Playtest “D&D Next” Like A Pro
I may not be the best game designer in the world, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s playtesting. I’ve been a playtester for a variety of games from RPGs to party games to board games to light card games to heavy war games. I’ve been chief of product development for a startup card game publisher, and a lead playtester (and copied on ALL playtest reports) for Marvel Heroic Roleplaying. A good set of playtesters can make your good idea great, or kill your bad idea before you invest too much time and effort.
With the open playtest of the new iteration of D&D coming tomorrow, I wanted to offer some of my advice on playtesting and giving feedback. Wizards of the Coast will provide plenty of instructions on what they do and don’t want to see, so obviously that could easily supersede anything I say here. These are some general guidelines to keep in mind for D&D, so hopefully you find these tidbits helpful while playing the game and collecting your feedback.
Respect Their Playtest Decisions
The designers at WotC have decided that the first thing we’re going to see is going to include pre-generated characters, and not have character creation rules initially. I understand not being happy with this decision, however, it’s not like they’re going to suddenly decide that there will never be character creation rules. So when submitting your feedback, you don’t need to tell them “I wish I could see the character creation rules.” As professional game designers, they’ve decided (after many meetings, I’m sure) on this method of rolling rules out, so try and respect that. Keep your responses to what you were provided, not complaining that you don’t have what’s already been promised. [Read the rest of this article]
Hold On Loosely, But Don’t Let Go
This model clearly demonstrates why it's always best to play D&D outside, preferably on pavement or some other surface whose maintenance you are not responsible for.
Have you ever played in a game with a really good DM? The kind where you’re engaged even when you’re not on the edge of your seat, there’s not a lot of bickering at the table over rules, and everybody talks about their adventures years later?
I really wanna be that guy. I’m not yet.
This quest has caused me a lot of soul-searching over this past year. I’ve run a respectable gauntlet of newbie mistakes. I’ve tried planning for every contingency only to find my players easily discovered the gaping cracks in my armor. I’ve tried bludgeoning my players with DM Fiat to make my plans work. I’ve tried emphatically cautioning them about doing that next thing under pain of death. (That’s a crowd favorite, by the way.)
I’ve been experiencing something completely bizarre in the campaign I’m running now. I put some pieces in place, establish a few locations that are relevant to that week’s story, and a basic premise to get the plot started. Then I just sort of sit back and see what happens.
I’m not going to lie to you. It’s completely terrifying. But it’s the kind of terrifying where the session has consistently been interesting and fun for me to run and I’m pretty sure my players were really into it too. From the very first night, it’s recaptured the magic I felt years ago during my favorite D&D campaigns. That’s a big deal for me. I haven’t had that feeling in a D&D game when I was behind the screen until now. Three sessions in, it’s still a joy, and it’s far more fun than stress. I hope it stays that way.
I think it will. I finally realized why I loved some of the campaigns I’ve played in: I was let loose. Our party was free to do pretty much whatever they wanted, and the situations we got into off the beaten path are the stories we tell now. I know why this campaign feels better to me now. I’m letting the PC’s do what they will. Even if it’s not what I had planned for. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it will probably result in their eventual dismemberment, death, and reanimation as a zombie.
In short: I am blessed with a group of wildly creative players who are working well together as a group and I have finally realized everything works better if I just get the hell out of their way.
The stories we’ll collectively tell are infinitely more entertaining than any narrative I’d force down their throats. And, looking back, I believe that’s what the really good DM’s I’ve had did for me. It completely changed the game for me. That’s what I want to do for my group and anybody else I DM for down the road.
Great, Kid! Don’t Get Cocky.
Of course, simply realizing that one should just roll with things as they happen in-game is a lot different than actually rolling with actual things. There is still preparation to be done, though not of the kind I had been accustomed to. There were improvisational skills to be honed. Courage-loins to be girded.
I knew I could improvise and roll with anything — and I do mean anything – based on our unique experiences in the Nightmare Realm last year. I just wasn’t sure if I could react to what the players did in a sensible way. As it happens, that wasn’t the issue. I can do that.
What I can’t do is names. I can’t come up with names. I can’t remember names. Either I forget to write down names, or I don’t want the players to know I spawned the NPC they’re talking to out of the aether so I can’t risk scribbling the name I came up with on a piece of paper. That would be a tell. Of course, the fact that all the names I come up with on the fly are variations on “Stug”, “Bibbler”, “Bubbly Gordon”, and/or “Reeb Heeberbeeb” is probably a pretty good tell as well.
