They were so right.

Not only did the AppleTV sports dramedy deliver every bit of charm I was promised, a season one scene gave me an idea for helping my players establish their characters in my next campaign.  But before I get into that…

What Is Ted Lasso?

Ted Lasso is a heartwarming and emotional comedy about an American football (gridiron) coach hired to coach an English football (soccer) team. More than just hilarity ensues.

Developed by Bill Lawrence (as well as series star Jason Sudeikis and his longtime collaborator Brendan Hunt), it juggles humour and pathos in the same vein as other Bill Lawrence shows like Scrubs and Clone High, with an emphasis on big but nuanced characters. Not unlike a party of RPG characters.

The Scene

In the episode Two Aces, after a new star player’s injury, Ted learns that there’s a superstition revolving around the club’s treatment room. To lift the curse, he asks everyone on the team, including management, to bring in something meaningful to them. They take turns explaining the meaning of the item before throwing it in a barrel to be burned.

Two Aces is the sixth episode of the first season. By this point, we’d met the main characters and their closest supporting characters. However, this being a show about a team sport, we’d seen another dozen recurring characters but knew barely anything about them.

Unfortunately, the scene mostly focuses on the characters we already know. The sacrifices of a few tertiary characters play for laughs, then music plays over a montage of some of the other background characters making their sacrifices. It makes sense for a 30 minute episode, where we want the insight into the characters we already know and love and don’t have time to give even 30 seconds each to all thirty characters in the room. Still, I wished for a longer cut of the scene, because it gave amazing insight into what makes these people tick. Which is what inspired me.

The Idea

That. Do that scene.

Set up a scenario early in a new campaign that gives players an opportunity to explain an element of their backstory, maybe even sacrifice a token of their past. I predict that this meaningful moment will resonate greater than an in character conversation en route to a mission, or an info dump during session zero. A player could say their character killed a plant creature that threatened their family, but sacrificing the bark they stripped off the creature’s corpse as a souvenir matters more than words.

I famously don’t like forcing players to write out their backstories. One of the reasons is because I find myself beholden to the written word when I do. As a player, I usually go into a campaign with a solid idea of who my character is and how to roleplay them. Within a few sessions, I realize my ideas weren’t as solid as I thought. Then, through organic exploration, I discover who my character really is. Having a backstory written down interferes with the natural progression toward actually getting into roleplaying my character.

Sacrifices Must Be Made

Ted Lasso’s curse purification scene is a great way to bring a character’s backstory to the table, regardless of how your player presents it. By asking our players to talk about something that means a lot to their characters, and be willing to sacrifice it, we’re drawing a line between who the character was (backstory) and who they are now. We also give each player an opportunity to tell us about their character, but in a specific context.

In a Pathfinder campaign, this could be a haunt prohibiting access to a dungeon unless a sacrifice of the heart is made (hopefully without players misunderstanding that and carving an organ out of a pig or villager). In a G.I. JOE campaign, this could be a recruitment tool to see if the character is willing to give up who they once were to take on a code name and join the team. In a Transformers game, this could be a piece of their life on Cybertron that they reflect on when they find it shattered on the floor of The Ark.

If your players aren’t the type who like to make sacrifices, the character making the sacrifice could be an NPC. This is just as good of a way to get your players to see a background character in a new light, and can help establish an important for your campaigns.

Conclusion

Every item we own has a story behind it, and some meaning to us. The same should be true of the characters in our campaigns, my fellow GMs. Asking the players to conjure up a physical manifestation of part of their characters’ backstories, or create a backstory for an innocuous item in their inventory helps ground our campaigns and the characters in it. How seriously they take it is up to the players. If my players turn it into a joke, I’ll say I love it. If not, I cannot wait to unpack it with them.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

I’ve recently experienced a similar need in other forms of play, and I see how even TTRPGs can benefit from Little Buddy Modes. 

What Is Little Buddy Mode?

As Louisa suggested, Little Buddy Mode finds a way to let equally enthusiastic players of varying skill levels play together. They don’t need to play in the same way or follow the same rules, as long as they play at the same time. 

For example, I have two daughters. One of them is incredibly athletic, and loves to push herself to her physical limits. The other is social and likes to participate with whatever anyone else is doing, her big sister most of all. Say, my older daughter wants to pass the football with me. If I play with her but not her sister, my younger daughter gets upset because she’s left out. If I insist both sisters play, my older daughter doesn’t get the experience she’s looking for because she has to play down to her sister’s level. So we invented Groundhog Football.

My older daughter and I pass the football. My younger daughter is the groundhog. Whenever the ball hits the ground, the groundhog runs to get it and brings it to the closest player. Everyone gets to participate in the game, and they get to play the game the way they want. 

Little Video Game Buddies

I will get to RPGs eventually, but first I want to share the different ways I’ve seen videos games handle co-op, and rate how well they fulfill the Little Buddy criteria. 

Bad Little Buddy Co-Op

Contra

Contra on the NES still stands out as one of the most antagonistic co-op experiences I ever played. Contra is a side scrolling platformer with a sliding invisible wall. In most levels, once you go right, you can’t go left. But a major component of the play experience is getting power ups for your weapon. So if a power-up dropped near the left edge of the screen that someone (let’s say me) wanted to pick up, but someone else (let’s say one of my brothers) kept going, the power up could be lost forever. 

Worse were the vertical levels. In the horizontal levels, the screen stopped moving if it reached the leftmost player. In the vertical levels, if the higher player got too far ahead of the lower player, the bottom of the screen killed the lower player. 

Now you could argue this forced the players to communicate and work together and that Contra was teaching teamwork. In my experience, it mostly caused fights that got the game taken away from both players. 

Overcooked

Another favourite game of mine that fails to take Little Buddies into account is this real time obstacle course cooking game. Overcooked is fun, flashy, and brings out my and my wife’s competitive sides in a cooperative way. Unfortunately, it doesn’t leave us many good options when our kids want to play too. Now, Overcooked does provide a variety of difficulty settings to adjust. You can lower the points needed to earn stars, remove the timer on orders so they never expire, and limit the number of orders you have to deal with. However, these all apply to the entire game. Which means if our older daughter wants to play, we all have to play at her level, noticeably lower than me and my wife. And if our younger daughter wants to play too, we have to lower the settings to the basement so our older daughter doesn’t get annoyed that her sister mainly likes playing Overcooked to kill my cook by closing doors as I’m walking through them. 

OK Little Buddy Co-Op

Super Mario Galaxy

The Wii’s Super Mario Galaxy (the first one for sure, I didn’t get around to the second one) incorporated Little Buddy play subtly. It was a one-player game, in which Mario went around his galaxy solving puzzles, beating up baddies, and collecting resources, including star bits floating around the level. However, a second player could pick up a remote and wave it around to collect star bits and stun enemies. 

I appreciate this inclusion, but I only rate it as OK for two reasons: Firstly, Mario games are built on character. Player 1 gets to be Mario, a defined character with a distinct look who the games are named after. Player 2 gets to be an undefined benevolent force. Had the cursor been a Toad with a jetpack, or a Lumalee or Lakitu, something with a face, name, and personality, that could have elevated the fun of this option. Secondly, as a 3D puzzle platformer, player 1 tends to repeat the same sections until they succeed. Once player 2 runs out of star bits to collect and enemies to stun, they’re just waiting and watching player 1 fail. That’s not fun for player 2 and puts pressure on player 1. 

Guacamelee 

DrinkBox Studios’ luchador adventure comes so close to addressing these problems, but they persist. Up to four players can play; I often play with my older daughter, where I control Juan and she controls Tostada, the corporeal spirit of a historic heroine. However, the story is unquestionably a single player game about Juan. In every cutscene, characters only address Juan, and only Juan reacts, all while Tostada stands there. This annoys my daughter, because the dialog and plot don’t make sense in multiplayer mode at her character’s expense. 

Similarly, Guacamelee almost succeeds at a Little Buddy Mode of game play. Guacamelee is a side scrolling platformer and beat’em up. You unlock new lucha moves that both improve your ability to fight and overcome obstacles. However, once you unlock a move, the puzzles mandate its use. This leaves my daughter overwhelmed as she needs to remember a growing number of options and how to do them, then needs the coordination to string these moves together. Similarly, once we unlock a new move, enemies gain shields that make them immune to all attacks except for a specific move. So she can’t sit out of the puzzles and just join in for the fights, because the fights are also puzzles that require similar skills as the platforming sections. 

Guacamelee does allow the players to turn into ethereal bubbles that let them float anywhere on screen, including through objects. This means that as long as one player can get through a puzzle, everyone advances. But unlike the Mario Galaxy off-screen second player, players in bubble modes can’t affect anything on screen. They can’t even revert to character mode, an on-screen player needs to pop their bubble. So it’s nice that players aren’t forced to solve puzzles beyond their control, but the only other option is basically opting out and waiting, which isn’t much different from just watching someone else play a game. 

Good Little Buddy Co-Op

Sonic 2

The first Little Buddy Mode I can think of is pictured in the banner. Sonic 2 added a new character to the game: Tails. But it didn’t add a full 2-player mode. Instead, it acted more like a 1.5 player game. 

Whether you played it solo or co-op, you had two players on screen (there might have been an option to play single player as just one character). Regardless, the camera followed player 1. This was important to the gameplay experience, since Sonic was sold on speed, and players used hills and other terrain features to build momentum and blaze through the levels. The slower player didn’t anchor down the faster one. When Sonic outran Tails, the little fox companion would fly back on screen once Sonic stopped. The rest of the time, Tails played exactly like Sonic, stomping enemies and collecting rings.

This meant everyone could participate in Sonic almost equally. A better player could play as the main character without lowering to the skill level of a worse player, or a worse player could take the lead and the better player can play along, helping without taking over. 

