of the severity of the pirate threat, and says: 'Ye shannae be laughing when Onion Jack boards your boat.'"

Personality: Keys and Locks

NPCs have likes and dislikes, wants and needs: their personality. 

An NPC has some action they like: their key. An NPC also has two dislikes: their locks.

These are jotted down by the GM when they write the NPC. They can also use one of the stock persons included in this blog post for expediency. 

Roleplaying the NPC's personality convincingly is one of the GM's jobs. It should be relatively apparent after an in-character conversation with the NPC what certain facets of their personality are: whether they are fair minded, religious, mean spirited, judgmental, or otherwise. 

You don't have to speak in a silly voice to do this. You can state plainly what you believe to be the NPC's primary personality traits.

Disposition

The current situation of the NPC or the relative position between the PC and the NPC is called a disposition. A disposition introduces a twist into the process of befriending an NPC. For example:

Drunk - For the first action, any action taken will be correct.

Grateful - If the PCs have recently done the NPC a good turn, they will be grateful. They only need two checks to turn friendly.

Suspicious - If the NPC has a reason to be wary of a PC or their motives--especially if they look like an unwashed, smelly adventurer in a civilized setting--they are suspicious. The first locked action causes them to turn unfriendly.

Bribable - A wrong action can be ignored if 2d20 gold are immediately spent on the NPC.

Personas

To generate an NPC personality, roll d8.

1. Analyst: Rational, traditional, and outwardly focused.
   Key: Share
   Locks: Admire, Joke
2. Craftsman: Hard-working and down-to-earth.
   Key: Admire
   Locks: Joke, Mock
3. Anchor: Loyal, task-focused, and overworked.
   Key: Sympathize
   Locks: Joke, Share
4. Mentor: Supportive, approachable, and fair.
   Key: Share
   Locks: Mock, Admire
5. Pioneer: Visionary, bold, and idea-oriented.
   Key: Sympathize
   Locks: Admire, Joke
6. Broker: Extraverted, reputation-oriented, and persuasive.
   Key: Joke
   Locks: Admire, Sympathize
7. Achiever: High-performing, stressed out, and motivated.
   Key: Admire
   Locks: Share, Mock
8. Director: Competitive, imperious, and goal-oriented.
   Key: Mock
   Locks: Sympathize, Share

Lingua Franca

Choosing bonus languages in standard D&D games is the worst. Either your choice matters a lot ("Oh, we're playing Keep on the Borderlands? Great! I chose Goblin as one of my starting languages.") or it matters not at all ("I speak Mermaid! What do you mean we're in the center of the desert for the whole campaign?"). 

I've read some good advice on how to make the languages in your campaign setting more meaningful, but one of my favorite techniques is to make the language, itself, have some sizzle on its own. 

(This core of this idea was borrowed (like so many things) from the GLoG. I think I first riffed on these for my GLoG race templates, here. But they seemed worthwhile to pull into their own post.)

Common

Common can be understood by everyone. Literally everyone. It's a magical language that forces its meaning into your brain. If you don't speak Common, this is very uncomfortable.

Elvish

Elvish is comprised of psychic syllables. Speakers are totally silent, but if you speak Elvish and are looking at the speaker in the eyes, you can hear them. You cannot tell a lie in Elvish.

Dark Elvish is a corruption of the Elvish language. It's also totally psychic and silent, but you can actually lie in it (if you're proficient).

Halfling

Possibly related to Elvish, Halfling is another silent language. Illusory word bubbles appear above the halfling's head. You don't have to look your subject in the eye--when yelled, the word bubbles are visible at a distance. The word bubbles look somewhat ridiculous, like Mr. Saturn's talk.

Dwarvish

Dwarvish is untranslatable. Spells like Comprehend Languages/Tongues automatically fail. If you don't speak Dwarvish, it's an untranslatable code.

Gnomish

Birds can understand Gnomish. They don't really care, but they understand it. 