Another tell: I’ve noticed that a good 75% of the NPC’s I’ve tried to play on the fly wind up being kindly old men. I’ve tried to play mean old Mr. Wilson to the players Dennis the Menace, but each time the gentle old codger that I am destined to become wants to come out and play a little early. The PC’s have been treated to tea once and cookies twice. Yes, I know old people do other stuff besides baking. I like cookies, OK?
I Accidentally The Whole Improv
I ran face first into another learning experience this past week. Chris Perkins wrote a fantastic article on DM improvisation two weeks ago, and I read it the morning before our D&D session and proceeded to get thoroughly drunk on good feelings. I can improv anything! My players will tell a grand story! Top of the world, Pelor!
This was also the day we had a new player join the campaign. Second session of any tabletop RPG ever, her first being one mostly-combat night of 4e with our group months ago.
(Yes, now is the appropriate time to wrinkle your noses in anticipation for the horrors to befall her.)
The plot of our campaign revolves around retrieving stolen items, and the party frequently finds themselves at the merchant that fenced these items. We’d never established who sold the items to this merchant. In fact, I’d described the thief as a shadowy figure and set it up so that I might introduce him later.
Our new player decided to play a rogue. She joins up, and the party decides to visit the merchant. I decide it’d be funny to have the merchant chatting this new person up as if she’s a regular. Instantly, the rest of the party starts getting suspicious and somebody wonders aloud if she’s the thief.
I get inspired. She’s definitely the thief. She just didn’t know it until now. I’m *Improvising*.
About fifteen seconds of deer-in-the-headlights from our new player later, I realize what I just did. The party, thinking I’d set this up beforehand, is grilling her like they’re getting paid per question.
I’d been trying to make a concerted effort up to this point in the campaign to try to let people do what they will, but this was different. She didn’t know most of the backstory leading up to any of this. She didn’t put herself in this situation, I did, and it didn’t look like much fun. So I called for a break and took our new player aside and briefed her on what was happening after apologizing profusely for being a dumbass. She took it very well, fortunately, and I only took mild damage to my face and arms.
In all seriousness, the thing that I regret doing here was damaging the trust my group has in me as a DM. I like to push the limits of this, mostly because I don’t know what’s going to blow up in my face yet, but I feel like people are going to be a lot more likely to have fun and let loose if they’re pretty sure I’m not going to put them on the spot. Well, I take that back a little. Putting people on the spot can yield some awesome and fun results. Putting a new person who has barely played the game on a giant “we’re playing Fiasco and I just set up a scene where I cut your legs off with a machete” spot was a really stupid idea. I wasn’t thinking, I got cocky, and I didn’t put my players before my crazy idea. It’s not something I plan to do again soon.
There’s No “I” In Team (Unless That “I” Stands For “Improv”)
Sometimes I think the Internets are stalking me, because after a couple days of kicking myself over putting our new player through Surprise Improv Hell, Steven Townshend writes this incredible article on group storytelling. Go read it. Right now. Stop reading this and go read that. Done? OK, I’ll continue.
The core premise of that article? When you play D&D, you’re all on the same improv team. You’re all working together to tell a great story. Even if your character would be a jerk in a given situation, you don’t throw the group under the bus.
I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve seen situations in D&D where I wish people understood this simple idea. Chaotic Neutral characters that do stupid things because they’re random? Paladins drawing their weapons and threatening other PCs who do things they perceive as evil acts? QUIT DOING THAT CRAP. You’re not helping to tell a story. You’re not helping the team, and you’re probably being a jerk. This stuff has always annoyed me, and until now I never had the right words as to why.
This is another game-changing concept for me. This is how I will try to run every game for the rest of my days.
Have I mentioned I’ve been seriously loving playing D&D lately?
Photo Credit
Do Gamer Dads Dream Of 2:1 Sheep?
MANLY ENOUGH FOR ANY INFANT.
Being a father to a little baby was cool. He was all cute and snuggly and I loved the first words and the first steps and all that stuff. I remember getting Sam a “Level 1 Human” creeper and a couple nerdy onesies before he was born. One of the few perks of babies not being able to talk is that you can dress them in whatever you want without protest. Consequently, my kid has unwittingly displayed in his short time on this planet countless slogans, concepts, and characters from many nerdly sources. (Including one Celestial Porpoise onesie I designed when Stupid Ranger first started, which raised a few family eyebrows despite a great deal of well-reasoned logic about its utter manliness.)
Does The Konami Code Count As Operant Conditioning?
One thing that’s always been lurking in the back of my mind is whether all this geeky stuff is just a weird mold that he’ll eventually break. I remember thinking, he’s two. That Mario shirt is cute, Sam can even say “Mawio” when he sees it, but he doesn’t have any attachment to that character like I do. Am I just filling up his head with a bunch of crap he’ll just dump and replace with something real to him?