Little RPG Buddies

So how do we bring Little Buddy mode to our RPG tables, my fellow GMs? We learn what to do and what not to do from video games: 

• A Little Buddy should be allowed to participate, regardless of skill level;
• A Little Buddy doesn’t need to participate in the same way, but ideally the same amount as everyone else;
• A Little Buddy’s role should have agency and potential for characterization. 

With these three rules in mind, here are some ways Little Buddies can participate in our sessions:

Sidekicks 

Let the Little Buddy be the Tails to a player’s Sonic. 

Many player characters across multiple systems gain access to companions, from pets to hirelings. Even when the mechanics don’t allow it, PCs can amass a menagerie of recurring NPCs in their lives. Instead of giving players the reigns on these tangential characters or playing them ourselves, my fellow GMs, we can hand over these characters to novice players. This helps them get a grasp of the game without risk to the character or the campaign. 

GM’s Apprentice

When I worked out a way for my younger daughter to play catch with me and my older daughter, an important factor was giving her role a name. She wasn’t like the anonymous second player in Mario Galaxy, she was the Groundhog in a game called Groundhog Football. It’s not Groundhog Football without the Groundhog!

Likewise, we can lighten our logistic loads at the table by delegating to our Little Buddies. To avoid making them feel like they’re doing TTRPG chores or busy work, give them a title to get excited over. Just like we feel pretty great with a powerful title like Game Master, we empower them with a title like Master’s Apprentice. And instead of making them wait to be called on, give them some if/then circumstances to look out for. “These are my tokens. When the wizard casts wall of fog, give them 10 grey tokens.” “When I say ‘the fire spreads’ give me a red, yellow, or orange token.” This way they have a reason to engage beyond “pay attention”, even if it’s a quiet kind of engagement. 

Ring Crew

A pro wrestling tradition on the indy circuit is that young wrestlers hoping to get into the industry pay their dues by helping to set up and tear down the ring before and after events. In addition to showing their level of commitment and getting face time with management, it teaches them additional layers of how their industry works. 

We aren’t just GMs when we’re at the table. We’re GMs whenever we think ahead to the next session. If you’re one of those GMs who preps physically for their sessions, a Little Buddy can help more than you might expect. Afterall, a lot of GMing skills are elementary. Ask your Little Buddy to draw in details on your battlemaps, or flip through the stat blocks looking for a cool monster and then find miniatures to match. When I was writing a In A Jam, a My Little Pony RPG adventure, I’d run the scenarios past my daughters in a diceless version of the game to see what decisions they made and questions they asked. This helped polish the adventure, and was a fun bonding experience for all involved. Even after I turned over that adventure, my daughters asked if we can do “the pony story”. 

Conclusion

Not everyone needs to experience a game in the same way to feel like they’re participating. Taking in the atmosphere of game night, seeing how it plays out, helps new players young and old ease into the experience. Giving these new players a purpose makes them feel like a part of the group without the pressure of fully integrating them before they’re ready. What’s important is that our Little Buddies feel like they participated, and fun was had by all. 

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Linda Richman may have just needed a distraction to compose herself, but Coffee Talk inadvertently introduced an underused tool for the GM toolbox. 

PCs, Talk Amongst Yourselves

Sometimes, my fellow GMs, we need a moment. Maybe we need to check our notes. Maybe we need to check a rule. Maybe we just need to check out for a minute. Whatever the reason, we are allowed to take a break during sessions. 

Previously when the need arose, I let the players drop out of character and chat as friends. However, getting their heads back into the game could be challenging.  Sometimes all it took was a forceful, “OK, so…” Other times, drawing them away from the table talk took as much effort as starting the session.

Now, instead of a topic of interest to the players, I prompt them with a topic of interest to their characters. 

Weaponize “Let Me Tell You About My Character”

Most players love talking about their characters. We can use that, my fellow GMs, by asking the table a personal question about the PCs, then leaving them to discuss while we do what needs to be done.

A good prompt highlights an aspect of the player characters that might not get explored organically. When a player fills out their characters sheet and writes their backstory, they make a series of decisions. And because characters sheets are formulaic and backstories tend to cover the same ground, it’s easy to find questions that apply to the whole table equally. 

For example, although a PC’s religion means more to divine casters than other characters, every character sheet includes space for their god. “What would your god say about that?” gives everyone a chance to express why they chose that god, and apply that decision to the current campaign.

Best of all, we don’t need to pay attention to any of that discussion. A good personal prompt engages the players in a way that teaches them about each other’s PCs (and maybe even their own), without needing our attention. 

Previously, On…

Question: How many players in your group write notes?

Follow-up question: How many players in your group read those notes?

The notes may be there, but that doesn’t mean all players know what’s happened equally. Getting the players to discuss the plot helps solidify the campaign’s details, solidifying the foundation of the shared narrative. And we don’t just have to ask about the broad strokes of the campaign’s plot. Every campaign includes dangling threads.

“Hey, remember X? What were you going to do about that?” 

This isn’t railroading if it’s reminding players of the details and subplots they verbally put a pin in, only to forget that they intended to get back to it. It’s also consistent with the logic of the campaign world. Players living a few hours of these characters’ lives each month might get distracted from the minutia of their adventures, but the characters engaged in life and death struggles will remember to look up the symbol on the signet ring they found in the bishop’s hidden drawer.

Whether it’s about the PCs or the campaign, you want to choose a topic that will lead to a fun conversation.

But Not Too Fun

How is there an upper limit to how fun the topic can be? Because we don’t get to be a part of the conversation, my fellow GMs.

In a live recording lost to the ages, the Adventurous cast played a game of House On Haunted Hill on Twitch. For those unfamiliar, House On Haunted Hill is a board game that starts cooperative, but then one player gets corrupted, triggering the endgame. There’s a whole booklet of corruptions, each with its own rules and narrative. As the player whose character got corrupted in this game, I had to find and read my rules while everyone else waited. But, this being a live stream, the rest of the players chatted to entertain themselves and the audience. And, counterproductively, me. I couldn’t concentrate on my task at hand because I wanted to engage in the chatter with my friends.

So, only choose a topic related to the PC’s backstories if you already know that part of their backstories. Choose a topic related to their builds if you already know that about their builds. Choose a topic about the campaign that you don’t need to answer questions about or listen to in case they get the details wrong. This is a conversation to keep our players, and only our players, engaged while our focus is elsewhere.

Conclusion

We may think that as GMs we need to witness all in-character interactions to inform how we run the campaign. However, that’s only partially true. As long as we’re made aware of the decisions the characters make, we know the direction to take the action. If the motivation for that decision came from an in-character conversation we missed, we still have the context we need to move forward. Moreover, we win some time to prepare for the next leg of our adventure.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Doors terrify players. Closed doors especially. Whose door is this? Why is it closed? What can happen to anyone who opens the door? Or touches it? Are the PCs prepared for what Schrödinger has in store for them on the other side?

Despite their long tradition of slowing down play, getting around the logistics of dealing with doors is not an insurmountable obstacle. It just takes a little understanding.

Why Doors Slow Down Play

My fellow GMs, why is it that our players know how to engage with most details we describe, but not doors? 

“In the center of the room, a doll the size of a young monkey stands on a carnelian altar, surrounded by grey candles burning without fire. The black floor tiles ripple like a lake in a breeze. The sconces around the room resemble your parents, quietly contemplating. There are two more exits, behind closed doors.”

Whether the other details in the room disturb your players, spark their curiosity, or trigger their fight or flight response, they’ll elicit a response. This leads to roleplaying moments, skill checks, and other interactions between players, their character sheets, and us. 

Doors, on the other hand, often lead to silence. A lack of engagement. The antithesis of the ideal RPG experience. 

Analysis Paralysis

Part of the problem with doors is that they’re generic enough that there’s little to ask about them, but what they represent is broad enough that there’s no one way to deal with them. Dealing with doors also does not directly tie to any rule. There’s no Door Handling skill, for example. Instead, there are multiple checks required to cover the rules of a door (Perception and Thievery, in PF2, sometimes more than one of each). There also aren’t any spells that quickly deal with all of the logistics and mysteries of a closed door. In fact, most of Pathfinder 2e’s door-related options add logistics to getting through doors. 

Trust

The Players/GM relationship is built on trust, and even the GMs among us who don’t run adversarial games can be tempted to spring a gotcha moment on our groups. The worst example of this is using a low Perception roll to add a surprise that wouldn’t have been there, rationalized as “how often do I get the upper hand on my players?” 

The problem is that the more we abuse our player’s trust, the slower the game plays. More skill checks, more redundant skill checks just in case the first one failed. Secret checks compound this, in my experience. The players who would play up that they know they failed the skill checks but their character doesn’t lose that opportunity, and the players who make every excuse to act with extra caution when they suspect they failed a skill check react that way with every skill check. As the apex of trust between us and our players, doors culminate this behaviour. 

Handling Closed Doors

So how do we fill our dungeons with every door that should logically be there, without turning every door into a break from the action? Presentation and repetition. 

The Other Senses

“You see a door.” OK. Do I hear murmured conversation on the other side? Or clanging metal? Do I smell spices, or soap, or perfume? What else do I see about the door? A huge metal lock? 

A door is never just a door. It’s a preview of the next room. A private room has an obvious lock. A volatile room needs a solid barrier to contain its dangers. A closet might even have a sign indicating what to expect inside. 

We can’t limit our descriptions to “There’s a door”. We need to stoke our player’s imaginations, cue up the rolls they can make and rules they can use to engage with the scenes.  

Limit Options

After your players checked out the doll, the altar, the floor, and the sconces, they’re ready to move on to the door. That’s a good time to remind them that doors swing two ways. 

“You’re alone in the room, and all exits are closed. Did you want to take a moment, or start your plans to move on.” 

Either way, the players should check the doors, but by limiting focusing on whether they’re seeing if the doors are secure enough to stay in the room, or assess the threat on the other side, we contextualize how the players approach the door. That context informs how we present information. If they’re holing up in the room, a secure door is a good thing. If they need to get through the door, it’s a challenge. 

