PLACES IN THAT PLACE

I needed a setting, so I threw some dice to set up stuff like size, climate, wealth, knowledge and chance of pudding.
Then I made up excuses for why somewhere had the least possible population and wealth and brains but the most possible military threat.
This is that.



Complete North, you have Hexam. A long stretch of tundra with this single giant mobile city that moves up and down it, stopping to harvest this vast array of greenhouse stations. It's a seasonal movement, as far as you get seasons in Hexam.
Crop rotation on a big scale.
I figure it's a giant artificial biome on wheels.
People that walk out have... the magical version of combat-armour-frame-suit-thing.
Big metal exoskeleton, powered by racks of "thermal cells' which are just batteries full of heat.
Even a civilian bodysuit has a big glowing red tube on his back.
They're refilled by chucking them into naturally occurring vents into the planet's core.
Or maybe they all lead into the lungs of a huge dragon, and all these holes are just nostrils.


Just below, in one corner, you have Tor-Fleiss, a frigid wasteland devoid of anything but these tiny groups of really, scary-tough barbarian dudes. (like, a 6 on the 1 to 6 of military power). The're cut off from the rest of the world by the slightly larger region of Gor-Fleiss, the other half of this once-whole region. The Gor a lot more polite and educationally minded than the Tor. They also have all the wealth of the united country and spend most of their time telling the Tor that they're right about the obscure political schism that broke them apart.
Gor-Fleiss is full of barbarian philosophers and berzerker diplomats.


Next to Gor-Fleiss and Hexam, you have Pajorh, A paranoid military state versed in both magic and science, and super rich from basically controlling trade between Megascience Fortress Hexam and the rest of the land.
They're also huge racists and won't let anyone that's not human inside with bomb collars that they sometimes trigger just to be safe.
They have spies everywhere, or so people say.
It would explain all the suspicious people that blow up when they're under scrutiny.
Very skilled, disciplined armies geared FOR EVERY EVENTUALITY.
They tend not to need to hire adventurers. Or don't admit doing so. Or blow up the adventurers they do hire.
Giblets tell no tales (except in some places)


Then you have Jaynesland, a large region of jagged, barren mountains. So everyone lives in this incomprehesibly vast network of bunkers built inside the mountains, sustained by advanced technology like mechanical vents and elevators and electric lights. They're the main producers of weapons in the land, and supply Pajorh and try to make sure Gor-Fleiss doesn't let any barbs through. People speculate that this tech level is somehow related to the ruins of Sjur, whom they neighbour.
It's almost all steam-powered. They really want to get more thermal cells from Hexam to power their giant steam golems and overly encumbrant power-armour.


The Cities Of Sjur are the perfect example of wizard states gone bad.
Now, it's nothing but ADVENTURELAND
The ground is either sudden, horrible chasms, flat beds of bones or solitary hills with the Cities perched on top.
The place is full of the previous inhabitants of Sjur and terrifying, life-stealing abominations.
Everything is grim and grey and probably going to kill you, and certainly going to try to eat your life-force.
There are some people that live there, in holes and tiny, terrified communities.
The tribes that live there have developed defences such as muted emotions and teleportation and unpleasant-tasting souls.
Sjur borders two other countries, first of which is The Committee.


A kind of oligarchy where the rulers are wise and immortal leaders, known as the Chairmen.
Uncharitable people might say that the name is from the fact that they're all basically the 40K Emperor, immortal but stuck to these giant life-support 'chairs'.
They mostly sit around being xenophobic visionaries.
They have big armies made of cyborgs and so-heavily-modified-as-to-be-unrecognisable specially bred animals that are used as weapon platforms.
 

Bordering both The Committee and Sjur, you have Eirstal, a pretty wide, flat, dry place, where life is ruled by local wizards that report to regional wizards that report to a big Council/Guild fo wizards.
This is because the only reason people can live here is due to the Wizards being experts in elementalism an Biomastery, genetically engineering animals and plants to survive in the harsh climate.