Now, my boy Sam is 4, and we can have conversations about stuff and tell jokes to each other and share what happened that day and play all freaking day and HOLY CRAP. IT ROCKS. THUNDEROUSLY. These days, Sam knows what’s on his shirt. Boy, does he know. Don’t try to send that kid to school in an Autobot t-shirt if he has declared it Robot Taco Shirt Day. At least, if you don’t want a war on your hands. He is familiar with the source material for pretty much everything he wears that has an associated game or TV show.
My favorite thing to do with Sam right now, which should surprise no one, is playing lots of old NES games on the Wii. I’m pretty sure he can tell it’s an older game, mostly because he asks me “Daddy, is this game old?” Even so, he still giggles and smiles and loves playing. It’s still colorful, it has cool music that makes him dance, and the characters are recognizable to him (perhaps the sole benefit of Hollywood remaking freaking everything!). I know a big part of why he loves this is because he’s spending time with me.
It is really cool to be a 4 year old’s dad. You are frequently super awesome in their eyes. [Read the rest of this article]
Pelor’s Florist
The natural world is full of wonders. That’s why we eat everything in it, and sometimes it eats us. The gods, being gods, take it upon themselves to mess with it when they get bored. This can go really wrong and then you get things like banana fungus, leprosy, Nickelback, and the Twilight series of books. Other times, it’s simple and beautiful, and you never even know it’s there. This is how the donut was born, and also the sweet-smelling Pelorbell flower.
The first Pelorbell flowers came to the Forgotten Realms long before anyone can remember, and only appear often enough that their legend continues. It’s said the flowers weren’t discovered, but rather the answer to a prayer — specifically, one about not being consumed alive by the undead.
By day, Pelorbells appear to be large, bright, white sunflowers. Their smell is sweet, not unlike lilac, and is said to gently calm the hearts of those nearby. By night, the flowers wither noticeably, to the point where it is difficult to tell if they still live. That is, unless they are exposed to light. Then, they bloom even larger than before, and radiate waves of their own silvery light.
No ordinary light is this, for it seems crafted for the express purpose of eradicating the unnatural damned. Those pure of intention who bathe in this light find their wounds healed and steel in their spine. Undead creatures, on the other hand find their rotting flesh burning off into oily smoke and their spines lying on the ground.
It’s unknown if the flowers are the product of powerful magic or if they are the physical manifestation of a god’s will, but their effects are potent indeed. One or two of these flowers planted outside a house shine sufficient light to keep its occupants safe for what would otherwise be a long night of horrors. The thought of yards and fields planted with Pelorbells is enough to give pause to even the most bloodthirsty dead-army-wielding necromancer.
In my D&D game last week, our intrepid adventuring party encountered just such a field (and undead army). And if, like them, you didn’t realize until it was far too late the lengths I will go to to make a Plants vs. Zombies joke….. then Pelor protect you.
Photo Credit
Pain of Publication: Ninja Testing
Like many aspiring writers, I lack the luxury of being able to dedicate a full-time portion of my life to these endeavors. So, I have to make my time work for me. I have been eager to run Marvel Heroic Roleplaying in its finished form, but have not yet found a suitable occasion to do so. This post explores the pitfalls and potential of using an unorthodox method of giving a new system a spin. Switching systems in an established campaign should be an opportunity for all participants to examine what propels their campaign, learn the benefits of a new system, and get out of a gaming rut.
Having successfully been a Guest GM before and having been inspired by excellent posts on using Marvel to power a fantasy-based system, I decided to try something odd. I sensed my normally tireless DM was getting burned out in Pathfinder, so I offered to take over for a few adventures. The group was pretty positive about a change of pace, but there was a lot of surprise when I said I was going to run the same characters, the same world, in campaign continuity with a different system. My own character is being removed from the action, and the DM’s “Dungeon Master Player Character” (DPC) will be used as a player by our typical DM. This all begs the question: why go through all the trouble to change the system from my group’s perspective? I want to try it out, but I owe it to my playgroup to have a “payoff.” That payoff is to give the group a completely different feel of the game and scope of the adventure. [Read the rest of this article]
30 Ranks In Use Trope
We’ve all been there. The campaign has slowed to a crawl, morale is low, and players are getting more and more physically violent with every session. Soon, the blood-harvest comes. As a DM, you already know none of this is your fault. However, as the sovereign of your gaming group it is your right, nay, holy duty to return the light of goodness, truth, and the Gygaxian Way to your table. Allow me to assist.