Draconic

Draconic is hot. Speaking Draconic literally warms you up. In even mild climates, speaking Draconic is uncomfortable for humans since it raises their body temperature so much.

You cannot write Draconic on paper - it catches on fire. Only stone can bear the heat of its glyphs.

Goblin

Goblin hangs in the air after it's spoken like an invisible stinky cloud. Goblin houses get stained and greasy from the continual stream of their chatter. Goblins, dogs, and anything else with a great sense of smell can detect it for days after it's spoken. (Credit to Brent at Glassbird Games for this one.)

Making Magical Items Feel Magical

+1 swords are boring. I talked about that here. 

Can we apply the principle of "active, fantastic magic" to other common magic items? 

Flaming sword

I think the flaming sword is particularly pathetic. It sounds so cool. A flaming sword! What does it do? Ah, "additional damage." Wow. 

Let's hit this one like a hammer.

After the first sin, Man and Woman were cast out of the Garden of Eden, and an angel set to guard the gates with a flaming sword. In time, the garden withered and the angel grew negligent. This is his sword. 

When drawn from its scabbard, the flaming sword erupts into fire. 

It sheds light and heat like a bright torch. Although you are never without light as long as you have this sword, it is uncomfortable to hold. Too bright. Too hot. You sweat while it's drawn. 

The sword is as hot as a forge. You can start fires with the sword easily.

Roll an additional +d6 when you attack with this sword (for a total of 2d6 damage). Make this extra dice red, for style and pizzazz purposes. 

If you ever deal 6+ damage with the flaming sword, your target catches on fire. They take an additional 1d6 damage every turn until they spend a turn putting themselves out. The GM arbitrates how fires are put out. Throwing themselves in water would work (but would ruin carried scrolls, etc.). Rolling on the ground might work, but would break potion bottles. 

Moreover, given time, you can cut through any material that will melt at forge temperatures. You can push the sword through a lock, easily hack open wooden doors, and melt down lesser swords.

The blood of an innocent will cool this sword's fire forever. If ever used to harm someone truly innocent (a child, someone who just undertook confession, etc.), the sword's magic is lost. 

Ring of protection

Ring of protection - another set it and forget it item. But how can we make it active? 

The ring of protection is writ with runes of invulnerability. While worn, the hand on which it sits is as invulnerable as mithril. 

If you are not carrying anything in that hand, you may use your hand like a light shield by catching and deflecting blows with your bare hand. 

Having a free, invulnerable hand is very handy for gambits. When it would be helpful (GM's discretion), you only roll one dice instead of two, succeeding on a gambit on a single hit. You simply twist weapons away from the hands of combatants by grabbing the blade.

Additionally, you can use your hand as an invulnerable tool--up unto the wrist. You can dip your finger in acid, hold open a door that slams shut, or catch a swinging pendulum blade. Still, the ring does not confer super strength or other protection. The force of a blow might shatter your shoulder.

You can elect to shatter the ring of protection to automatically pass a saving throw. You must make this decision before making the roll.

Boots of speed

These winged boots weren't meant for you, mortal. You are moving at god-speeds. You are killing yourself.

When you click your heels together, you rocket forward. Your body is faster than your mind. You're moving faster than you can see. This is disorienting.

While traveling overland, you blast forward. You can move 1 hex (6 miles) in 10 minutes. This causes 10 damage to your body as your joints and muscles and bones are put under incredible strain.

While traveling in close quarters (like in a dungeon), you instantly move a distance equal to your normal walking pace. This functions essentially like a teleport, and is disorienting. Take 1d4 damage as you clip the edge of a companion's shield or stop yourself by slamming into a wall.

During combat, you move your normal walking pace in addition to any other actions you take during this round. You take 1 damage from accident and strain when you do this, but you also deal +1d4 extra damage from inertia while making attacks. If it matters for your system, you automatically disengage from enemies when using the boots in this way.

