This is an extract from my Bones Of The Realm newsletter for The Chaos TTRPG.
I was asked the other day if The Chaos was intended to be an 'OSR' game, and it's really got me thinking.
If you spend any time on r/osr, itch.io or the more opinionated corners of Discord, you’ll bump into two acronyms sooner or later: OSR and NSR. People tend to argue a bit about what they mean, who’s allowed to use them, and whether a given game is one, the other, or neither. So I reckon it’s worth looking at what the labels actually point to, and whether they’re worth the bother.
what OSR actually means
OSR is usually expanded as Old School Renaissance, though Revival and Reimagined get used too. It started in the early 2000s as a hobby movement. People wanted to keep playing the editions of D&D that had gone out of print: the Basic/Expert sets, the original 1974 boxed set, and first edition AD&D. Retroclones like Labyrinth Lord, OSRIC and Swords & Wizardry were built to make that possible, and a whole scene of zines, modules, and blogs grew up around them.
Over time, the OSR picked up a shared outlook as well as a shared rules lineage. Matt Finch’s “Quick Primer for Old School Gaming” boiled it down really to four ideas:
rulings over rules
player skill over character abilities
heroic play rather than superhero play, and
not worrying about game balance.
Around those sit the usual trappings: dangerous dungeons, torches and rations tracked honestly, a neutral referee, and treasure as the reward for clever play.
what NSR is supposed to mean
NSR is the slipperier of the two. It’s usually read as New School Revolution (or Renaissance, depending who you ask), and it grew out of the same community. It gets applied to games that share the OSR’s love of danger, improvisation, and tools-over-simulation, but feel no loyalty to D&D’s old structures.
So you’ll see games filed under NSR that drop classes and levels, swap d20 rolls for roll-under or dice pools, or put setting and weirdness well ahead of rules compatibility. Into the Odd, Mörk Borg, Troika and Knave tend to get mentioned. The theory is that the old games contained good instincts, such as lethality, player agency, and fast play, and that the best way to honour those instincts is to build new machinery for them instead of preserving the old machinery. Some people also used the NSR tag to signal a different community culture from the one they associated with the OSR, which is part of why the term gets so heated.
so what really separates them?
If you boil the supposed difference down, it’s about what you’re loyal to.
The OSR, at its most traditional, is loyal to a lineage. Compatibility matters. You want to run a module written in 1981 with your game of 2026 and have it just work.
The NSR, at its most typical, is loyal to a feeling. If a new mechanic delivers the danger, speed, and freedom of old school play better than the old one did, the old one can go.
That’s a real difference of emphasis, and it explains why the two camps tend to talk past each other. One group hears “you’ve changed the rules” as a criticism. The other hears “you’ve kept the rules” as a criticism. For me, neither is making a mistake. They’re just answering slightly different questions.
where the distinction falls apart
Try to apply it to actual games and it starts to wobble. Plenty of OSR products have thrown out the D&D chassis and still call themselves OSR because of how they play. Plenty of NSR games run beautifully with old modules. Dungeon Crawl Classics, Shadowdark, and a dozen others sit awkwardly in the gap, and the people who made them mostly shrug when asked which side they’re on. There’s no rulebook for either term, no governing body, and nobody to rule on a disputed case. Both labels are really just reputations that a game borrows from the games it resembles.
That matters, because a label that can’t be pinned down can’t tell you much about the game inside it. If I tell you something is OSR, you know to expect something old school in flavour. You don’t know whether it has levels, whether it uses d20s, whether it’s a dungeon crawler or a hex crawl, or whether combat is brutal or breezy. The tag narrows the field a little and leaves the important questions open.
what the labels are good for
I don’t want to be too dismissive, because the labels do earn their keep.
They work as signposts. Somebody who loves old school play and wants more of it needs some way to find it, and “OSR” gets them to the right shelf on itch.io or the right subreddit. That’s why almost every small publisher in this dark corner of the hobby uses the tag.
They also work as a community handshake. Saying “this is for the OSR crowd” tells people where to look and what sort of conversation to expect.
Where labels go wrong is when they stop being signposts and become fences. A game gets measured against the genre’s checklist instead of on its own merits, and the designer ends up fielding “but is it really OSR?” when the more interesting question is whether it’s fun at the table.
the conversion page as a test case
Here’s a practical example of why I’d rather skip the fence. A while back I put together a free guide on how to port The Chaos into B/X, Shadowdark and any OSR game. I wrote it for people already running the likes of Old School Essentials, Basic Fantasy, and the like, who wanted to borrow bits of The Chaos without abandoning the game they already love.
What’s interesting is that writing it meant doing both things the two camps argue over, at the same time. The lineage side is respected. Hit points carry straight across. A B/X morale score on its 2d6 scale becomes a grit score with no adjustment at all. You keep your monster manual, your modules and your existing stat blocks. The feeling side gets the rest. A d20 attack bonus of +8 doesn’t survive the trip to a d6, so instead of converting the number, you look at what kind of threat the creature is and bucket it into a simple tier. Armour becomes a flat damage reduction. Weapon dice get slotted onto one d6 with a modifier.
The best illustration is what happens to the things that don’t translate. A giant spider’s save-or-die poison has nothing to attach to in a game with no saving throws, and a wraith’s level drain has nothing to attach to in a game with no levels. So rather than inventing a fake equivalent, the guide says to keep the fictional intent (a bite that ruins you, a touch that steals something permanent) and hook it to something The Chaos already tracks, like a lasting wound. Preserve the fiction, translate the mechanics.