Spunky Sunshine Mephit
Some DM’s, myself included, find a familiar albatross around their neck in the form of the same tired old plots week after week. There’s nothing worse than having the D&D equivalent of Spaghetti Thursdays at your gaming table.
What your game needs is a little help… or should I say, a little helper?
One commonly used tactic in many popular TV shows over the years is to add a cute and sassy kid to the mix to freshen things up. Let’s call this kid Cousin Olefar.
Always brave and daring, but just too darn spunky to have any regard for the well-being of any creature, Cousin Olefar can brighten up even the dullest combats. Now every combat has an exciting secondary objective!
Just imagine how the players would feel if they let the cute little bugger die.
Jumping The Bulette
Your players are probably bored with the standard fare of mystery, exploration, exciting combat, and deep roleplay. They can get that anywhere. You should give them something cooler. Remember the early seasons of Happy Days when it was boring and about stupid stuff American life and emotions? Remember when all the girls got anachronistic perms and Fonzie started getting superpowers he could invoke with a simple “AYYYY?”
That’s what you can do for your campaign. It works, too. Historically, the best campaigns are the ones where about halfway through, you drop everything and decide that you already know what’s going to happen. You tease your players incessantly about it for about 2 weeks beforehand, even dropping little hints about “wormsign” and “the likes of which God has never seen.” Everything leads up to a super exciting moment that you’ve been dreaming of for so long, and it’s gonna be so cool, and you don’t even need game mechanics you just make it happen.
When everybody sees the mage (with a brand new perm) riding bareback atop a half-lich bulette tarrasqueomancer through no real conscious choice of his own after an unlikely but charming sequence of events, they’ll all understand it was worth it.
Then you blow up the PC’s lair and have a guy from Murphy Brown chase them through time. Aww yeah.
Fuggedaboutit
Another fantastic TV trope you can use in your campaign is the old “amnesia caused by a bonk on the head” trick. I recommend you invoke this every time a player takes damage or fails a DEX check.
No metagaming, players! You’ll need to take another bonk on the head to remember who you are. Also, if a monster uses Claw / Claw / Bite, you may think of it as Forget / Remember / Forget.
Freaky Friday Night Magic
How many times over the years in movies and TV has a magic spell been cast or a lever been pulled causing characters to swap bodies? Countless. And it’s a thing of beauty every single time. Every DM should do this to their players at least twice in a given campaign.
Fun fact: skills, spellcasting ability, and weapon/armor proficiencies don’t transfer along with a person’s consciousness. Just their voice, memories, and a schedule that really isn’t conducive to having another person at the wheel much less a dwarf NOW I’LL NEVER GET MARRIED.
It’s science.
Quest For The Closet Of Elemental Water
PC’s never fear death anymore. Not with healing surges and resurrection and rings of regeneration all ready and waiting to save their imaginary butts.
Solving this issue means gleaning dark knowledge from the vilest master of terror that ever whitened a hair or startled an innocent puppy — Wakko Warner. To know true fear, a PC needs to be faced with a fate worse than death. A potty emergency.
Everybody always wants to know the secret of making 4e combat run fast and exciting. If every PC has an overfull bladder and cursed pants they can’t remove until they find and defeat the end boss of the dungeon, this problem is now officially solved.
Be warned, there are some minor mechanical issues to work out if you decide to go this route. For instance, who can say if the PC’s should be making Fort checks, Will checks, or a combination of the two to avoid certain embarassment and chafing. Regardless, I recommend making this check every 5 minutes of actual time, starting the DC at 0 and raising it by 5 after each check.
Bonus Tip: in the original Oriental Adventures book from TSR, there is a Wu Jen spell called Urine to Acid. Use this in the event that your players still fail to become excited at these new developments.
Photo Credit
Special thanks to TvTropes.org (especially their “Random” button) for all the article ideas and for straight up murdering my productivity for many years.
And yes, you can probably blame Chatty for this too.
Divine Divinity: Dividends Of The Divination Divide
D&D’s been around so long that clerics and paladins are a normal part of most fantasy settings. Divine magic in any setting has a great many implications — most of which involve causing players to get into stupid arguments.
I Wish I Could Turn Stupid People
In the real world, people pray to their deity of choice all the time. Whether it has any effect is the subject of intense theological debate and many wars throughout the course of history. The presence of divine magic in a setting means that gods definitely exist and that they will answer prayers. If you ask a cleric how she knows her god is real, she can say “You remember how your bones magically unbroke themselves and you quit bleeding to death? THAT.” If you ask a paladin how he knows his god is real, he can say “You remember when that vampire burst into flames when I smote him righteously in his stupid fangs? THAT.”