S.O.P.

This isn’t the first time I’ve talked about the door problem, but it coming up a few times recently made it feel worth dedicating its own article to. But now, the tables have turned and the topic of that article is a bullet point in this one!

S.O.P. is a business term that stands for Standard Operating Procedure. Basically, once a way that works is discovered the hard way, the S.O.P. makes it the way to save time and effort. The best example of an S.O.P. at the game table is marching order. Instead of asking every exploration mode what order the group is traveling in—or, worse, only asking when it would be relevant to a trap or encounter—setting the marching order that the group always travels in saves time and let me know who was where when it mattered. 

In the case of doors, setting a closed door protocol means skipping a lot of humming and hawing that adds nothing to a session. Likewise, establishing that searching a door can’t trigger a trap, meaning the players can make Perception checks without fear of repercussions, and that one Perception check on a door examines the door itself, checks for traps, and listens in on what’s happening on the other side. It may sound like a lot for one check, but it guarantees a quick turnaround on a traditionally teeth pulling moment at the table. 

It’s also good to establish how stealthily the group can open the door for more information, and if they can close the door like it’s a readied action. This is usually my bridge too far, as I find a door opening attention-grabbing, but whatever suits your style. 

Conclusion

A door is a barrier for the characters, but it should be an opportunity for the table. Our chance to hint at the next part of the journey. The players chance to evaluate where they are and what to do next. 

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Before I get into what that is and how it helped, you might be asking why I even needed to learn Essence20.

Learning Essence20

As a designer of the Essence20 system and author on the G.I. Joe, Transformers, and My Little Pony Roleplaying Game core rulebooks, it’s safe to say I know how Essence20 works. However, while we built the system, I could only presume how certain mechanics would play based on theories and experience with other systems. This was especially true when working on equipment.

One of the early mandates of the system was low Health, low Damage. Another was set Damage, not random. So here I was, writing the equipment chapter with the task of giving players meaningful choices without much room to vary the effects of weapons. Moreover, equipment effectively defined how PCs fight in G.I. Joe, since Joes don’t turn into jets or gain super human martial art powers.

To make that happen, I came up with the idea of alternate effects that required downshifts to activate. This not only distinguished weapons more easily, it applied a leveling system to the weapons. The higher your Skill Rank, the more likely you could pull off a weapon’s alternate effect.

However, would it work? Besides lowering the probable result of a Skill Test by 1, what impact did this rule have on the game? And how could I figure this out?

Playtesting?

Playtesting is a tried and true method of working out the kinks of a rule. Any designer who doesn’t playtest their material is doing it wrong. There are multiple playtesting methods, including transparent (the designer answers questions and takes feedback as the playtest progresses, sometimes even applying that feedback mid-playtest) and blind (the designer watches, listening, with no ability to affect the outcome, like watching a horror movie and the teenager can’t hear you warn them not to go up the stairs).

Regardless of method, to playtest, the designer needs to know how to play the game. But I worked with a team of nine designers, working on three different books, and meeting once a week to discuss system change needs discovered during writing. Learning how the game works was a work in progress. Unfortunately, that meant I couldn’t playtest yet.

And If I’m Confused…

OK, I wasn’t confused. But I was worried new players would be confused. They didn’t even know what an Essence20 was, let alone all these Upshifts and Downshifts.  Even if they understood, how many shifts did the weapon rules subject them to per turn? What was the shift ceiling?

But then I wrote a section that we hadn’t discussed or outlined, and the whole system clicked.

Equipment In Action

Equipment In Action dedicated 700 words to illustrating how a few rounds of combat. It broke down every Upshift and Downshift, Edge and Snag, and die roll, related to weapons, battledress, vehicles, and kits. I wanted to make sure all of these separate ideas worked together the way I thought they would. And that required getting all of the rules right.

An example that contradicts the rules can hurt player understanding more than unclear rules. What are you more likely to remember: learning math from a text book, or a teacher contextualizing when and why you’ll use that lesson? Most likely the one that sparks your imagination. So, first I imagined a scenario I might see on an episode of a G.I. Joe animated series, or in the pages of a G.I. Joe comic. Then, I filtered it through an RPG lens.

How This Helped

I tied every action in the story to a Skill Test, with comments about why these character had these stats. All of which required me thinking in game terms, both as a GM and as a player. I explicitly wrote out the ranges of every attack, the relative sizes of attackers and targets, all the minutia that might get handwaved as tedium but that add depth to the system.

I think choosing a situation to write about before picking the mechanics I wanted to cover helped. It showed that these rules worked together organically, and that would help me stumble across areas that might come up in play that the rules didn’t cover. This also helped me think like a player. For example, when I wrote about Frostbite using his Move action to drive only 15 ft so Iceberg could disembark more easily, I realized that left Frostbite with an unused Standard action. Rarely do players end their turns without using Standard actions. So I consulted the Combat chapter and found that setting a Contingency action takes a Standard action. Perfect, that went into the example.

Writing the scene taught me not only the system, but where to find the answers. This kind of rule searching would kill engagement at a playtest. Because it was just me and my words, I could take all the time I needed to get it right.

In Conclusion

As you’ll hear if you listen to this week’s Upshift, Renegade’s new Heavy Metal Fantasy RPG, Gods of Metal: Ragnarock, caught my eye. Not being an Essence20 game, or any system I’m familiar with, I’d need to learn it to play it. I believe the best way for me to absorb the game is to use this same technique: come up with a scene typical of what I expect from this adventure; filter it through an RPG lens; research every possible rule that could come up in that situation. I believe this will help me learn the system faster than reading the book cover to cover, or watching an actual play.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

At the recommendation of Cathy, Alex, and non-network friends, I picked up Marvel Snap. I liked it. And, as with most things, I started thinking about what I could take from it and apply to GMing TTRPGs.

What Is Marvel Snap?

Marvel Snap is a digital collectible card game by Second Dinner and Nuverse. In it, you collect cards based on Marvel comic characters, build them into 12-card decks, and play matches against other players in 6-turn combats for supremacy of two of the session’s three locations. Cathy, Alex, and the rest correctly called that I’d enjoy this game.

As a CCG, with no plot or justification for the matches beyond “they’re what’s in your deck,” you might wonder what you can learn from this game, my fellow GMs. Therein lies one of the many unexpected layers to the Marvel Snap experience.

Implied Stories

When I play Marvel Snap, I imagine my opponent is a very bad person who is only motivated by ruining my game, so I play cards to hurt them before they hurt me. And that isn’t the only creative justification that happens while I play.

Marvel Snap is better than the most modern AI storytelling software when it comes to generating random stories from familiar elements. In fact, that was going to be the topic of this entire article, but The Verge beat me to it.

Filling In The Blanks

Because I’m familiar with the majority of the cards in the game (I admit, Debrii escapes me), there’s narrative potential in every play. Why is Uatu The Watcher, normally sworn not to engage, putting on Hulkbuster armor to fight Shocker? How many squirrels does Elektra have to kill before she feels like you’re not taking her talents as a master assassin seriously? Could Shang-Chi really defeat four Hulks in a Gamma Lab?

The best licensed games use player familiarity with the source material as shorthand. Now, it’s possible the intent with Snap was, y’know, the opposite of that. Well that doesn’t stop me and Cathy from coming up with wild stories based on how or games played out.

This reminds me of one of my favourite moments GMing Pathfinder at GenCon. It was a special, so it was safe to assume that my players knew the source material well. So, when a player failed a bluff check to get past a guard by waving a holy symbol of Sarenrae and pretending to be there on church business, I had the guard open a drawer of confiscated holy symbols, grab one, and say “Yeah? Well I’m a paladin of… Pharasma.”

This was early in Pathfinder 1e’s life cycle, and one of my first times drawing on setting knowledge like this. The whole table instantly recognizing my reference and bursting out laughing still makes me feel good. So whether you’re playing Pathfinder, Marvel, or your favourite Essence20 setting, use everyone’s shared knowledge to save time and energy on exposition.

Evocative

Marvel Snap avoids any text on its cards explaining who they are and what their deal is beyond the character’s name. It conveys this through a combination of rules text and special effects, taking full advantage of this card game being digital. When you play The Thing, the card lands with a thud, cracking the virtual game table and making the other cards shift around. When you play Abomination, the same thing happens on a larger scale. And when you play The Hulk, it’s the biggest impact of all. The craters glow with gamma radiation, and some of the other cards look like they’re about to flip over.

When you play Cyclops, he blasts a red laser across the location. When you play Rocket, an absurd amount of guns pop out and fire cartoonishly. When you play Spiderman, the card does a flip before it lands and webs the opposite side of the location. If you don’t know any of these characters, Marvel Snap teaches you through special effects.

I’ve talked about this before, but presentation is so important to the experience at the table. Don’t just say a red dragon lands and then call for initiative. Take a minute to set it up. Tell your players they’re sweating and don’t know why. A whiff of smoke passes their noses. The sky itself starts playing drums, and the beats are getting closer. Ask yourself what special effects Marvel Snap would add when you play that red dragon and describe them.

Positive Reinforcement

On top of selling the characters and their powers, Marvel Snap’s special effects just make me feel good about playing a card. Flashing lights and fun animation tickle my brain. But, they’re not the only way Marvel Snap gets my serotonin goin’. This game knows how to make you feel good about playing it.

Before I go further, look at my menu and see if you can figure out my level.

You probably narrowed it down to either the 1280 in the green area below my avatar or the 39 in the silver circle next to the Play button. The answer is both.

Participation Trophies

1280 is my deck’s level. It’s a score I increase by unlocking and upgrading cards. That means even if I have no plans to put, say, Nick Fury in a deck, it feels good to get him because it means my deck level goes up. And increasing my deck level unlocks resources, and more cards, in an endless cycle of pleasure generation.