Bag of holding

So I'm against the bag of holding on principle. Magic items shouldn't negate the essential dangers of the dungeon*. If you trivialize what you can bring on a journey, you trivialize the resource management of a dungeon crawl. But, uh, here's an alternative.

It's a pig. It looks dumb as hell. But if you scratch it behind its ears, it opens up like a pack.

The pig of holding can hold 20 slots worth of items. It follows beyond you, sometimes bumping into you and stepping on your heels. If unattended, it sometimes wanders away to press its head into a corner, so it's a good idea to tie a loose leash to it. It eats garbage, but you do need to feed it or it will die. It's just a pig after all.

Dimensional magics get all twisted up inside the pig. Casting teleport or dimension door on the pig, placing another dimensional artifact (portable hole, etc.) inside the pig, or similar results in a magical catastrophe. Draw on your favorite Bad Magic Shit table.

Eh. I don't love this one. It's maybe a little weirder but it's not necessarily more magical. 

* Did you notice how the flaming sword (above) did this? Yeah. Bad game design. The guy who wrote that sucks.

Belt of giant strength 

I like a belt of giant's strength as much as the next guy, but always thought it was interesting when it set your Strength directly to a number instead of giving you a bonus. Is there a way we can make this more active?

While wearing this belt, you have the strength of a giant. 

Let me clarify. You have the strength of one, specific giant. Perhaps you have the belt that channels the strength of Grom the Unwieldy. Perhaps you have the belt that channels Oglethorp of the Deep Nostrils.  They were created by dwarves long ago after the Second Giant Wars as a condition of their surrender. When you use the belt's powers, you make the bonded giant weak and tired. If that giant ever dies, the belt ceases to function. Obviously, giants hate this and will attack anyone wearing these belts on sight.

Once per day, you may invoke the power of the belt to perform some Herculean task. You can lift a portcullis, pull down a column, divert a river through sheer strength, wrestle a lion to the ground, etc. This task is automatically successful if it is at all possible through actual main-forte. This power refreshes at the dawn of every day, per the ancient bargain. 

Additional resources

• The Blog That Started Yelling About This First: Dungeon of Sign's Evocative +1 Sword Replacements. 
• And some more: Goblinpunch's Weird Swords
• d4Caltrops is one of my favorite blogs, bar none. I think the contributions they make to the scene are invaluable. Here are several examples of magic items, most of which I think are good.

Making +1 Swords Feel Magical

I had a disagreement with my colleague Tom Kilian recently. I said that +1 swords were boring. In almost all of my previous  D&D games, the little scribbled +1 would fade into a long string of bonuses from other sources (base attack bonus, attribute bonus, feat bonus, etc.). I'd forget that I even owned a magical sword. And when a +2 sword came along? I'd throw the +1 sword onto the ground like day old bread for ducks. 

Tom disagreed. He protested: "I've never been bored with +1 swords! A +1 can be really useful. And they all have a little extra, you know? They point towards the north or float in water. And they have a history you can uncover."

And I thought, whoa, wait, hold on. That does sound cool. 

So I still might not be in love with set-it-and-forget-it bonuses, but I could tell Tom was investing more into standard magic items as a GM than I was.

Let's fix that.

Make treasure lore-full

Darrell Sweet

First things first. The standard treasure lists found at the back of your DMG are about as flavorful as a saltine cracker soaked in room-temperature water.

This is boring: “You find a longbow, artwork that costs 500 gold, a gold ring worth 100 gold, a +1 sword, and 1000 gold coins.”

This is much cooler: “You find an elven bow made of yew and strung with a strand of elf hair. A portrait of a portly burrower with a mayoral hat in a golden frame seems like it would carry a hefty sum. A golden signet ring is marked with the house sigil of three apples. A dwarven sword, short but wide, carries runes that name it Death Cleaver in the dwarven tongue. Lastly, a treasure chest overflowing with silver and gold of different mintings. Most bear the seven stars of the Andantine Isles, but dwarven coins from under the mountain bearing the hammer and sickle are mixed into the hoard as well.”