A person who has seen the direct effects of a deity’s influence won’t be wondering if their god exists. They have proof. However, there is still the opportunity to wonder if one is playing for the right team. What if a person finds the things their god asks of them to be immoral? What if someone thinks another god will treat them better? A lot of fantasy settings go polytheistic (many gods), so there are a lot of higher powers to choose from. That being said, it may not easy for the average person trying to change faith or renounce the gods, especially if that person’s family or village all support that god.
It stands to reason then, that a crisis of faith of this nature is absolutely catastrophic to a divine-powered character. For starters, there’s not going to be any more divine juice coming. Magic notwithstanding, a character whose resolve used to be backed by the force of a god is suddenly going to find only the otherwise unsupported steel in their own spine, and their confidence and morale are likely to be shaken until they can learn to deal with that.
Oh yeah. There’s also the whole “making a god angry” thing, and I’d imagine there are a few gods out there that might take being abandoned by one of their elite devout as a bad thing. Gods like curses. Mythology is littered with poor souls that ran afoul of the gods. Littered, I say!
Prostrate yourselves! BZZZTALAALKS, the lord of Sperm and Hornets is come unto your world!
Alignment Is Evil
I’ve never been particularly fond of alignment (mostly due to the amount of heated arguments I’ve seen over its interpretation), and while I think it might be useful to a DM as guidance for how to play a monster or NPC, I think it has no place on a player character sheet. People aren’t computer programs with set responses. They’re flawed, nuanced individuals who change over time. Their idea of good and evil may well be different than another person’s, and very few people will define themselves as evil.
It’s for these reasons that I hope game mechanics that deal with alignment go the way of the THAC0 in D&D Next. If you have two people with opposing views that each would consider good and the other’s evil, what then would a Detect Evil spell do? Detect Opposing Viewpoints? Does your whole party glow subtly, the marbled nuance of their moral fibre visible in the darkness?
There will need to be other options made available in their place, though. Detect Danger gets into Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses territory. Detect Malice might work but you’d have to make something angry at you and then it usually becomes evident. Detect Enemies is what this spell is usually after. It’s X-ray specs combined with a lie detector made out of a sledgehammer. Of course, since you’re receiving a power from a god, the god could let you detect whatever the hell they felt like. I personally like the idea of a Detect Nonbelievers variant of the spell. Or they could just mess with you. Detect Pollen? Detect Sharp Cheeses?
An interesting sidebar: the average joe in a fantasy realm probably won’t know the difference between arcane and divine magic (especially in a setting where magic is really rare to begin with). Mages could trick people into thinking their deeds were backed by the force of a god. And what if a divine character suddenly found out the powers they’d received from their god ever since childhood were actually psionic or a natural talent for sorcery?
Let Your Conscience Be Your Spirit Guide
At this point even I am starting to think I’ve loaded a shotgun with Divine Character Thought Pellets and fired it skyward, so here’s my (somewhat dubious) point:
Divine characters are fueled by pure belief. It’s interesting sometimes to think how much a character truly believes in their god’s ideals and how deeply this would affect this kind of character. Their belief in their god, their ideals, their confidence in what their doing would shape their very identity because to waver means to fall. But that doesn’t mean they’re all the same.
As usual, I have roleplaying-shaped ulterior motives behind my article. With all the recent discussion on Mike Mearls’ latest L&L column about clerics (and by “discussion”, I mean people angrily yelling “HEALBOT” into the heavens), it’s clear that people have a few defined ideas about what clerics and paladins should and should not be. One of the things that has me very excited about D&D Next is that the design team seems committed to making a system that allows you play whatever you want, whether it’s a traditional “mace & shield” cleric or “I get a horse and +5 holy avenger” paladin, or something new.
People are complex. Religion is complex. People’s feelings about religion are crazy complex. There’s conflict and drama all over the place. That means there is a wide variety of things you can create a character from, and million more things you could try when roleplaying that character. There is room in the imagination for infinite gods, and those gods can each grant different powers or demand something different from their followers. Even then, it’s up to the player to determine how his or her PC chooses to worship. Of course, in D&D, it helps the DM’s sanity if you have specific powers backed by game mechanics, but for several editions now clerics could choose spells or domains or feats or skills that made them different from any other Generic Cleric™. Paladins can still believe very strongly in gods and causes that are not Lawful Good, and I see no reason why a character’s personal code of ethics couldn’t be peppered with some nice habañero chaos.