In RPG terms, these could be vanity awards with impact on player engagement outside of character level. Free drinks for life at the tavern. Adding a title or increasing a rank. Kudos directly from Optimus Prime. There may not be a spot on the character sheet to track this kind of reward, but they stick with your players longer than another 1000 XP. Especially if you get kudos from Optimus Prime and you aren’t even playing the Transformers RPG. Just a red truck rolls out to Andoran, converts into a metal construct, and gives the players a big ol’ thumbs up.

Scaled Difficulty

39 is my current experience level. Winning raises my experience level. Losing lowers it. Naturally, I inherently want to see get as high as possible (unlocking more participation trophies!). However, this number isn’t just for me as a player. It tells the game what opponents to put me up against.

Before I get into how that affects game play, there is one other purpose for deck level. Cards are divided into tiers. Your deck needs to surpass a certain level (and deck levels only ever go up) to gain access to additional pools of cards. These cards are more powerful, more complex, or create new combos and uses for lower tier cards. For example, Squirrel Girl is a 1 Cost, 1 Power card that adds two 1 Cost, 1 Power squirrels when I play her. Ka-Zar gives 1 Cost cards +1 Power. Unlocking Ka-Zar turns Squirrel Girl from a 1 Cost, 3 total Power card into a 1 Cost, 6 total Power card. The more combos you can fit into your 12 card deck, theoretically, the more powerful the deck.

Your experience level pits you against two types of opponents: lower tier players who are good at their decks, and higher tier players who are bad at their decks. Playing against higher tier decks gives a preview of cards to look forward to, without more powerful cards crushing you and leaving a negative first impression.

This opened my eyes to a new way to mix up encounters. It’s pretty typical to adjust the number of enemies in an encounter. But I never considered adding higher level enemies who were just bad at their job.

Say I’m running an adventure path. We’re in book 2, and book 3 is all about wyverns. Wyverns can fly, drag held enemies at high speeds, and inject them with poison. What happens to the narrative if I add an encounter to the end of book 2 against a wyvern with a wing cramp? It acts like a tutorial for what to expect from their poison, letting players get in Recall Knowledge rolls when the stakes are lower. Also, it serves as a prologue for the next book. Obviously overusing this trick would lead to diminishing returns, but I love having it as another option for how I tell my stories and challenge my players.

In Conclusion

Roleplaying gamefies experience. Every life experience can be a learning experience for how we run our games, my fellow GMs. That’s especially true with the games we play away from the tabletop.

Also, apologies to Jason Bulmahn, the original GM in the above picture before Galactus devoured him.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

I hated it.

Vin Diesel to the rescue! In his introduction to 30 Years of Adventure: A Celebration of Dungeons & Dragons, Vin Diesel talks about how his first GM had the players raise their hands to speak out of character. Excitedly, I explained Vin Diesel’s system to my players, figuring it solved my problem without stopping them from making their jokes.

They hated it.

For whatever reason, my players loved making jokes at the expense of my NPCs in front of my NPCs. And since I’ve long believed that a Game Master primary serves as fun facilitator at the table, I learned to tolerate it. More recently, I came across an unrelated video essay that helped me better understand how to accept this behaviour. 

Why It Bothered Me 

I value immersion in my games higher than anything other than player agency. Jokes at the expense of what’s happening told in a voice that implies it’s in character, but without expecting consequences for what was said, runs counter to that value. Truly, when Hinjo from Order of the Stick said “you probably shouldn’t have discussed how you’re going to beat the system in front of the guy charged with upholding the system” during The Trial of Belkar Bitterleaf (Abridged), he spoke directly to my soul as a GM.

On top of the illogic of players communicating with intent that PCs understand but NPCs need to ignore, it threw off my rhythm. GMing takes juggling. PC dialog is another ball in the air. Jokes at the table hold my attention for a second without affecting my focus, but joke dialogue is like throwing me a tiny ball. “It’s smaller than the others, what’s the bother,” you might say. But it being smaller than the ones I should focus on throws off my rhythm. It makes my job harder, but it feels too substantial to ignore. So it becomes a tiny burden. 

But maybe this kind of dialog isn’t a ball at all.

Diegetic vs Non-Diegetic Sound

I recently watched StudioBinder’s Ultimate Guide to Diegetic vs Non-Diegetic Sound video essay. Now, StudioBinder is trying to sell you their film production workflow software, but they also produce amazing filmmaking analysis videos.

Diegetic means “occurring within the context of the story and able to be heard by the characters.” Non-diegetic means not that.

More broadly, characters in the movie can hear diegetic sound. It’s the dialog spoken in scene, the sound effects within the world. The characters can’t hear the non-diegetic sounds. The score. Voice-over. Dramatic chords. These sounds are there for us, the audience.

Don’t forget, we may be running the show, but we are also in the audience for our games, my fellow GMs. We collaborate with our players to create the experience at the table. We may sit down with more ideas for how the session could play out, but no one at the table knows what will transpire until we call it a night. In that regard, the PCs and NPCs care about the diegetic sounds, and we and our players benefit from the non-diegetic sounds.

And there are a lot of them. The majority of sound at the game table is non-diegetic. It’s basically the ratio of read-aloud text to other text in a published adventure. Most of what we say at the table is describing the scene, discussing rules, and revealing die results. Cross talk and Syrinscape also count.

Almost-in-character jokes fall into the same grey area as fantasy sequence dialog. Sometimes, scenes playing out on screen actually only happen in a character’s head. They illustrate the thoughts of the characters before snapping back to the reality of the world. When a character in a tyrant’s court makes a joke that should lead to a beheading, it’s the player illustrating their character’s power fantasy. Often, these scenes play out like any other scene in the film until they’re done.

Looked at another way, it’s like the players collectively share Ron Howard’s Arrested Development narrator. They comment on the campaign, without the commentary affecting it. Ron Howard’s best lines came at the expense of the Arrested Development characters, but did they make it harder to enjoy the plots?

NARRATOR: They did not.

By categorizing some dialog as non-diegetic, we remember that what is said at the table is all intended to amuse everyone sitting together. As long as everyone understands -us in particular, my fellow GMs- that this dialogue is non-canonical and self-indulgent, the campaign can maintain it’s integrity, and players can have their fun. Hands down.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

OK, one connection. 

The Dungeons & Dragons Animated Series

I’ve said before that I was introduced to D&D on a whale watching trip in high school. That’s when my classmate Geoff introduced me to the game, but it was Hank, Diana, Eric, Sheila, Bobby, Uni, and most of all Dungeon Master who introduced me to Dungeons & Dragons.

For years, it’s seemed like D&D’s brand managers skied away from the Dungeons & Dragons animated series. Even though D&D dealt with the Satanic Panic against the game around this time, the cartoon wasn’t affected by the fallout to James Dallas Egbert III’s death (despite rumours that this, and not low ratings, lead to the show’s cancellation). Fortunately, Hasbro announced new action figures in multiple scales and styles based on the animated series. Considering they could be focusing all their efforts on the upcoming Dungeons & Dragons movie, I appreciate them acknowledging the cartoon as part of the brand’s lineage. 

And it’s not like the animated series lacked pedigree, with voice actors like Peter “Optimus Prime” Cullen and writers like Steve Gerber, formerly of Marvel comics. It’s an action adventure series that leaned into fantasy at a time when its contemporaries stopped at fantastical elements, still holds up today, and left an impression on its viewers. 

Today, we’ll be looking at what you can learn from how the Dungeons & Dragons animated series taught a generation of viewers about Dungeons & Dragons. 

Entering A New World

The main characters magically teleport from an Earth amusement park to the realm of Dungeons & Dragons. There, a benevolent Dungeon Master gifts them with weapons and assigns them roles. 

In retrospect, the smartest decision series creator Dennis Marks and developer Mark Evanier made was to make the main characters of Dungeons & Dragons teens taking on the roles of D&D classes. The step into the meta made it more than just a fantasy cartoon with D&D elements. It paralleled the Dungeons & Dragons RPG experience. 

Not only was this a thematic choice, it served a narrative function. During the intro, after encountering a winged horseman with vampire vibes and one horn, Diana asks “who was that?” Dungeon Master explains “That was Venger, the force of evil.” By making the main characters fish out of water, their questions tell the story of their confusion. Exposition becomes part of the plot, especially when phrased as a riddle by their mysterious mentor. 

Teaching Your Players Through Their Characters

How do you inform your players about your campaign world? Do you write a campaign document? Create a wiki or use a campaign manager? Cite the publisher material you’ll be drawing from? 

Some players find such techniques effective. Others feel like you’re assigning them homework. You may get mad at the players who don’t invest their time away from the table into your game, my fellow GMs, but remember that different players play the game in different ways and for different reasons. Maybe they don’t have time for the game outside of game night. Maybe they struggle with homework, and they play RPGs specifically to escape it. 

Consider running a prelude session. Every player brings a character to the table who isn’t from your setting. Over the next few hours, teach them your setting or the rules of your game in world, through a guide, context, and player character driven exposition. Instead of expecting a player to read an extra chapter of rules just because they thought wizards look cool, have a magic shopkeep explain the secrets of magic to the wide-eyed commoner they’re playing in a prelude. You could even revisit these unheroic PCs periodically to inform their heroic PCs of shifts in the landscapes of your campaign. 

Making It Their Own

Going back to the opening, the kids run away from Tiamat and into Venger, meeting the series’ two main villains. Once comes from D&D lore, the other the creators made up. This trend repeats through the series. They create their own characters, creatures, and locales. They use established D&D game content, like orcs and beholders. They even adapted original characters from the unrelated D&D action figure line, like Strongheart the Paladin and (the G.O.A.T.) Warduke. 

Make It Your Own

Just because you’re using published material or established lore doesn’t mean you can’t put your own spin on it. This might seem obvious, but it’s where I struggle the most with written adventures. I think it’s two disconnected parts of my GMing brain that many of you have fused together, my fellow GMs. But if the D&D animated series showrunners could bridge between original, established, and otherwise adapted content, maybe I can too! 