Dark Souls isn't everybody's cup of tea, but the way that it delivers its lore through a steady drip-drip-drip of item descriptions is fun. (I wrote a bit about this here.) To discover Dark Souls lore, you have to read through the ancient texts like a real life loremaster (through your item menu, hoping that some invader isn't about to shank you).

If you're a GM like me, I bet you are positively vibrating at an opportunity to tell the players some dope shit you've written in your world - some bit of lore you love but can't deliver organically. Guess what motherfucker? Your players want treasure. Give it to them that way. Like giving your cats a pill wrapped in salami. 

When describing treasure, specify:

• The materials of construction
• The people who crafted it
• The artistic embellishments

For example: "The sword has runes running down its blade in Aklo, naming the blade 'Tailbiter.' The hilt is shaped like a peasant boy fighting a dragon."

Make magic active

Sara Kiplin

So the core of my complaint is that it doesn't feel magical to write another +1 bonus onto my sheet. 

Let me quote a GLoG principle that I like a lot:

> GLOG Design Rule #3: Never use small, passive bonuses. They're boring, easy to overlook, potentially confusing, and often lead to synergy. Use active abilities instead. (What Extra Credits calls "incomparables".)

What would a +1 sword look like if it didn't provide a passive bonus?

Just brainstorming, here are three options.

1. Activate the bonus

When you unsheathe and cry out the name of a magic sword, you add +1 to attack and damage for the rest of the battle. 

> Earthdawn had this concept of weapons that leveled up with you as you learned their lore. Learn a weapon's name? Learn who created it? Fight a battle against the weapon's chosen enemy? Each of those unlocks another power. I think that's pretty cool. I like this option because it evokes that feeling.

At the same time, this is still just a +1 weapon. Sure, there's maybe a little choice of "Do I cry out the name?" that's interesting if you're doing a stealth mission, but this is kind of like the Dodge feat from 3E. I forgot to invoke it 75% of the time. It wasn't active vs passive, it was "forgotten" or "goddammit, if I had said he was my Dodge target, he would have missed, goddammit, not again." 

OK, let's try again.

1a. Activate the BIG bonus

When you cry out the name of a magic sword, your next attack is a critical hit. The sword must be driven into a campfire and rest, like a human would, before it can use this ability again.

> OK, well, I'd probably remember to use this bonus if it was big enough. A critical hit is a nice level - one solid strike, maybe enough to kill a big beast. Making it 1x/day with a Dark Souls-y way to refresh it? That's fine.

2. Additional damage dice 

This sword deals +1d4 damage.

> A passive bonus? Josh what are you doing? Well. I think that rolling an additional dice feels different in a kinesthetic way. If a normal sword does d6 damage, but I'm rolling 1d6+1d4? That feels physically different at the table. I remember I have a magical sword because I have to pick up a whole other dice!

...Still, maybe a little boring.

3. Invulnerable sword

This sword is all but invulnerable to harm. It can hold open a dragon's jaws, or prop open a crushing trash compactor room, or dipped in acid. It cannot be destroyed by conventional means.

Even so, it is light as a feather. It only takes up one pack slot, if stowed. 

Moreover, if you learn the sword's name, it has a special property.

> I think this one is my favorite. An item that is straight-up immune to damage is great for OSR puzzle solving. Assuming you can retrieve it, you can use it to trip traps, bypass obstacles, and get up to all kind of shenanigans. 

Songs of Power for the Lord of the Rings Adventure Game

This blog post is about an alternate magic system for the Lord of the Rings Adventure Game. The magic system is derived from the Rogue-like game Sil.

The Lord of the Rings Adventure Game and Sil are my two favorite licensed Tolkien games. Both are defunct, simple, and don't get the love they deserve.

I don't know why I spend my time on these things, either.