For my part, I will be petitioning the team at WotC to make sure the default setting for D&D Next includes gods in charge of:
- Habanero
- Bacon
- Pigtails
- Marching Order
- Eczema
- Rock
Wish me luck. Or pray to whatever gods govern tabletop roleplaying games. Doesn’t matter to me. Crom gives a man but two things at birth: a blog and the courage to post in it. And if he won’t help me, then to hell with him!
Photo Credit
Group Development Inception
It was then that Skyden decided he would NEVER take second watch. Because he was an elf, and it didn't make mathematical sense for him to do so because he only had to go into a restful trance for four hours.
“You all meet in a tavern.”
We’ve all played in a campaign that started like this. Some DM’s will just ask for names. Other put it as “who are you and why are you here?”, hoping to grease the backstory wheels a bit. This is where you find out who’s really into backstory and roleplaying, who wants to get their axes bloody as soon as possible, who’s just along for the ride, and who wants to pickpocket someone in the first fifteen seconds of the campaign because they rolled a rogue.
The first night of a D&D campaign is a very strange phenomenon. I don’t know too many other places that an entire room full of people who have known each other for decades can feel uncomfortable around all their new coworkers. Most groups go under the assumption that the other adventurers can be trusted, but those who like to roleplay may not make that assumption.
Learning How To Make Camp
There’s always friction when a new group starts. They even have fancy theories and models for this kind of thing. Tuckman’s stages of group development suggest there are four stages to group development:
- Forming
- Storming
- Norming
- Performing
In a nutshell, groups form (1). There’s friction (2) until leaders emerge and they all figure out how to work together (3). Sometimes, they figure it out really well and go into super-awesome mode (4). Sometimes things will change, and sometimes they regress and the process starts back at (2).
In a D&D party, these can manifest themselves in combat, or in deciding marching order or the watch order at camp, or even deciding who speaks for the party during roleplay. There’s another layer to this, as well. Your D&D group — comprised of all the real live people who brought all their books and dice — goes through all these phases too. The extent to which they are separate depends upon each player and their own ability to distinguish between and/or roleplay the two.
Of course, I’m not suggesting the PCs have minds of their own or anything silly like that, nor am I suggesting players can’t distinguish fantasy from reality. I don’t need to go back to the padded room. What I am suggesting is that an adventuring party’s development is going to be affected by the development of the group of players. I sincerely doubt you’ll find a Performing adventuring party with Storming players. You’ll find them spending an entire session arguing over the watch order at camp. Not that I’m bitter.
Storming, Norming, Performing, Cheating, Skipping?
This past week, my group started a new campaign, and we tried starting things out a little differently. For starters, the PCs were members of the city guard instead of being random adventurers arbitrarily dropped into a setting. We also rolled characters starting at level 3. This was for a couple reasons. A few players wanted to try a new class and wanted to do a little more than just dip their toes in for the first few sessions. We also did it for my own convenience in setting up the campaign. I wanted to avoid the “you meet in a tavern” scenario and give the PCs a reason to have worked together for a short while.
Something really cool started happening right away with the group. Given the knowledge that their characters were already comfortable with their surroundings and with each other, the players just started adlibbing. References to previous events that never happened were common. Friendly crap-giving of the sort one might give their work friends ensued. There was a question at one point as to who was in command, and (after a quick out-of-character discussion) the fighter was nominated and everyone thereafter deferred to him, called him “chief”, and acted like it had been this way for years. The characters were more alive in the first hour of this campaign than they ever were in anything I’d run before.
I’d love to blame this on my superior DMing skills, but I honestly think two things happened. The PCs got to completely skip over Storming and started out Norming. (Do groups get “Norming” at level 3?) Watching this unfold was crazy fun.
More importantly, I think my D&D group figured out either Norming or Performing. I don’t think this is particularly far-fetched considering we’ve been together a little over a year, we have some very good roleplayers, and very little group drama. I couldn’t be happier.
No matter what happens, we had lightning in a bottle for a night, and I hope it sticks around.
Photo Credit (storm)
Xzibit meme by memegenerator.net
The Easily Lost Explorer’s Guide to Dungeon Crawling
Now Communicate All That To Your Players
The latest D&D Next blog post by Bruce Cordell covers one of the oft-pointed to dealbreakers for many in D&D 4e: the use of the combat grid. This is actually only one piece of a whole topic about spacial thinking.
Bear with me here: if we all had perfect spacial thinking and effective communication skills, we wouldn’t need a battle grid in combat. The DM could describe the dimensions and shape of a room in the dungeon, as well as relative positions of inhabitants and features. We could just describe how far we’re going, all adjust our mental pictures appropriately, and voila: the entire time to set up a battle would be the time we need to talk about it.