Then you have, in the lowest corner, the Freeholds.
A loose and barely civilised collection of small semi-independent villages, all bound together in some kind of religion based around a god of charity.
They're viewed in a mixed light. While they're super happy to help people, they'll somtimes just take your stuff because why wouldn't you be nice and lend/give them things they need?
It's a Giant Peasant Religion Communism Place with really, really kick-ass magics.
Their god may or may not be real.
If you want the best magic shit, you have to hunt down magical religious hermits in the Freeholds.


Lastly, the godawful jungle of Kvol-No-Reigh.
It's horrible. Full of ancient ruins (who even put them there?) and terrible, rapidly-evolving competitive species and also tribes of goblins because everywhere needs goblins.
They'll steal your shit then wig out on giant bug poison.
It's a thing.
Otherwise the place is hot and horrible and will eat you.

CARCOSA

This is the city of Carcosa.
No, not that Carcosa. This is the obligatory Carcosa that every campaign has.
It's that weird town that the party will likely never learn the story of.


Carcosa is, these days (years?) not much more than a large village on a rock.
The sea around the island is dark. The sky is dark.
Because that is what the King remembers.
(or other ruler-denomination of your choice)

A long time ago, Carcosa was a thriving, if small, archipelagic kingdom.
They fished a lot. Had a few islands just covered in livestock and a few strange farmer-hermits.
It was a good place to trade, and many coastal cities would make the trek so see the markets, because so were the other coastal cities, and it was a good stopping point for long-distance travels.

So it was very upsetting for everyone when the plague struck.
Whether by curse, infected parasites, tainted food or failed magic, the disease washed over the land.
It was a curse of hunger. Appetites swelled. Food dwindled.
Inevitably, the well-few fellow villagers started looking delicious.
And so, unpleasant descriptions of islands falling into flesh-rending chaos aside, Carcosa fell to home-grown ghouls.

The King was not happy.
He would peer out of his tower, and see his land awash in teeth and claws.
For whatever reason, by blood or artifact, the King of Carcosa at the time was not a man of small power.
In his first, and only, act of sorcery, he stalked over to his throne, sat down, and began furiously to remember.


It is now several decades on.
No-one goes to Carcosa anymore.
If you would, however, navigating the eternally darkening sky to the last remaining island, past the waving, excessively clothed fishermen (if you waited a week, you would not see them catch anything or go back to shore), you would reach the grim streets of Carcosa.
There is not much colour, everything seems like a dim shade of grey. At least, until you get closer to the castle. Don't get too far from the castle.

The streets are not desolate, however. Various people are bustling about on various tasks (whatever they are).
You may notice that they all wear a lot of clothes. No skin is within sight. Also, there's the masks.
Every citizen of Carcosa (except the king's Aide, when in the castle) wear a mask. It looks like they pillaged a party or something. Or just got bits of wood with holes in, in some cases.
If you are polite, and don't point it out too hard, you may choose to visit one of the many shops.
Let us walk into Egelbert's Apothecary.
A humanoid shape that you assume to be Egelbert will be stood behind the counter.
It's voice is... vague. Whispery? Faint? It's sometimes like having someone talk to you in a dream, where words are often missing, but meaning moves on regardless.
Egelbert only has a few products in stock, but is perfectly happy to prepare something for you if you'll come back later to pick it up.
If you stand around in the shop for the duration (the thing behind the counter won't stop you), or you were to scry the shop, or leave an eyeball in there, you might wonder why Egelbert will not move.
When you return to pick up your purchase, you will happily be given whatever you requested.
The shelves are always clean, if grey. There is nothing behind the counter.
If you steal something from the shelves, you'll note that the bottle doesn't feel like glass, nor do the contents move like liquid. Or, at all.
This theme will be found everywhere on the island.
If you go too far from Carcosa with something you have taken (not purchased), it will fade after a few miles.