Songs of Power

For every +1 bonus you did not assign during character creation, your character can learn two of the following songs of power. 

To sing a song of power, roll the dice and add your Magical bonus against Δ 7. 

• If you are successful, pay the Endurance cost listed in parentheses after the song’s name. 
• If you are unsuccessful, you have attracted the Shadow’s Gaze. The GM immediately makes a random encounter roll. 
• If you roleplay by speaking or singing a stanza at least four lines long that feels appropriate to the setting, either reduce the Endurance cost by 1 (minimum 1) or reduce difficulty to Δ5.
• If involved in a fight, you can only sing a song of power when a missile could be fired. You cannot sing while engaged in melee. 
• Most of the songs provide benefits for the entire fellowship, but a few require you to target a specific enemy or ally. In this case, you must be able to see them and they must be able to hear your song.

Song of the Stars (1 per round)

You sing a song of hope kindled in the darkness. As long as you sing, the fellowship is immune to fear.

Song of the Trees (1 per ten minutes)

You sing a song of the trees of Valinor, and a little of their light shines through the ages. As long as you are carrying a light source while singing, you cannot be ambushed by enemies.

Song of Slaying (1 per round)

You sing a song of battle and glory. While you are singing, the entire fellowship gains a +1 Offensive bonus against a particular type of foe (wolf, goblin, troll, etc.). This bonus increases by +1 every time your fellowship defeats that type of foe, up to a maximum of your Magical bonus. This effect lasts as long as you sing.

Song of Silence (2 per ten minutes)

When you make a Magical check to sing this song, failure does not attract the Shadow’s Gaze. Instead, you lose 4 Endurance instead of 2.

You sing a song of hiding and shadows. The next time the GM rolls for a random encounter, they roll two dice and take the most favorable result. If possible based on the results, your fellowship will go unnoticed.

Song of Smithing (5)

While camped, you sing a song of the fires of creation. Your campfire becomes as hot as a forge. You or another character in your fellowship can turn raw materials into crafted items, as if you were at a full-fledged forge, even if in the wilderness.

Song of Freedom (2 per ten minutes) 

As you travel, you sing a song of unbarred gates and wandering feet. While you sing, members of the fellowship have a +2 bonus to rolls to dodge traps, pick locks, or endure elements.

Song of Staying (4)

You sing a song of protection, laying a hedge around a character. That character gains +2 Defense bonus for the next five rounds, as if they were carrying a shield. This bonus does not stack with a physical shield.

Song of Sleep (4)

You sing a song of peace, that makes your enemies powerless before you. The target of this song may be any normal creature (man, elf, troll, goblin, animal, etc.). Roll the dice and add your Magical bonus vs Δ9. If successful, that creature falls asleep, and will not take an action unless they are attacked.

Song of Mourning (4)

You sing a song mourning the woes of the world. If you sing for a watch, the entire fellowship regains Endurance as if they had rested for the night. You do not benefit from this healing, as you take the burden of these sorrows on yourself.

Song of Sharpness (5)

You sing an iron song, causing swords to thirst for blood. Choose one melee weapon. It deals double the amount of wounds for the next three rounds.

Song of Mastery (6)

You sing a song of doom that makes your enemies powerless before you. Roll the dice and add your Magical bonus vs a Δ determined by the most powerful enemy set against you. If successful, all foes are routed and attempt to flee from you.

Δ 6 - Normal animals, like wolves or bears

Δ 8 - Evil animals, like wargs or spiders

Δ 9 - Mannish ruffians, goblins

Δ 11 - Uruks, trolls, mannish warriors

Δ 13 - Wraiths, un-dead

Δ 18 - Demons

Retrospective

I have made several magic systems on this blog. 

- Magic in Wilderland

- Magic in Wilderland part 2

- Earthsea-esque Truespeaking

Sometime, just for fun, I think I'll make a retroclone of the Lord of the Rings Adventure Game with the licensed property stuff hacked off. 