In Media Res

Remember how the series kicked off with an episode about the kids getting on that roller coaster only to get magically teleported to a fantasy realm? Where they meet the major players of the series, Dungeon Master, Venger, and Tiamat? 

No, you don’t. Because no such episode exists. This is the opening shot of the first episode of the Dungeons & Dragons animated series. 

The show’s 1 minute intro doesn’t sum up the events of an origin story episode, it replaces the need for one. 

Cut To The Chase

Don’t underestimate the effectiveness of powering through an intro. If you’re worried about your players latching onto your adventure hooks, sum up how the PCs got into the current situation then start the session with the adventure underway. It’s important that the actions your say the PCs took in your summary line up with what your players think their character would do, and for the session to start with meaningful choices to avoid accusations of railroading.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

And yes, I’ll get to the RPG advice for Game Masters eventually. But first!

For those unfortunate enough to be uninformed, Bluey is an Australian animated series about an adolescent blue dog named Bluey Heeler, and how she spends her time with her family and friends. Though intended for children, I legitimately and unironically love this show. I know I indulge in Paw Patrol nerdity from time to time, but when my kids outgrew Ryder’s team of rapid deployment dogs, I stopped watching it. However, if my kids ever get over Bluey, that’s their loss. As long as Ludo Studio keeps producing new episodes, I’ll keep watching.

I bring this up in a blog about GMing tabletop RPGs because of an episode of Bluey called Shadowlands. It illustrates the importance of rules better than any GM guide, RPG blog, or other gaming resource I’ve ever seen. I discussed the episode with Jason Keeley on the Upshift episode that would have gone up two weeks ago if it weren’t for technical difficulties. We skipped the discussion when we rerecorded, so I thought it would serve as a worthy topic for Behind The Screens. 

Rules According To Bluey

Shadowlands manages to squeeze two lessons about the value of rules into one seven minute episode. First, it illustrates the issues with playing a game (in this case, What Time Is It Mr. Wolf) by the letter of the rules. Second, it shows how the confines of following the rules can create truly memorable moments.

What’s Wrong With Mr. Wolf?

The episode starts with Bluey playing What Time Is It Mr. Wolf with her friends Coco and Snickers. Coco takes on the role of Mr. Wolf. As is standard in What Time Is It Mr. Wolf, the players ask the eponymous questions, and then Mr. Wolf answers with a number between 1 and 12. The first time Bluey and Snickers ask Coco “What Time Is It Mr. Wolf?”, Coco says 12. Bluey and Snickers move 12 steps closer to her. They ask her what time is it again. Coco says 11. Bluey rolls her eyes, and they move 11 steps closer.

Coco only says it’s dinner time when they’re within arm’s reach of her. She easily catches them, annoying Bluey. Bluey tells Coco that she can’t just call the biggest numbers. “Why not?” Coco asks.

Why indeed, Coco.

Playing Without A Social Contract

In this scene, Coco highlights the game designer’s lament. I’ve especially experienced this working on Essence20, where simplicity is a goal of the system.

Conventionally speaking, the fewer rules in a game, the simpler players consider it. However, there’s a line when a game’s rules are simpler than they need to be. No rule prevents Coco from calling out the highest numbers in What Time Is It Mr. Wolf, and that’s clearly the best strategy.

To answer Coco’s question, you have to look outside of the rules, because the consequences happen outside of the game.

What Time Is It Mr. Wolf is effectively tag with a dramatic element. When will Mr. Wolf say it’s dinner time? How close will the players get? Every call and response ratchets up the drama, until the explosive switch in play style, from slinking and communicating to running and screaming. None of which is stated in the rules, but it’s the experience the rules craft. So when Coco asks why she shouldn’t just call out the best number for her, the real answer is “why would anyone play with her when she plays like that?”

She’s playing within the rules, and it’s ruining the game.

Shadowlands Synopsis

Before Bluey can try to explain why she doesn’t enjoy Coco’s way of playing What Time Is It Mr. Wolf, the pups’ parents call them for lunch. Instead of just walking over to the picnic basket, Bluey, Coco, and Snickers make a game of it. Called Shadowlands.

Shadowlands shares a lot in common with The Floor Is Lava, in that an unnecessary hurdle turns a straightforward area into an obstacle course. In this case, anywhere the sun touches is crocodile-infested water.

Again to compliment the show’s writing, not only does this capture the kind of imagination game children improvise, it makes several minutes of kids running in shadows engaging and clever, culminating in a moral.

When Snickers’ little legs are too short to make a jump that Bluey and Coco already crossed, Coco suggests that maybe “just this time, we can have crocodile-proof shoes.” Bluey is not having any of that! “You can’t change the rules, Coco,” an exasperated Bluey exclaims.

Instead, Bluey puts her back to the sun and has Coco climb on her so they create a new shadow that bridges the gap Snickers can’t cross.

“This is fun!” says Coco.
“I told you.” Bluey replies.

But why is it fun?

Rules Make The Game Fun

Previously, I’ve quoted how author Bernard Suits defines the playing of a game in his book The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia. “The voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles”.

That’s exactly why Bluey gets upset with Coco. The only reason Snickers can’t step out of the shadows is because a rule creates an unnecessary obstacle to overcome, thereby making it a game. If they overcome the obstacle by creating new rules, they aren’t playing a game. They’re just adding rules to their lives.

Now, it could be argued that Coco’s heart is in the right place. Shadowlands disproportionately challenges Snickers and his little sausage dog legs. Coco could be trying to accommodate her friend and make the game’s difficulty equal across all players. However, Coco’s established willingness to play strictly by the rules as written in their previous game implies she’s not doing this for Snickers’ sake.

Different players play their games in different ways and for different reasons, and Coco plays to win. Meanwhile, Bluey plays for the experience. Sometimes, following the rules creates that experience, sometimes the experience requires reading between the lines of the rules. That means even in a cooperative game, these two types of players can be at odds. But that doesn’t mean they can’t find a way to have fun.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

As my list of published adventure credits increases, I’ve learned the hidden benefits of writing adventures. What I’m about to explain might be obvious to you, my fellow GMs. I don’t know, it’s new to me. I hope my recent revelations help other GMs with their reading, writing, and running adventures. 

Adventure Cadence 

In addition to not writing my own adventures, I struggle running published ones. I’ve read being a homebrew GM described as a brag, so just to be clear: I see this as a personal weakness. All these classic adventures that I hear other groups having amazing experiences with, and I just know would make them worse by running them.

However, the more I write adventures, the more I understand how I’m supposed to read a published adventure. The order of information, what’s emphasized versus what’s implied versus what’s totally up to the GM. I see these skills developing the more adventures I write.

I’m not even sure if the friends I’ve spoken to about running published adventures understand the skills they have that others lack. And I’ve spoken with a lot of friends about this topic. None of them have broken down how to read a published adventure in a way that helps me run one. Writing an adventure, on the other hand, trains my brain for the assumptions adventure writers make about how the reader will approach what they’ve written.

System Mastery

Often when I’m writing my adventures, I flesh out encounters in ways I don’t expect. I’ll, say, write an encounter on the deck of an aircraft carrier. Then when I’m near completion, it hits me that aircraft carriers are so big, they have transport vehicles for crossing the deck. And the aircrafts they carry need to be towed, and fueled.  Suddenly a straight forward scene now has optional vehicle combat and explosive scenery.

When I GM, these kinds of elements might come into the scene if players think of them. When I write, I have to ask what players might expect, based on the context of this scenario. This gives me time to research what rules exist for any ideas outside of the straight forward that fit the scene. They might require rules that don’t typically get used. Instead of making a call on the fly or pausing a session to look up how a player’s outside the box idea fits in, I can research ahead of time.

It’s amazing how much easier it is to learn a rule when you need it, and don’t have the pressure of game session flow forcing you to rush your reading. And by you, my fellow GMs, I mean me. I learn so many corner case rules by going to those corners when I am on their case.

Player Abilities 

Most players subscribe to the theory that to a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Fighters want to fight their ways out of problems, wizards want to wiz their ways out. So when I write my adventures, I like to check out the games’ hammer selection.

I know some GMs like to read their players’ character sheets and tailor encounters to the party’s abilities. Personally, I hate it. As a player, very little checks me out of a game faster than feeling like the adventure revolves around me. I love when adventures play out organically, and that my wit and clever application of abilities solved problems. When a situation calls for an item or ability or element of my backstory that only I can handle, I don’t feel like I earn anything by accomplishing that task. I feel pandered to.

That said, when a situation I find myself in can (but not must) be resolved with my abilities, especially abilities I don’t get to use often, I feel justified in the choice I made during character creation that got me here.

Every game has its conditional abilities. It’s disappointing if I gain a conditional ability that never comes into play. So I’ve learned as an adventure writer to read over the abilities players gain at the adventure’s minimum level. Conditional abilities are easy to forget, but if you work the conditions into one of the first adventures a character plays after gaining the ability, not only do they get the satisfaction of playing with their new toy, that satisfaction and memory increases the chances that they  (and we) remember they have this ability several levels down the line if the condition applies again.

In Conclusion

I suspect that I’ll still homebrew and improvise home games. It’s when I’m most comfortable, and have the most fun, and I know my players enjoy themselves. However, the more I write adventures, the more I’m tempted to try running published adventures once again. After all, if writing adventures makes me better at running published adventures, maybe running published adventures will make me better at writing them.

*depending on how you measure fame.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Hellboy: The Board Game feels like a game with a story to tell. So much so, it inspired me as a Game Master.

How Board Games Tell Stories

Most successful board games tell a story. The combination of themes and goals work the same way as most story structures for scripted media. Who wants what, and what obstacles are in their way? 