This is, partly, because the inhabitant of Carcosa are ghouls.
They've been ghouls for several centuries now, and would really, really, like you to not mention that.
Unmask one, and you'll have a slavering ghoul and not an affable shopkeep or inkeep or somethingkeep.
The Carcosans will be upset at this, and try to reclothe the poor person, and ask you to please leave and not do that again.
They're all a second's concentration from returning to the monsters they are.
They know this.
They also know that they would rather be people, thank you very much.
Because the only reason that they are memories of people in the memories of a town, is that the King is busy remembering them.
The King's Aide, who has a human if withered and grey face, will tell you that no, you can't see the King.
He's very busy.


He's been busy for several centuries.
He'll always be busy.
You have been walking inside the King's memories, anchored to the land and people.
The King is, probably, mortal.
He's just too busy to die, even though he does nothing more than sit in his cobwebbed throne (there were a few spiders before they starved) with his eyes clothed.
He's not sleeping.

The memories are only so strong, and weaker the further they are from the King.
The ghouls wear these memories as much as they do the clothes.
The more you ask questions, prove strangeness, the more you are damaging the memories.
Startle the King, or kill him, or even just hit with a stick, and until concentration can be returned, you'll be on a sinking island full of ghouls.
And probably the only living things there.

You may try to reinforce the King's remembering, if you can find out about it.
You may purge this island of flesh-eating undead, when they are flesh-eating undead and not the memories of villages (don't get too near to the sheperds. Or the fishermen. Or the east end of the Island. Really. Half-remembered, living memories are not a good thing to have in the vicinity of real things).

The people will go around doing what the King remembers them doing. But he can't remember what he doesn't know.
He doesn't know how to cook a meal. Or to spin yarn. Or to mix a potion. Or craft a blade. So you get what he remembers. He's never seen a sheperd kill a sheep. Nor does he remember what a sheep looks like, up close. Or what exactly it is that fishermen DO.
He has no time for doubts and questions.
He has remembering to do.

People don't visit Carcosa anymore.

BOSSES THAT BOSS

See here and here for more of this.



Bosses.
We love 'em!
Right?

Sadly, 4E solos, in general, are pretty damn feeble.

The mechanics and powers of 4E mean that a solo is going to have the stuffing beat out of it, especially if the party has good control.

Status effects becomes incredibly powerful when they're affecting the whole encounter. (since a solo is worth a full encounter's worth of creatures)
Even simple stuff like Marks will have more impact than 'normal'.

So for a Solo encounter to be a memorable and cool experience (because where is the fun in having a dragon if the party kill it in two rounds without taking any damage), they need a reworking.

1: Independent Actions.
4E is not used to fighting single monsters. It is mean to have multiple ongoing threats. And a lot of excitement is lost when there's only one thing to care about. So Solos need something that's going on. Minions are a good one. A steady trickle of creatures coming on the board will both make the party cautious of being swarmed, give the AOE fellows something to do, and enable the encounter to threaten the squishies that are hiding in the back because the Solo can't get to them. Environmental effects that must be avoided or overcome are another good one. Whatever will ensure that everyone is in danger. It's too easy to end up in a deadlock between the solo and the frontliners with the ranged people just standing there. (some of the Catastrophic Dragons have some very cool fluid auras)

2: Multiple turns.
Some Solos and some Elites have this. (Yay, Tembo)
Solos should have it more often. When the monster only gets its series of actions after the whole party has gone, it becomes an exchange of blows with little for the players to react to. In a full encounter, there's a constant stream of changes to the battle, a Solo only affects the fight once a round. Change that. Giving multiple initiative counts is one way, or ensuring off-turn free actions also works.

3: Condition resistance.
Having a monster stunned/dazed/dominated or even a well-placed prone can disable them.
When a player can shut down a whole fight for a round, this ruins the drama and sense of threat.
When a player can put a Save Ends effect that shuts down the encounter until RNG says so, that's also bad. Multiple turns (2) can help with this, but I suggest making Stun and Dominate effects drop down to dazing, to prevent an encounter shutdown. Or Independent Actions (1) in the form of reinforcements or more dramatic field effects are also a good one.