Again, I don't know why I spend so much time on this stuff.

Two mistakes

Cats give you a brainworm that makes you love them. How else do you explain letting a little yelling claw monster into your house?

Just look at her. The little terror.

Here are two monsters that operate on the principle of making people feel things. 

Hybrid animals 

Hybrid animals are made by wizards. They are almost never an end to themselves, but merely a product of magical experimentation. It is better to figure out how hybrid Clone + Reincarnation spells operate on animals before you try it on yourself. 

A few of these hybrid animals have escaped the magical laboratories where they were hatched. With no natural predators, their populations have exploded. They are an ecological disaster. 

The Owlbear

You've seen these before. And you hate them.

Owlbears emit a pheromone that generates intense feelings of loathing to anyone within smelling distance. Rangers and elves have learned that owlbears are nearby when they begin to get that gnawing feeling of dislike, with the pheromone just on the edge of their perception. When they think "You know who I really hate? Owlbears," they know it's time to take action.

HD 5
AC 13
Attacks 2 × claw (1d8), 1 × bite (1d8)
Morale 9
Alignment: Neutral
XP 175
Number Appearing 1d4 

Bear Hug: If a victim is hit by both paws in the same round, the owl bear hugs for an extra 2d8 automatic damage.

I Hate Owlbears: If there are any visible owlbears, any attack or spell cast must include an owlbear as a target.

Owlcats

Awww! Look at it! It's making a face! Wow, it's just like a little people. Ha ha, it's scratching me! How cute! I'm going to name it "Ramen Noodle."

Owlcats emit a mild toxin through their claws. Anyone scratched by an owlcat feels an intense feeling of affection towards all owlcats. Gnomes are immune. This has no practical combat effects, but does compel many people to keep owlcats as pets. No matter how poorly tempered the owlcat, infected people frame all actions of the owlcat in cherubic terms.

Owlcats favorite food is the glue used in bookbinding. They love to pull apart books to lick the spines. They are ruinous in libraries.

HD 1/2

AC 15
Attacks - 1 hp (claw), inject toxin (no save)
Morale 6
Alignment Neutral
XP 1
Number Appearing 1d12

In search of a better gazetteer

These two books are the best RPG gazetteers that I know of. 

Example 1: Stephen Biesty's Cross-Sections Castle

(Here's my attempt to gameify this a bit.)

(My colleague Dwiz also wrote on this.)

Example 2: Kingdom of the Dwarfs 

Everything below this point is pointless onanism. Read on at your own risk.

Natural-language game design

My favorite RPG rules are written in naturalistic language. 

What do I mean by this? Well, the easier it is to speak in-character about an effect, status, or ability, the more naturalistic the game's language.

Not Naturalistic: I have 1,000 experience points. I am level 1. 

More Naturalistic: I have 1,000 gold. I am a veteran.

The concept of experience points and levels probably doesn't exist inside the player character's mind, whereas gold and class titles do. The less a player has to double-think between the fictional universe and the game mechanics, the smoother and more enjoyable I find the experience. The more that a player character says exactly what the player would say, the happier I am.

This isn't just a criticism of dissociated mechanics like experience points and levels, though. Sometimes rules are written with so many clauses and sub-clauses, trying to prevent possible misuse or misinterpretation, that they become a complicated legalese. Sometimes rules are written in a "secret code" that takes up less space on a page but is nonsense to the uninitiated. When rules are written in a baroque way they work against their own clarity. 

(This is one of my most crucial critiques of 5E. The language of the rules seems to be written in such a way that it is trying to avoid the most diabolic interpretation.) 

Get this shit out of my rulebooks

So how do we move the needle from non-natural to natural-language rules?

Diegetic names for abilities

Bad: My character has a feat called "BFG," which lets them have a gun that does 6d6 damage.

Better: I'm packing a Yamaha Raiden assault rival. 