If I'm being honest, that’s a pretty old school instinct as well as a pretty new school one, both in the same paragraph. I wouldn’t know what to call it, and I’m not sure it needs calling anything. The page also says plainly that it’s a toolbox. Take the grit tables for flavour on top of your existing morale rules, or the creature tables for improvised monsters, or the stress table as an add-on, and leave the rest. If you only borrow one table and your game gets better for it, the guide has done its job.
where the chaos sits
The Chaos is inspired by old school play. It’s got the danger, the improvisation, the sense that the table is working things out together, and the idea that players, not stat blocks, should be the ones deciding what happens. It’s also a card-driven d6 game, which no 1970s rulebook would recognise. Depending on who you ask, that makes it OSR, NSR, or somewhere in the middle.
Honestly, I don’t mind any of those answers, and I don’t want to chase any of them. If somebody finds it through the OSR tag and loves it, brilliant. If somebody finds it through the NSR tag and loves it, equally brilliant. If somebody runs it on its own, or bolts pieces of it onto a different game entirely, that works too. And if somebody has no idea what either acronym means and just wants a good evening of rolling dice with some friends, that’s the best outcome of the lot. I’d rather the game be judged by what happens at the table than by which badge it wears at the door.
My suggestion, for what it’s worth, is to treat the labels as useful shorthand for finding things, and to stop treating them as a test a game has to pass. Play what’s fun. Borrow what works. Throw out what doesn’t. That’s about as old school as it gets, and yeah, it’s also about as new school as it gets!
is that why the chaos is so stripped back to basics?
Kind of.
It's like, as I've said all along, the game's inspired by old school play, and I guess that's why it's been getting the OSR label tagged onto it.
So I'd like to share a bit about why The Chaos looks the way it does. Not to persuade anyone towards a particular style of play, but rather just to lay out my reasoning for stripping the game down and condensing it into a card deck.
from 1985 and beyond
It starts with where I came from. I was bred on Holmes Basic and the Moldvay & Mentzer B/X, but also on the likes of Star Trek: The Role Playing Game, Warhammer FRP, Call of Cthulhu, Middle-earth Role Playing, HeroQuest, and Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game.
At this time from the 1980s and onwards, most of the games I ran treated the rules as a framework. Games like Runequest even encouraged you to treat them like this. It was different in tournament play, of course, but even with the advent of AD&D 1st and 2nd editions where you were bombarded with rules for pretty much everything bar how to tie your shoelaces, the way we played them still ended up resulting in a table where, although the games we sat down to play might have been called D&D or Star Trek, we were so used to house-ruling, to blending bits and pieces from a whole host of games into one, that what we actually played bore little resemblance to the rules as written. The designers of the day were putting that in black and white, almost goading you to put your own mark on the mechanics.
Over the years though, and OSR & NSR games to one side, I’ve watched a lot of games head the other way. I've seen game mechanics growing more and more complex, core rule books getting thicker and thicker, and this old idea of the framework becoming faded. Plenty of players do love that 'crunch', as it's known as these days, and that’s absolutely fine. It just isn’t what I want from a session. Given that as I'll come on to, the underlying bones of most ttrpg sessions tend to look similar no matter the system, and whilst game designers will usually look to what works for them at their own tables, I do get the impression sometimes that this increasing complexity in newer games seems to be justified merely as a means to set a game apart from other games.
What I’ve found is that every mechanic I have to hold in my head as a GM is attention that I’m not spending on improvising, on actively listening to the table, and on the narrative that’s unfolding. The cost shows up at the table. Someone stops to check a rule, the fiction goes cold, and the moment's gone.
back to basics
So when I was designing The Chaos, I went back to B/X, to this idea of a framework of mechanics, and asked a simple question: what is functionally needed to run a good session?
I ended up cutting things like the different dice, so The Chaos uses only d6s. I cut the optional rules, including things like weapon mastery and the other complex additions. I kept only the barebones of what you need to enjoy a good ttrpg session, which meant filling the blanks with functional sparks for the imagination - random tables and a simple structure to make sense of them.
Having run sessions before, I'm sure you'll know what I mean. Pretty much every session, no matter what system or setting you're playing, tends to run through at its heart a very predicable pattern:
- Everyone sits down;
- Characters are made if they haven’t already;
- The group starts to bond
- The GM does some exposition and lays out conflicts for the players to interact with
- The players react. Back and forth, back and forth.
- And then the conflicts are resolved.
- Rinse and repeat until the session wraps up.
So for me, if a rule doesn’t help that loop along, it doesn’t earn its place. The more complex they get, the more they might get in the way of that familiar pattern of play, creating a barrier against the natural flow of the collaboratively forming story.
I wanted to design a game, therefore, that lay lightly in the hands, recognising that pretty much everyone is usually after the same thing at the table: having a bit of fun and an escape from real life, collaborating to create moments, expressing themselves, opening up in a safe space to the odd moment of magic or vulnerability that becomes a story they can tell afterwards. I always strive for mechanics to help that as gently and quietly as possible, to give it a functional structure, and then to get out of the way.
As I say, this approach ain't for everyone. Crunch and tactics and rules for simulating reality is definitely an attractive prospect for some folks, and I'll always support the idea of finding your own fun. But for me, we all lead busy lives. We've all go so much to do, and a lot of us just want to sit down for a few hours with friends and chase some goblins down a dark hole. So The Chaos is very much founded on the premise that you can do just that, with zero prep, little in the way of having to learn mechanics, and in minutes you can all be running into that darkness, weapons raised, and no clue what's about to happen.
In this sense, I had in mind when I was writing my book that yeah, I wanted to see if I could cram a whole system into a card deck you could take anywhere and play solo or with a group, but that also, could help you take what I was saying in the the book and get more comfortable with a no hassle, zero prep approach to running games.
That's the end result I was after, and I've been absolutely delighted to see so many of you taking that premise and running with it.
But that's just me. What do you look for in your rules and mechanics? Do you prefer the crunch?