4: States.
Not necessary, but the further you go into a game, the longer fights take. And whittling down a 400HP boss can end up repetitive. Having dramatic, combat-altering changes can bring new life into an encounter. Changing abilities, affecting the field, dramatic changes in tactics, they all help keep things fresh.

5: Damage awareness.
Make sure you do damage. You don't want an early boss to be shut down because the cleric gave everyone Resist All 5 and your solo deals DoTs. (I did that, it sucked) You don't want your boss to tear a party apart because it has three high attacks a turn and gets three turns a round. (Assuming you're not planning to kill PCs) A lot of Solos have the ability to make multiple attacks, but they often lack the damage potential to be a real threat. A level 7 solo that has 2 attacks for 1D8+6 is a complete waste of time. Even with 2 APs, you're not going to be a threat.

6: Don't be a one-trick pony.
Make sure your Solo doesn't rely on one mechanic too much. A solo that keeps blinding everyone discovers that it is just making the PC with the AoEs useful and making everyone else feel like a waste of space.
A creature that relies on DoTs can be shutdown with the right power.
Same for AoEs, Save End effects and other conditions.
Always have more methods of attack in store. Also, the more abilities the Solo has, the more dynamic the fight as you can change tactics.




I'm saying that you need all this. You can take any of the old boring Solos and mix in 1, 2, 3 or 4 to make it interesting. It's also more work the more elements you put in.
But a good Solo can give you great mileage.



Here's an early example I used that served me well.
The party ends up teleported into a large cave supported by four pillars. They are faced with a expanse of stone, and a giant flaming screaming skeleton atop a giant egg leaking lava.
As he tromps around screaming, he starts by making multiple Reach attacks and a minor action/reaction to push the melee fighters around, or sucking heat from in front of him to fire a super robot chest laser beam cannon attack. The giant egg starts spitting out globs of lava that form into minions that chase down the casters, and leave pools of damaging terrain where they die.
When he's brought to bloodied, he leaps onto the egg and cracks it, causing lava to spill out and start filling a large portion of the room. He then starts going around trying to knock the pillars down onto the PCs, potentially causing large damage, but also creating safe platforms for the players to not get seared. And the number of lava minions increases.
Throughout, there is an increasing damage aura around the Solo, and descriptions of the cave beginning to shake as the pillars are knocked away.

A damn sight more fun that Sir Keegan.

TOOG: Part 2

TOOG: Part 2




The party, such as they are, have yet to decode the scroll they found on the necromancer. Lacking any other leads, they head north, where the Stranger believes there to be a fair.

On their way, they encounter a covered cart on the road. Careful suspicious squinting and creeping reveals that the cart is pulled by a giant lizard, and driven by what appears to be a Kobold with a straw hat and a fake moustache.
He claims to be a Mr Haricot Mungo, of Haricot Mungo's Mystical Emporium and fishing Tackle.

The ladies ask him if he has masks for the rumoured fair, and spend half an hour picking masks while the Kobold enthusiastically assists them and presents random other non-mask objects.
Magic detection reveals that only one mask is magical, and the merchant says that it's prrrrobably cursed (not surprising, given that it's just a creepy oily dark cloth in an unknown shape).

Lhoryn asks Haricot if he's killed any Gnolls. Haricot says no. The next question concerns weapons, and the kobold eagerly provides a selection of objects, most of them even weapons. The creature made of teeth in the goldfish bowl is probably not a weapon.
It's decided that the party does not have the wealth to buy any magical weapons, and they part ways.

The party reach Redstone and wander around what seems like a number of deserted tents and stalls, eventually coming across a short fat drunken man wailing and bemoaning about a loss of fun and spectral curses.
Some moments of bemused questioning later, a woman appears to attend to the drunk and explains.
Apparently the town's founder was interred in a nearby tomb, and had established a tradition of paying him yearly respects. During the great fair, he had gotten wind of all the fun being had and cursed the town to no longer have fun. Apparently most of the town and visitors are busy getting drunk inside. The party is implored to venture to the tomb and fix things.