In a game like D&D, spell names are diegetic. That is, they exist inside the fictional universe. A character casting magic missile might say, "I'm casting magic missile," and everyone versed in arcana would say, "Yes, that is the spell we call magic missile." By contrast, feat names are not diegetic. If Drizzt shows up with two scimitars, someone wouldn't say, "Ah, he has dual wielder" in character. You might say Drizzt is a dual wielder, or knows how to dual wield, but the names "Dual Wielder," "Elemental Adept," or "Tavern Brawler" are not in-universe terms. I mean, hell, in D&D even class names might not be diegetic. If someone is a monk, would you call them a monk, or do those monk levels just represent them being agile or a bar-room brawler? 

Natural language rules provide diegetic names for character traits.

• Consider making your class your actual job. A bard is a graduate of the College of Bards, having been trained to harmonize with the Ainulindalë and re-sing parts of the world. A fighter is a knight given the hereditary rights to demand a Trial by Arms and to wear armor.
• Give all maneuvers or abilities diegetic names. Give them a history. Instead of "Displacing attack," consider "Tenkar's Bullrush," which is a specific martial technique developed by Tenkar during the Orc and Goblin War of Year 1001. 
• Tie traits to life events and in-universe places. If you can change the elements of your spells, perhaps you were "Born Under the Sign of the Wheel." If you can ride large creatures, perhaps you were trained by the "Dragon-riders of Qarth."

Avoid abstract mechanics

Bad: I lost 3 HP. On the classic scale of 1-22, I am 19 healthy.

Better: I am Injured by the serpent's bite.

If you whisper the word "hit points" on an RPG forum, someone trips over themselves rushing to type the following: "HITPOINTS DONT ACTUALLY SIMULATE REAL DAMAGE ITS LIKE LUCK AND EXHAUSTION FROM A BATTLE READ THE BOOK ACTUALLY FOEGYG"

OK so sometimes hit points are abstract. An arrow to the face would kill you, but taking the maximum amount of an arrow's damage won't, so getting shot with an arrow and suffering the max of 6 damage is only being grazed by the arrow. But then what does the spell Heal do? Why is it called Heal if it just refreshes your luck? What if you fall and take 12 falling damage? Are you just getting, like, tired by hitting ground? And what if you're playing a game where a human can gain 100 hit points and survive 1,000 foot falls?

The conversation around what hit points represent is this Gordian knot of abstract mechanics. 6 damage represents a significant wound, enough to kill a normal person but probably won't kill a trained fighter. 1,000 experience points represents an a-ha moment for an untrained person but is obvious to master of the craft. Joey has 10 Strength and is weaker than Tammy who has 15 Strength. You can't use the terminology "hit points" or "experience points," and you wouldn't say "Tammy is about 15 out of 20 Strong" but your character understands what these abstract mechanics represent.

Natural-language rules avoid abstract mechanics in favor of more concrete one-to-one representations of the fictional world.

• Consider making abstract mechanics more concrete. A wizard doesn't have 6 mana, they have "six bound daemons, each of which may be commanded to perform a single spell."
• Consider defining what certain game procedures mean in the fiction. For a dice pool system, every dice rolled is a single swing of the sword. Every red defense dice rolled is a piece of armor. Every black defense dice rolled is your character dodging out of the way.

In-character language for abstract mechanics

Bad: When a dragon has lost 50% of their total hit points, they can use their breath ability twice per turn.

Better: When a dragon is bloodied, they can use their breath ability twice per turn.

OK, so some rules are abstract. There's nothing wrong with that. But the more in-character language you have to talk about them, the better. This lets you describe the flow of the rules in in-character terms.

Natural language ties abstracted mechanics to the fiction they're simulating. 

• Choose flavorful terms for game concepts. Instead of saying "dungeon turn," consider a word like "watch." It's easy to say "I only have the strength to cast one spell per watch." A "first level spell" might be a "spell of the first rune." 
• Consider providing in-character terms for milestones that are referenced frequently. If you can deal either 1 or 5 damage, you can call 1 damage "a hit" and call 5 damage "a critical hit." Have a list of class titles. A 1st level fighter is a veteran, a 5th level fighter is a lord. 