Unfortunately, we don’t all have that. Some of us are terrible at it (me) while others of us are really good at it. In order to make it function at its best though, we have to ALL be reasonably good at it in the same game. Usually this is not the case: you have varying levels of spacial aptitude among the players at an RPG table, and definitely varying degrees of communication skills. In D&D, this has classically been addressed by one of the following styles:
- The battle grid, where everybody can see a birds-eye view of the entire battle, and can always determine exact distances and sizes.
- Rough battle grid (RBG) that does use a map and minis/tokens, but is less concerned with measuring distances and more simply about rough positions.
- “Theater of the Mind” (ToTM) as discussed by Bruce Cordell, where distances aren’t as important and everyone roughly imagines relative positions. (Notice there’s only one exact distance given in Bruce’s example in the size of the room.)
- A fourth style that I’ll call “Blueprints of the Mind” (BotM) that uses exact distances but does not represent them in the real (OOC) world, and is entirely reliant upon the DM to communicate where everything is.
(There is at least one other style in other RPGs I’ve played, which I’ll address later.)
Theater of the Mind, in 3D
Now, as someone with terrible, terrible direction sense, I tend to prefer one of the first two in D&D. The battle grid means that we’re all automatically on the same page. If I lay out a room as a DM, you can see how big it is without any negotiating. If I’m a player, I can easily look down and pre-plan what I’m going to do (and more importantly, get excited about what my character will do next turn) without having to wait and get a recap. The only delay tends to be working out fiddly things like line-of-sight. RBG operates largely the same way, though there’s a bit more clarification often involved.
ToTM can be OK, but also problematic. With situation that cares about relative positioning – ”Can I my barbarian charge him? Is he in range of my bow? Can I aim this Cone of Cold to hit all of them?” – it becomes messier. Because I know I’m not going to be able to track where everything is, I have to wait until it’s my turn and get a recap. This sometimes leads to embarrassing situations where I’m not sure if there are goblins still attacking my face or not until it’s my turn. In other situations, I prefer the ToTM. In fact, in many other RPGs I play, this is the only way I’ll play because it just doesn’t matter who is where, and decisions are made based on what would make sense in a story.
BotM is my least favorite, as you might be able to tell, and I think it’s more common than people give it credit for. In this style, I completely check out when it’s not my turn because it just feels punishing and frustrating when I try to listen to everything that’s going on and I still can’t form a mental picture. Sometimes, it’s even worse when it feels like a math problem: “two golems are equidistant from each other in a 50 foot square room. One of them charges 30 feet to the wizard on your left. Assuming a halfling’s speed, can your rogue reach the other golem before he pulls the lever that drops the lava on the rest of the group?” It sounds extreme, but I’ve found that’s often the case when a very spacial thinker runs a game without a grid. While I cannot picture distances in my head, I’m sure there are folks out there that can’t help but describe things in terms of feet (and sometimes, horrifyingly enough, yards).
Stop And Ask That Pit Trap For Directions
These situations don’t just apply to combat mapping either. Take ye olde dungeone crawle. Mapping the dungeon is treated like another job you must perform like party caller or healer or stableboy. Only, in the case of dungeon mapping, it’s entirely based on player skill, so your illiterate barbarian with a 6 wisdom could be better at it than the 18 intelligence wizard.
So you have your dungeon cartographer, and the DM can describe the hallways that snake off 20 feet to the north and 30 feet to the south, then curve at a 45 degree angle for 40 feet, and so on. The cartographer listens intently and sketches it out as we go, making the player be in charge of trying to draw floor plans only by talking to a partner, like some kind of party game. Mess up, or misinterpret, and everything could be off. This is sometimes fun, for like the first time it happens, and other times, feels like you just programmed your Robo Rally robot to walk off a cliff repeatedly. Likewise, you miss all the possibly fun connections that are had by exploring a dungeon and seeing where the things wrap around, or connect in interesting ways.
Even assuming that you’re doing it perfectly, the mapping is done by one player, who has the best sense of what’s going on. The two players sitting next to her can see the map and weigh in on informed decisions about where to go next. Sitting anywhere else at the table? “Uh, left is always good.” Certainly a good cartographer will show it to other players when needed, but by and large, exploring a dungeon is the province of the one player who really understands what’s going on.
Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE exploring in D&D. I love those “aha” moments where you figure out where there has to be a secret door because of the way things connect. That’s just what makes me sad about the style of play, since I don’t get to really participate. And trust me, you do NOT want me doing the mapping.