Franzibald begins to plan how to extort the kobold upon his arrival to the fair, but his plan is quashed.

Lacking any reason not to, the party trudges up to the tomb of Caloric, founder of Redstone.
They see a large stone structure, apparently partly sunk into a swamp.
They also see BULLYWUGS
Battle ensues.

TOOG: Part 1

The Party:
Mialee, Eladrin sorcerer. Orphaned foundling, has a backstory of several incinerated willages (only one of them intentionally).
Franzibald Fitzherbert, Human wizard. Student from a far off land, teleported here with the task of returning to the school. It's a wizard thing.
Lhoryn, Gnoll Fighter. Last of his clan after they were mysteriously decimated, joined the party in the hopes that they'll find out who dunnit.
Stranger, Changeling Cleric. Worships only her own pantheon of dead gods, that she claims speak to her. Accompanied by:
Scissors, Sassy Horse. Screams obscenities and aggressive remarks. Fortunately only speaks Horse.
Glom (Conglomerate), Oldest Basilisk. Blind and older than the world. Spends most of his time sleeping when not plodding behind the party.

Our brave heroes adventurers are currently following a lead on 'magic people' at the request of the Gnoll. Questioning "smelly woman with baby", they now head to the ruins of a nearby wizard's tower.

Skill checks reveal fire near the tower.
Approaching reveals a necromancer overseeing a number of archeologist-trench-digging zombies.
Multiple requests to leave sit unwell with the party.
Necromancer brings out a couple of armoured men from within the ruins of the tower. He continues to be uncooperative and demanding that the party leaves to permit him to continue with his work.
Initiative inevitably ensues.
The party is swarmed by soldiers and zombles, and the necromancer causes the Gnoll's flesh to slough off for the duration of the fight.
Several rounds of careful maneuvering and corpse-beating free the party up to scatter and the fighter to go slap the necromancer around. Much groaning when the zombies keep popping up again.

The necromancer (Helvec) is eventually taken down nonlethally and tied up. Franz tries several times to slap him awake, and fails. He then goes to rummage around and finds a scrolltube with something coded inside, while Stranger tries not to break down from having killed one of the humans (and later sneaks in a heal check to stabilise him).
Lhoryn takes a turn with Helvec and punches him awake.
He proceeds to mock Franz, who tells the Gnoll to torture the necromancer.
JOLLYNESS ENSUES
It is suggested OOC that the cleric could heal the necromancer so that they can break his toes a second time, as he's too busy screaming in pain to answer anyone.
The cleric instead attempts a heal check, critically fails and slays Helvec.
She reasons that it was the will of the (her) gods.
They loot further, and find some money.
Time is spent explaining the concept of money to the Gnoll.
It isn't easy.

Lhoryn grabs Franz and demands to know how come the wizard hadn't told him that he was, in fact, a wizard. What with the Gnoll hunting down Magic Men.
Suspicion remains, but the wizard is not torn limb from limb.
THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP

Veosair, the Art of Knowing

I made up the name on the spot, shut up.

Veosair is the technique employed by the Delving Archivists (I had a better name that I lost, also shut up) to do their thing.

The Archivists thing is to go into the dark places of the world, and rip lost knowledge from the hands of whatever might be clutching at it. And they do this, with Veosair.

To be a practitioner of Veosair, you need a strong and agile mind. And a lot of study time.
The core of the art is to have such a solid understanding of an object or principle that your personal reality supersedes local reality.
A student of Veosair who has grasped the essence of swords can swing him arm around and cut someone who is several feet away. Understanding of armour can help them deflect a blow, seemingly off a shield. In reality, it's their understanding of these things that is so profound that it impact on the material world.

Think wandering battle librarians.