In a competitive game, the rules set immutable parameters. In a dramatic sense, the rules are the world building. Who can use lightsabers and the force, and how? The players not only fill the roles of the protagonists, from their perspective, but also as one another’s antagonists. They strive to achieve their goals with the resources they have access to, and overcome their obstacles: one another. This applies to symmetrical games (where all sides have equal access to the same resources, like chess) and asymmetrical games (where luck and choices like which character to use changes how each player plays in ideally balanced ways), as well as team vs team, one versus many, and even judged party games. 

In a cooperative game, like Hellboy, the rules act as both immutable parameters and obstacles to overcome. They operate on an engine that requires some player interaction, but no player choices. In Hellboy’s case, the game uses an Impending Doom Track as a countdown mechanism, and engages with players through Doom Cards. The further the Impending Doom Track progresses, the higher the tension. However, the better that players address the Doom Cards, the more likely they enter the last act under favourable circumstances. This gives them small goals to work towards on every turn that they can invest in, emotionally. 

Board games share three design and play elements that impact tension rises and their stories unfold. 

Organic Storytelling

Because board games are a struggle between players, much of the drama comes directly out of playing the game. When a chess player captures a back row piece, or even just puts a piece in an optimal position, the power dynamic between the players shifts. Even an abstract children’s game like Connect Four builds to a dramatic high as the players narrow down each other’s choices while working towards a goal. 

Thematic games use the concept behind the game to add dramatic layers to the tension. Monopoly tells a story of resources getting scarcer as the cost to play increases. That’s assuming you don’t play with any house rules that add more resources to the game. If you do play with house rules like Free Parking pay-out, you change the story from resource management to power fantasy. Suddenly, plentiful resources allow you to walk on other people’s property and even go to jail without serious risk of elimination. However, these house rules (that are absolutely not in the rules and people choose to add them) show how a game’s rules affect how the story plays out. 

Monopoly house rules mess with the dramatic arc inherent in the game. Many players using these house rules abandon games before reaching an end, and even complain that the game takes forever (which, I can’t emphasize enough, is a resource management game in which they’ve voluntarily increased access to resources). That’s because it fulfills the purpose of the modified version of the game (invisibility through wealth) before the prescribed ending (running out of resources). 

Orchestrated Storytelling

Technically all game design choices were orchestrated, but some rules add intensional exceptions to how the engine would play out naturally to compensate for luck or to add to the drama.

Popular cooperative board game Pandemic (well, at one time it was popular. Not sure how living through an actual pandemic affected how people see the game) illustrates this perfectly. During setup, you choose between how many of the six Epidemic cards you’ll include in the player deck. The more Outbreak cards, the harder the game. That’s an example of orchestrating the experience, but not the storytelling.

Once you’ve selected your number of Epidemic cards, you divide the player deck into that many piles, adding an Epidemic card to each. This creates the game’s arc. The longer you play, the more Epidemic cards you’ll hit, but at a measured rate. The game even suggests that if the piles aren’t equal, to put the smaller piles at the bottom of the deck. That means that the longer you play, the faster Epidemic cards show up. 

Meta Storytelling

This is the element of storytelling brought up in the Hellboy episode of Game Design Unboxed that brought GMing to mind. Meta storytelling is when an element outside of the rules factors into the game experience. 

In Hellboy, when the Impending Doom Track reaches the end, or the players intentionally trigger the endgame early, the board changes and the final battle begins. This literal change in the landscape of the game impacts players psychologically. It gives everyone a minute to reflect on the condition of their characters, the resources at hand, and the conflict they’re about to enter into. It’s the equivalent of finding a save point before a boss battle in a video game. 

Roleplaying Games And Board Game Storytelling

Bringing it all together, roleplaying games are like board games with an emphasis on storytelling. However, we don’t need to do all of the storytelling heavy lifting, my fellow GMs. In fact, we should remember that by virtue of playing a game, a story already plays out. 

We do orchestrate storytelling moments, of course, escalating the threat of obstacles as the adventure plays out and revealing the plot through breadcrumbs we deliberately space out during an adventure. However, we should also lean into the story that organically unfolds during our sessions. If we establish a monster as a real threat and then we botch its attacks for the entire combat as the players carve it to pieces, the game didn’t ruin the story we were trying to tell. We just didn’t know that we were setting up a laughably one-sided combat. But that’s organically what happened. 

Roleplaying games also have meta storytelling moments. When we, as GMs, pick up dice, or ask our players if they’re sure about their choice, we’re changing the landscape of the session. There’s nothing in the rules dictating what it means when we pick up our dice or ask our players questions. However, experienced players catch onto the pattern than picking up dice means more granular rules are at play. They know if we’re asking if they’re sure, the stakes are higher and they must proceed with caution. 

The better we understand the many types of storytelling baked into our campaigns because they are games, the more fun we can have using them.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

At The Heart Of Roleplaying

Roleplaying games as we know them trace their origins to miniature war games. The simplest explanation is that one day a player said “what if, instead of following the most strategic orders, my miniatures did what their characters would do?” That blended tactical skirmish rules with dramatic narrative, with each player deciding the history and personality of one character in the game, and controlling their actions.

I glam on to that as the history of RPGs because it combines what I consider essential elements of the game: storytelling and stakes.

I love storytelling. As a GM, I love connecting the dots of the events of the game, weaving an intriguing story that uses the elements of the setting and story creatively and consistently. As a player, I love creating a unique personality that takes what the rules say my character can do and explores unexpected reasons they got that way.

None of which would matter if the game didn’t have stakes. It’s usually life or death, or evil winning in the games I play, but I enjoy less dire stakes as well. I worked on the upcoming My Little Pony Roleplaying Game, after all. But I lose interest in storytelling for storytelling’s sake. An improv game can be fun, but I lose interest if the character I’m playing doesn’t have anything to want or care about.

What’s My Motivation?

Not just a joke about theatre types! Honestly, as a TTRPG gamer and as a writer, the idea that asking for motivation is somehow pretentious or unnecessary makes me sad. Motivation justifies plot twists, moves the action forward, and creates engaging relationships. It’s the reason backstories exist. “It’s what my character would do” is the RPG equivalent of “what’s my motivation?”

A lot of GMing articles on table management offer advice on creating hooks that interest our players, keeping our players engaged, and moving the plot forward. The easiest way to accomplish all of that is to plan a campaign that reflects the character’s motivations. Because regardless of what we want our campaigns to be, we create them with the players. Put mathematically:

GM plans + player actions + rules and dice = The TTRPG Experience

Character motivations direct player actions, so understanding what their characters would do makes the plans we make closer to the campaigns we ultimately create with them.

The Anti-Meta

To me, immersive roleplaying makes the best game experience. I don’t want my players to undermine how I’ve described the monster in the room because they know I would never put them against a monster they couldn’t beat. Because 1. I might, if it makes the most sense contextually and they put themselves in this situation, and 2. that spoils the fun.

Metagaming is just how some players engage with the game, leaning closer to its tactical miniatures game roots than what I consider the best parts of the game. And I’ve GMed and played with such players and had a great type despite the clash in how we approach the game. But between a player who scoffs at my dragon because they know its stats and a player who flees from my dragon despite knowing its stats, I’d choose the player doing what their character would do every time.

If You Have To Say It

As a player, I go into every game with a strong sense of my character. If you listened to the Troubles In Otari actual play Jason Keeley ran myself, Perram, Alex, Dustin, and Jessica through, you might remember a moment later in the adventure that went something like this:

ALEX’S CHARACTER: Can I get in the room to ask some questions?

MY CHARACTER: No.

And then we all laughed. Why did that get a laugh and not a gasp as one player told another they weren’t allowed to participate in a scene?

Because it’s what my character would do. And it’s what Alex’s character would do. But most importantly, it’s what we both established is what our characters would do.

Alex was basically a student on a school trip. I was an adventuring entrepreneur (an adventurepreneur) funding the trip. He’d played up his naivety, and I’d played up my sternness. So that moment wasn’t a player bossing another player around. It also wasn’t just players doing what their characters would do. It was players paying attention to what each other’s characters would do and playing into it.

Read The Room

Just like we create our campaigns with the input of our players, my fellow GMs, everyone at the table impacts the play experience we collaboratively create. I’ve made and changed characters that didn’t fit the dynamic of the table. The Abomination Vaults campaign Vanessa’s running is a great example. Blister, the dwarf sorcerer I made, was serious, contemplative, on a philosophical journey. Everyone else made a light, fun, playful character. After a few sessions, I talked to Vanessa and we wrote that character out of the campaign. Now, I’ve also talked about how mechanically Blister was virtually unplayable, easily my worst Pathfinder 2e build. But I’ve forgiven builds that weren’t working in the past if it meant a character I enjoyed playing.

However, I wouldn’t continue to play a character I knew the rest of the group didn’t like me playing. I’ve played a fair number of annoying characters -Karkerkast, a jerk; Azaul, a wild card; Valter, also a wild card; Stern, a strict pragmatists- but only ever in home games. My organized play characters tend to be enthusiastic, curious, goofy, and agreeable. The closest I’ve come to a disagreeable PFS character was Jaymon, my staff magus whose personality was as blunt as his weapon of choice. But Jaymon was still easily to get along with.

As a player, if I need to explain that I’m doing what my character would do, I’ve failed to either establish my character’s personality, motivation, and behaviour, or I’ve created a character whose behaviour runs counter to the enjoyment of the group. Different players play the game in different ways and for different reasons, and everyone at the table needs to make room to allow everyone to find their fun. That means both asking others to consider why you play the game this way, and other times that means considering how the way you play the game affects others.

For now, I dream of GMing more tables where every player does what their character would do.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

A Time and a Place

I promised to run a G.I. JOE RPG session for fans on the Renegade Game Studios Discord server for months, but I’ve been busy to schedule it. Then Randal worked with the server owners to get RPG Sage installed and have play-by-post channels created.  Suddenly, I had the tool I needed to run the game smoothly without needing to set up a virtual tabletop, so I threw a date out there and everyone turned out to be free.