3d6+12 Feet Converted To Metric
All this is what lead me yesterday to declare, on the internet of all places, the following statement, in reaction to my friend Trevor stating that you need to know whether a range is in squares or feet:
I actually find feet similarly worthless in a gridless situation. Either you’re measuring exacts or not. Melee/Close/Medium/Far etc. would be fine, or some kind of zoning method.
Exact distances (like 30 feet, or my more hated 3e spell alternative, 30+2 feet per level) get you into the BotM framework. A spell tells you how far it works, and NEVER EVER goes beyond that. If you need to hit the dragon with an acid arrow but it’s 31 feet away, you’re out of luck (and if your DM isn’t out to hose you at every turn, he might even tell you before you waste the spell.) In more situations, we fudge it anyway, which TotM and RBG both live in the “fudge it/negotiate it” zone of play.
What I’m ultimately saying is that specifying exact distances in play, unless you’re using a battle grid or something similar, punish people like me, and there are more than us than you might think that are just playing along. It’s one of those things that has been a part of the game for so long it’s easy to just accept it. However, I do think there are solutions out there that can help everyone.
Virtual Matrix-Esque Worlds For Every Game Table
One alternative I floated, specifically in the context of D&D, is the idea of fuzzy ranges. That is, the range of distances is described by a rough description, like I described above: melee, close, medium, far. I can only attack in melee at melee range. My bow can hit anything I can see within far range. The cone of cold blasts everything close. You can still attach real world distances to them in the rules (close goes from 6-30 feet, medium from 31 to 100, etc.) so as to support battle grid usage. Additionally, and this is the important part, the abstract nature needs to be represented by the rules. Instead of relying on having an omniscient placement of a fireball because the spell description tells me it branches out to exactly 30 squares, it instead would say something like: “hits everything with close range of each other, up to 6 targets. You may designate a target you’re trying to avoid hitting and that target receives a +5 to their saving throw versus the effect.” Or: “Any character may try to run with an Endurance check to increase the distance of their run from close to medium. Halflings and dwarves have tiny legs and so get a -2 penalty to their check.” And so on. Those are just examples that might not work in play, but hopefully you get the idea.
Another alternative, as I alluded to earlier, is to take the approach that FATE and other games have done, which is create abstract “zones” of battle that only care about what area you are in, not exactly where you’re standing. So you might be in the ogre room zone, able to attack anything in melee in that zone, or attack with a longer range weapon into that zone or the hallway zone adjacent, but not the otyugh trash pile adjacent to that around the corner. Movement is listed in things like “1 zone.” And so on.
In both cases, you still have rules about distances, and you’re still going for the same effects that you’ve always had in D&D. It’s just thinking about them in a different way, and supporting them through the system instead of relying on DMs and players to be good at estimating distances. Heck, I couldn’t even tell you the size of the room I’m in right now, and I come to it every week day.
Ultimately, I think my point is that looking at the issue of just battle grid vs. not battle grid will leave us with the same issues, conflicts, and style preferences that lead us down the winding road in the first place from Chainmail to whatever comes next. Thinking about WHY we have these issues- like being unable to picture a battle in my head- and less about one style versus the other could bear some fruit in a solution that will work for everyone playing.
Photo Credit
One Hundred Monkeys, One Hundred Typewriters, One Hundred Wands Of Magic Missile
Me, several times a day. That's right, I'm a werechicken. You wanna make something of it?
As some of you are no doubt aware, WotC has once again opened the window for article pitches to Dungeon and Dragon. For the first time in my life, I have decided to submit some stuff. As I have been writing about roleplaying games for nearly 5 years now, and with the recent success in this arena of several of my esteemed blog-tribe fresh in my mind, one might think I would be overconfident. One would be crazy wrong.
To be perfectly frank, I’m freaking terrified. Imagine being a nerdling of 13 winters, reading your favorite magazines every month – Dungeon and Dragon. The wild creativity. The enhancements to the game you play and think about and breathe every day. All the cool art. It’s the late 80′s. This is the only D&D/fantasy humor you regularly see. A quarter-century of winters later, I stand at their very gates, and I am to say what?
I’m here?
I can do this too?
Please?
Part of my fears stem from the idea that nothing I come up with will be original enough. So many decades of fantasy have come before me, and WotC’s editors have surely seen everything before. What could I possibly have to add?
I’m much better at fluff than I am crunch, and they’re going to want stats and maps and game mechanics. Can I get it together?
I can write, but can I write professionawesomeal?
Even if I have a good idea, can I distill it into a pitch that isn’t 2000 words long requiring a flowchart and interpretive dance?
…
You know what? F*** it. It doesn’t matter. I’m doing this anyway. [Read the rest of this article]