Use associated mechanics

Bad: I can cast a spell once per encounter.

Better: I can cast a spell once before I must rest and pray to my god.

Even better: The limits of this magic allow me to cast it only once before the sun next crosses the horizon. Once the sun sets, I can cast it once more. And then again once the sun rises.

"An associated mechanic is one which has a connection to the game world. A dissociated mechanic is one which is disconnected from the game world."

In Exalted, there is the concept of scenes. A magical effect might last for the rest of the scene, whether it's two rounds or two hours of fiddly combat. This adds to the narrative, cinematic flow of the game. 

In Gubat Banwa, gameplay uses a grid. A enemy combatant might be six squares away, but your effect only targets someone within a range of three squares.

Terms like scenes and squares facilitate easy play at the table but can be fiddly to transform into in-character concepts. Not impossible, just requires some double-think. 

Natural language rules use in-universe times, distances, and restrictions.

• Tie game concepts to fictional space. If a square is 5 ft., consider using distances instead. If a dungeon turn is 10 minutes, consider using time.
• Provide in-character justification for narrative abstractions. If spells only last until the end of battle, you can explain the physics of magic being tied to the ebb and flow of mana. Magic isn't science. Spells might last a minute or ten minutes or all day.
• Discover unique ways to challenge characters by drawing these diegetic limitations to their natural conclusions. If a spell can only be cast once a day, why? Is it tied to the mana of the sun? Can some spells be cast only once a month? Once a year?

Human-readable crunch

"But wait! I like crunchy games! This is all well and good if you wanna play FKR or something, but leave my feat trees alone."

Oh gentle reader, I don’t think anything here precludes crunch! But I think there's a path to a better crunch - a human readable crunch instead of crunch that feels like a punchcard for a steam-powered computer.

Here, take these two examples from Gubat Banwa and Lancer. Both 4E inspired, grid-based, build-a-thon slugfests. But one rule block feels like it's written as example code in a Khan Academy tutorial and one feels like you're explaining what happens in the game's fiction.

Bad:

Better:

Natural language explains mechanics in a way that makes sense to normal people.

Fewer numbers

Bad: I have a +2 to Survival. I’m pretty good at survival. 

Better: I am Trained in Survival. 

Numbers are a sticky wicket. They are definitely human readable but they are difficult to talk about in-character. 

Fate allows you to say your skill's adjective instead of the number

Fate attempted to provide adjectives for their skill ranks, which is admirable, but I can never remember if +4 is Good or Fair or Superb or... It is just easier to say "I have a +4 Survival" than to say "I am Great at Survival." 

Let me give 5E some credit here. "Advantage" and "disadvantage" is simpler to calculate and more naturalistic language than calculating infinite +1s from different bonus sources (proficiency, magic, shield, feat, item, ad nauseum). Proficiency is another good gloss of having in-character language to describe a numerical bonus.

Natural language rules use fewer numbers and rely less on math.

• A +1 sword is a boring magic item. You factor it into your attack bonus and forget it. It hardly feels magical. A sword that is invulnerable is more memorable and relies less on numbers. Use the sword to prop open a closing gate, hold open a dragon's mouth, fish something out of an acid lake, etc. 
• Consider removing countables. Instead of having 20 HP, you might have each attack = 1 Wound. Each Wound removes something from the character sheet. Instead of having 1 gold = 1 XP, an entire golden hoard might count as "Treasure." Each recovered Treasure allows you to gain a level.

(One of my future projects eschews numbers completely.)

Conclusion

None of this means that I don’t like games with some of these "bad" elements. His Majesty the Worm has more than a few! But a few unnatural-language rules are easier to navigate around than many. My preference lies at the “natural language” side of the sliding scale, and I try to get there in my game design.