Then the date came and I had nothing planned.

I know I’ve talked a lot about not being one to prep. By that, I mean I don’t typically create anything tangible or read anything ahead of time. But my brain’s always prepping. I conjure up an amorphous bunch of words and ideas in my head, which my players help me untangle and flesh out through play. But even though I’d committed to this game for months, an hour before the session I only had a fun but otherwise pointless scene involving Rock N Roll and Heavy Duty burning through blanks with their new machine gun-based band. As much as I wanted to keep working on a redacted freelance assignment right up to game time, I knew I needed something for my players.

Planning the P.A.C.T.S.

P.A.C.T.S. stands for Plot-Action-Character-Theme-Setting. In case you didn’t know. I had a harder time Googling the acronym I learned in high school for the elements of story, so maybe this isn’t as universal a tool as PEMDAS is for math.

P.A.C.T.S. is a useful tool for adventure planning as well. Plot is what is happening, and action is what is making it happen. If you’ve ever had a cool idea for an adventure that fell flat, it’s probably a plot/action misalignment.

Characters includes the PCs and the NPCs. I knew my PCs, but I’d need to populate the session with characters for them to interact with. Before I get to that, shout out to themes, the spice that elevates from a good story or adventure to a great story or adventure.

Surprisingly, even though the only element of P.A.C.T.S. I knew ahead of the session was a fraction of the C, settling on the S made everything else fall into place. And that happened entirely out of laziness.

Embracing The Familiar

To save time, I decided to set the adventure in Montreal. I’ve lived in this city basically my whole life, and G.I. JOE has a pseudo-modern setting, so it was easy to port over. As I considered specific, differently interesting locations, I started crafting the story that connects them. What would Cobra be doing at paintball arena/go cart course Action 500, dying mall Carré Decarie, artist quarter hotspot Parc Des Ameriques, and horse race track The Hippodrome?

The plot became an investigation into Suspected Cobra Activity. A lot of local teens have been spotted using Cobra recruitment tactics. Although there’s been no direct evidence connecting these teens to Cobra, it’s worth an investigation. The action combines the investigation with language barrier challenges, and tension around an international fighting force interjecting in local affairs. Each location had a scene of consequence with a different variety of Skills to earn a clue. Characters were mostly the people who made the most sense in the situation, made easier by the fact that I’ve been to all of these locations and interacted with the people there. The themes revolved around trust, G.I. JOE trusting the PCs with the mission, the PCs not trusting what the teens were doing (they were using Cobra recruitment tactics against to put together an anti-Cobra support group), and the locals didn’t trust the PCs.

This all organically grew out of the setting.

Running Home

The best example of how well this helped came when the PCs visited Carré Decarie. I described the few stores still opened, surrounded by empty spaces for rent. The area that stood out the most to them was a carpet store. I doubt I’d ever include such a detail if Essgo Carpets wasn’t a real store in the real Carré Decarie. I roleplayed the frustration of the owner who can immediately tell the customers there to shop from those just wandering around his store, how it’s the oldest store in the mall, which the décor and vibe of the store reinforce. Even though the store played no part in the plot, the texture (heh) Essgo Carpets added to the location made it a memorable and vibrant part of the session.

Genre

Not represented in P.A.C.T.S. is the genre, but it’s one of the most important elements of storytelling. And even though adapting Montreal to a game basically set on modern Earth didn’t take much work, it’s not much harder to adapt it to a fantasy or futuristic setting.

Action 500 could have been a jousting and archery tournament, or laser tag and pod racer.
Carré Decarie could have been the market of a ghost town, run by literal ghosts still clinging to the old ways. It could be an abandoned space station taken over by pirates.
Instead of artists, Parc Des Ameriques could be the hangout of gnomes or skittermanders.
The Hippodrome would need to change the least.

Bringing what you know about this locations lets you give them a more lived-in feel, and make them relatable regardless of genre. Why make up a fantasy or science fiction setting whole cloth when you can reskin the places you’ve already been? It takes less time and garners better results.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Rolling Instead Of Assuming Success

Just like my philosophy for handling players is that different players play the game in different ways and for different reasons, my opinion of conventional GMing wisdom is that there is no conventional GM. No matter how often you hear a piece of advice, if it doesn’t feel right for you or doesn’t work at your table, ignore it. It’s not that the advice is wrong, or that you’re GMing wrong, it’s just not the right fit for how you GM.

One piece of advice I see often that I absolutely discard is the idea that we shouldn’t have our players roll certain checks. The G.I. JOE Roleplaying Game Core Rulebook even has this to say on the matter:

In the G.I. JOE Roleplaying Game, GMs are encouraged only to call for Skill Tests when they will have a meaningful effect on the story – rolling is fun, it can also bog down and interrupt good storytelling.

I go in the opposite direction. Again, not because I believe the advice is wrong, but it’s wrong for me. Here’s why.

Rolling Is Storytelling

The classic storytelling advice is to show, not tell. In film, that means expressing the idea through on screen action. In comics, that means easing up on the words to let the art speak for itself. And in tabletop roleplaying, I believe that the best way to show how good (or bad) a character is at a certain task is to roll for it. 

When I have a PC succeed at a task without a roll (and I have, my fellow GMs, even if I don’t agree that it should ever be the default), they succeed averagely. Were I to describe them barely succeeding at a routine roll, even if that is a more interesting description, I’d expect objections based on what my choice says about their character. Similarly, if I describe an amazing accomplishment without a roll, I’d expect confusion. Why did I make such a big deal about their success at a routine task? It’s like when you read a comic and the letterer bolded a random word in a dialogue bubble. I don’t know about you, but I usually try to figure out why that word earned emphasis, and it takes me out of the story. 

Conversely, if I have the players roll a DIF 5 Skill Test and they roll a 6, then the flavour I add to my description of them nearly flubbing a task they didn’t think twice about adds to the moment. The low roll sets a storytelling expectation and my description delivers on it. 

For The Wins

On Star Trek: The Next Generation, Worf is the strongest, toughest crew member. He’s head of security, after all! That’s why he loses more fights than anyone on the Enterprise. 

Instead of showing us Worf regularly winning fights to reinforce his reputation, he’s used to show how strong a threat is. Beating up Worf is the TNG equivalent of killing a redshirt on the original series. 

If we only call on rolls when there’s a significant chance of failure, my fellow GMs, then our PCs’ success rates will be 50/50 for the abilities they’re supposed to be good at. Sure, if you count all of the gimmes as wins, they average closer to 75/25 or 90/10. I don’t count those. Removing dice from a task detaches the sense of ownership from the success, and therefore the best a player can feel about their primary skills is par. I don’t want my players to only succeed half the time at their primary abilities, I want them to see how awesome the character they built at their best abilities. More successful checks, even easy ones, reinforce that feeling. 

Rolling Is More Than Just Fun

Rolling dice is both tactile and visceral, and one of the best ways to engage your players regardless of the impact the roll has on the story. There’s the anticipation that this roll might be more meaningful than it appears, the ego of getting to add a big number to a roll and potentially wow the table, or the fear that a low total might highlight a character’s flaws. 

Using Adventurous when it ran on 1e as an example, we’ve talks about Loren scoring in the 40s on Lily’s inconsequential baking rolls more than we’ve talked about the result of any other roll. Why? Because it’s an impressive result, sure, and the context made it funnier and more memorable. But also, because baking is what Lily does, and getting in the 40s on a baking check highlights something only that character can do. 

Speaking of Adventurous, you may remember exchanges in the early episodes where Crystal tells me I “don’t have to roll” and I’ve already rolled. Not only do I think of checks as an opportunity to roll rather than something I have to do, calling on checks regardless of the difficulty sets a rhythm to how I play. The idea of what I want to try to rolling to see how I do is one uninterrupted moment. I’ve seen it argued that calling on rolls slows a game down, but if your players are like me, rolling checks whenever you want to accomplish a task is part of the cadence of the game. It’s a habit that speeds up my gameplay overall.

Player/Character/Sheet Relations

I’m fond of Perram’s saying that “Players don’t start playing an RPG when they sit down at the table, they start playing when they build their first character.” When a player adds an option to their character sheet, it’s their way of telling the game what they want to be good at. And getting to roll these options brings the character in their head alive at the table. 

But characters have more abilities than just the big choices players make. Choices have cascading benefits, so being good in one area could unintentionally make them talented in other areas. For example, for 2e Lily to be good at baking, she could train in Crafting. Which means Lily’s ability to layer a cake also makes her understand how to rebuild a clockwork engine. 

Speaking of baking, players also choose abilities for half-baked tertiary aspects of their character. Along the same lines, some builds give players more options than the player needs and they end up taking abilities that seemed neat at the time. They risk forgetting all of these types of options. 

When we call for a roll, it means our players’ eyes go for their character sheet. The more they need to roll, the better they learn where to find what information, and the more likely they remember abilities they have beyond their core concept. 

Me Time

Speaking of players’ eyes on their character sheet, like I said in It’s O.K. To Relax, there’s no better opportunity to gather my thoughts than during a die roll. Everyone is invested in the roll, meaning getting our players to pick up their dice gives us a rare moment where no one wants our attention as the GM. Whether we need time to digest what came before, plan what’s still to come, or just not think for a second, the best time to be alone with ours thoughts is when the players watch a die rolling. 

Bringing It All Together

The total of all of the above is greater than the sum of its parts. When my players roll, the results show me what they’re good at. I don’t ask my players for their character sheets and I don’t have notes about their stats because I’ll never remember what’s on their sheets ahead of time, and looking their stats up during play derails my momentum. But if I ask for a roll and I experience a lower or higher result than I expected, that’s how I learn who my characters are and what they can do. It also shows me what my players get excited about. And it gives me time to process all of that, and everything else I need to track as a Game Master.