They can either be found in their library/fortress of The Archive, or wandering to/from/in whatever dungeon they think might contain something interesting. Lich lairs, crazy wizard laboratories, ruined cities and whatever tickles their fancy.

A group of Archivists typically contains a couple of apprentices on field experience, a handfull of mid-grade combat capable archivist-Warriors, and one or two well-learned Scholars.
An Apprentice will usually know some basic battle Veosair or have limited understand of an element, a Warrior is fully proficient in beating the shit out of people with mindswords and will know a few useful definitions, and a Scholar will typically eschew weaponry Veosair and stick to something more complex such as Time, Thought, Space.


Individuals always have their own designs, but as an institution, they're only interested in knowledge. They're mostly self-funded from all the other crap they find on expeditions.

Low-light sight colour stuff

Eyes.

Animals see colours differently, different priorities

Assume the humans in the game are the humans that made the game
>don't have low-light vision.

Animals, though, do have "low-light vision" (sort of, shut up)
Animals also see colours differently. Sometimes less actual colours, sometimes some colours are predominant, and any variation in-between.

THEREFORE:
Non-humans see colours differently and/or have different visual priorities.

What could this mean?
Elves have more affinity for plants because green is more vivid, more real?

Some races focus on reds because that's a colour they DO pick up on, and genetic memory means it's a bad colour? (races can have fucked-up primal history, because D&D, dammit.)


Maybe hill halflings can't see yellow.
So some orcish slavers wear canary-yellow suits to hunt them.

If a race can't see a colour, then that colour blends in with other unseen colours.

Some group that destroys anything they see that is brown, or blue.

Animals with really weird, regionally specific colourations.

Wizard with racial infravision doesn't know that his Chromatic Spray is mostly ultraviolet.

Stats, rolls and being a person (ish)

Ability scores.
Stats.
Numbers that make up the character.

You don't get a to-hit bonus for telling the DM exactly what you do in combat. You say "I parry", not "I employ the third variation of Bonetti's Defense on the orc's upstroke".
You don't get to have a mechanical advantage on your character for having personal areas of expertise.
Why would you get a bonus for RPing what you tell the farmer's now-widow? "I comfort her" Okay, roll.
If you're at a table where you need a mechanical advantage to roleplay, then maybe you don't need to be roleplaying.

I play World Of Darkness.
My Changeling storyteller-hobo doesn't NEED to be given magic juice for telling stories or magic rerolls for believing in them. He's going to do it anyway.
Maybe the changeling doctor on the other side of the table needs to be given magic points to go be all gung-ho about some justicin'.
At which point, the game is giving me a mechanical advantage, and dictating to the other person how to play their game.

I don't agree with out-of character favouritism.
Your character SHOULD have stats for his/her/both/unsure/inapliccable intelligence, wits, charisma and so on.
If your character is as socially apt or as smart as you are, then why not be as weedy or asthma-ridden?

It's a game.
You're not being you.
If you want to play a brilliant genius, get a big intelligence score and roll to know things or be smart.
If you want to be a huge barbarian, get a big strength score and lift heavy things and hit some things with some other things.

You're at the table, your character is on the table. Use the numbers.

DWARVES

DWARVES

Because everyone has their own version of stuff.
Here are Dwarves.
Or, rather, what the players in my campaign will refer to as:
DWARVES!

And now it looks weird because I've been looking at the word too much.


They live in mines, caverns, and subterranean dwellings. We all know this.
What else do we know?
Sturdy. Hardy. Resilient. Stubborn. (Alcoholic? What?)

But there are limits to how far you can go, living in the dark.
ASIDE from vitamin C deficiency that makes you go looney.
I'm talking about that most precious material, deep in the dark.

MEAT.

You can only live on fungus for so long.
Cattle (or whatever the collective term for whatever deep dark lunch animal that dwarves has even IS) still eat the same resources you do. At least you (probably) won't know if they've gone completely spare.
But to sustain any reasonable population, you'll find you only have one choice.
Eat the weak.
Eat the sick, the old, the infirm, the useless.
Recycle, reuse or be extinct.

Tough. Adaptable. Cunning. Willful. A little crazy from their... diet.

You don't see old or weak dwarves.
Okay, technically you do, but we call those Hungerlings and they're barely sentient. Starving (literally, ho ho ho) wretches driven forth by both hunger and fear of the Hunger Drivers.
And generally unknowingly infected by the mysterious potion developed in inter-dwarf combat.
It makes you explode in toxic goo after a short while.
Because when two clans war for THE BODIES OF THEIR FOES the logical thing for the losing side to do, is deny the opposing force their prize.

Which serves to push the dwarves to the surface.
The sun kills them.
At least they think so.
Only the craziest (HUNGERLINGS YOU SAY?) head out without heavy gear.
You might see some well-covered dwarven farms dotted here and there around well-concealed tunnels, but you're far more likely to see metal covered, polearm and crossbow-armed (because don't risk your MEAT) dwarves hunting for prey.
Prey being anything that isn't them.

They're not all flesh-crazed mad-people, of course.
You're likely to find a few slavers and slave merchants wandering around with their big hats and filthy beards. Still, there's something unsettling about the way they look at you, and be thankful they don't offer to share their meals with travellers.
Sort of.

Primo, death.

I write stuff.

A lot of stuff.

I mostly hide it in my verbal brain cheeks like a furious paper squirrel. If you don't know what that is, then you have excellent literary taste. Or not. I can't judge, my mouth is full of words.

This particular pile of verbose spew will be related, most likely, primarily to D&D. Also books. And words. And possibly the ulcers caused by HOARDING WORDS LIKE A FURIOUS PAPER SQUIRREL. It will also be full of me trying to sound overly wordy. It happens.

So.

Let us begin, with death. In D&D, specifically, but also in games and stories in a corollary fashion.
I run a 4E game.
Players kill things.
I play in a 4E game.
We kill things.
I played in a 3.5 game.
We killed things.
Adventuring parties kill a lot of things.

Now, I know that 4E's mechanics mean that the game ends up being about a bunch of increasingly ridiculous supramortals.
But, accounting for minions and bosses, a party is going to come up against, over a campaign, about 125%-150% of its own size in 'things to kill'. And it's likely that kills are not spread evenly across a group, either. The Leader is going to have far fewer kills than the Striker or Controller, generally.
Give about 8 encounters a level, and by the time they've hit level 10, there is a damn lot of murder in their past.

3.5 isn't much better.
While the game design is itself not required to have overwhelming numbers and can work better with fewer, tougher monsters, you're still going to see kobold and goblin hordes wiped out.

Either edition is also open to seeing the wholesale slaughter of swathes of comparatively harmless populations. Nothing is preventing a high-level dude going back down to wipe out that tribe of filthy creatures that was niggling them back when he was L2.

Adventuring parties will end up being the cause of much death.
Now, assuming said heroes are in a world where they are not the first adventuring party to stalk its loot-littered lands...
How is death now viewed?
Is that just how things are solved?
D&D is a roleplaying game. Ostensibly it could be played as a wargame or tactics game, but it is still a roleplaying game. And that means stories. And stories mean drama.
And death is dramatic.
As such, law enforcement is trigger-happy.

When there are bands of mystical murderhobos roaming the lands (and there must be many, because otherwise the magic item merchants would be out of business), killing people for 'looking funny' or for being in front of a pile of treasure, then how long before so-called civilisation just throws its hands up in the air and stabs someone?
I'm not saying that the town guard are all going to shoot first and and questions later.
Just that they are far more amenable to solving a problem via the application of thrust into sensitive areas LIKE YOUR FACE

I'm not condoning or condemning the fact that adventurers kill a lot of stuff. I think it's required. Defeat foes. Take their stuff. Feel powerful.
It's a role-playing game, but it's a GAME.

Still. Adventurers make death common. How long before that shapes the rest of the world?



Oh, and welcome to the Pit.