Dice rolls are as important to me and how I tell the story of our campaign as original art depicting a character is to other GMs. Rolls and results always meaningfully affect my story, even if its just a moment of characterization. They don’t bog down or interrupt my storytelling, they define it.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Bring The Setting To Life

If you have a room full of NPCs, it’s good to have a way to distinguish them. Details inspire players and you never know what they might latch onto and elevate the session to new heights. This can be as simple as applying unique adjectives to them, but a word of warning: KD’s own Vanessa Hoskins uses an adjective generator Foundry add-on for the NPCs in the Abomination Vaults campaign she’s running. It’s derailed multiple combats in the first round as we contemplate what makes a giant bug “trustworthy” or how we’ve determined a monster is “sultry”.

Instead of throwing caution to the wind with whatever adjective a procedural generator can find, distinguish your NPCs in a group by assigning them Ancestries and Backgrounds. Just like the ABCs of character creation narrow PCs down to their most noteworthy aspects at a glance, you can draw on the same lists for the ABs of NPCs. This gives your players terminology to easily indicate which NPC they’re referring to, and you can use these queues to flesh out NPCs you didn’t expect to roleplay.

Best of all, KD’s own Randal Meyer built a tool to randomly generate a Pathfinder 2e character’s ABCs. You can populate entire towns with a few clicks. And if you’re not interested in an Ancestry/Background combination that comes up (like the Dhampir Poppet Lastwall Survivor I randomly generated that I’m obviously saving for a PC), just click Again for a new combination.

Including ancestries other than Core Rulebook options reminds your players of the vast and varied world of your campaign, your scenes feel more organic, and you give PCs who took such ancestries fellowship. However, there’s more to diversity than ancestries.

Diversify Your Diversity

Diversity and representation means more than just tokenism. It’s important to represent a variety of life experiences in different ways. Close, detailed examinations help educate others on experiences outside of their perspective, but casual references about what separates a character from the majority is also representation. It’s why The Umbrella Academy’s recent “Who’s Viktor?” scene struck home with many trans viewers as much as entire series dedicated to exploring experiences they relate to.

Paizo lead editor and Valiant‘s own Avi Kool recently wrote the Meet The Iconics post on the Paizo blog for Mios Uriev, the iconic thaumaturge from the upcoming Dark Archive. Mios is the first nonbinary iconic. While this is important representation of an often overlooked minority, written from a place of experience by a nonbinary author, it’s also important to note that they’re the first nonbinary iconic, but not the setting’s first nonbinary NPC. Read any modern Pathfinder Adventure Path or any Lost Omens hardcover and you’ll find nonbinary representation.

The character artwork in the Lost Omens line embodies this philosophy. Flip through the pages of any hardcover in that line and you’ll see ancestries and cultures from previous (and sometimes upcoming) releases represented, as well as disabilities, different body types, and every manner of detail to help these characters stand out, right down to mustache styles never before seen on an orc. Not only do these provide us amazing pieces of art we can use for the characters in our campaigns, my fellow GMs, but they show how varied and vibrant the denizens of Golarion are. Most importantly, they’re organic representations of the citizenry, not just used for a plot or setting purpose.

Diversity Is Not A Plot Twist

Back in my late teens, when I had aspirations to be a screenwriter, I read as much screenwriting advice as I could get my hands on. Books on formatting, storytelling, breaking into the industry. I wanted to learn. But one piece of advice I remember reading and rejecting was that characters should only deviate from the norm if the deviation serves the story.

Now, I am a huge fan of callbacks and connecting dots in scripts, but not when it comes to characters. I’ve said in the past that when I conceptualize a Pathfinder character, there’s always a “but” (or as I explained to Perram on the podcast, ”I like bit buts and I cannot lie”). And just like my RPG characters, I didn’t like the idea that every character’s quirk or backstory had to serve the plot, and I especially didn’t like the idea that a character’s sexuality, ethnicity, and gender should only deviate from the norm (straight, white, and male) if the plot needs it to.

That’s not to say a character’s sexuality, ethnicity, and gender should never factor into a plot. Ms Marvel wouldn’t be half as interesting if it didn’t explore her Pakistani ancestry, and As Good As It Gets would be a completely different movie if Jack Nicholson’s Melvin Udall wasn’t obsessive–compulsive. It’s just unfortunate that certain minorities only get representation when it bears a plot load.

The following paragraph spoils a Stranger Things season 4 plot twist. You only need to skip one paragraph to avoid any Stranger Things season 4 spoilers. Stranger Things season 4 introduces a neurodivergent boy in a flashback. I immediately suspected that this character would play a major role in the plot because media -particularly horror media- rarely introduces neurodivergent characters unless they serve a purpose. Mostly, they’re supernatural or villains (or both), despite real world statistics tragically showing that neurotypical people are more like to cause harm or death to neurodivergent people than vice versa. So I was surprised when Stranger Things killed off the neurodivergent boy shortly after introducing him. Not that fridging a character is great, and neurodivergent characters have a history of not surviving the media they appear in, but at least he wasn’t the villain. Then it turned out he was the villain. Shocking.

Along similar lines, I remember playing in a Pathfinder Society scenario in which we heard a cry for help from the next room. A player at the table said that if it was a male voice, it’s an NPC in need, but if it’s a female voice, it’s a monster tricking us. I don’t know the statistical accuracy of his statement, but in this case lo and behold, it was a female voice, and it was a monster tricking us. By standardizing your NPCs and only breaking the norm for a purpose, especially when that purpose relies on a stereotype, any diversity plays your hand and encourages metagame thinking.

Diversity Is Reality

Reviews of the G.I. JOE RPG Core Rulebook on Amazon were suspiciously critical of the inclusion of a pronouns section on the character sheet. It’s sad to know that some portion of the fanbase can sooner accept Battle Android Troopers, weapons suppliers with open collars and beryllium-steel masks, and a U.S. Military ninja division than that a payer character is referred to by pronouns. Especially considering that the book’s credits page includes people who use he/him, she/her, and they/them pronouns. Apparently in the minds of these readers, the real-world diversity that made the book possible is unrealistic in the campaign setting we created.

Including a diverse selection of representation reflects reality. Choosing diversity will never age poorly. This is especially true if you’re interested in releasing your campaigns as published adventures, or just get into writing for Pathfinder in general. Famous works of fantasy fiction that don’t age well tend to be the ones that either apply stereotypes of existing minorities broadly to whole factions of villains without representing those minorities in any other way, or round down minorities to create worlds where their absence speaks volumes.

Diversity shouldn’t be a goal we have to work towards, my fellow GMs. It should be the baseline. It makes our campaigns better, in so many ways.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

I often look at conventional GMing wisdom and breakdown how it’s not as universally applicable as it’s usually presented, and not to worry if it’s not for you. This isn’t that kind of article, however. Today I want to look at how even good advice can negatively impact your game, if you take too much of it.

Efficiency Can Burn You Out

We do not get a lot of time alone with our thoughts, my fellow GMs. I remember the moment I fully realized this. Jay had asked me a question. I told him I needed to look up the answer. Then he said “well while you’re doing that,” and asked me a second question. Now, I’ve talked in the past about Reggie Watts auxiliary brain theory, and how I tend to split my focus between paying attention to the players and imagining where to take the session next. But my brain (and presumably even Reggie Watts’ brain) has its limits. When Jay absentmindedly assumed I could simultaneously research the answer to his first question and not only listen but then answer his second question, it dawned on me how much a session relies on the GM’s attention.

I cherish the moments I get alone with my thoughts while GMing. I can digest what’s happened, plan for what’s to come, try to remember my original plans for the session, or just relax. These rare opportunities are the first casualty of running a more efficient game.

For example, common advice says to only call on rolls when the results matter. For me, that would come at a huge cost. There’s no better opportunity to gather my thoughts than during a die roll. Not only is the player focused on the roll, then finding the related bonus on their character sheet, and finally doing math, but the other players also tend to focus on the roll. If you find you don’t have enough time with your thoughts, my first suggestion is to have your players roll more often. It’s more engaging than asking for a minute to look up your notes, doesn’t include table talk that you either get distracted by or have to miss joining in on, and no one’s the wiser that the roll doesn’t matter.

Perfect Imperfections

How many of your favourite TTRPG experiences come from things going smoothly? Now, maybe you occasionally run a session where everyone and everything synchs up and you and your players experience a near psychic experience that you have to tell others about. But mostly, in my experience, the best moments come from the unexpected. That clutch critical hit only matters because what should have been a balanced encounter just didn’t go the PCs’ way up until that moment. Or the opposite, with one-sided luck allowing your party to decimate what should have been a tense, dramatic combat.

Now, if I watch a movie and the heroes just wreck the villain in the last act, that’s anti-climatic and probably unsatisfying. However, that’s what makes it so much fun when it happens in an RPG. It’s the organic storytelling opportunities presented by each die roll that makes every group’s experience unique. You can apply some advice to mitigate how wild your campaign’s drama swings. Just beware squeezing so tightly to traditional plot arcs and story beats. You risk ringing out what separates roleplaying games from traditional storytelling.

A lot of gamers, like Valiant cast member and game design guru Owen KC Stephens, share their game night highlights on social media with hashtags like #gamenightquotes. The hashtag isn’t for moments of great drama or amazing roleplaying. It’s for the surprises, the unexpected, the clever comments that came about in the moment. All of which are only possible when you let your game unfold naturally.

We Are Not Machines

As GMs, we are a lot of things, but we aren’t machines. Nor should we want to be.

We work most smoothly when we embrace our humanity, my fellow humans. Have you ever heard that the strongest passwords include three disconnected words that means something to you? That’s because it’s easy for us, as humans, to remember words we associate with, but hard for computers to narrow down which of the millions of words in existence we might choose. Conversely, the random numbers and letters a computer might suggest we use for a password is very hard for us to remember, and much easier for another computer to determine.

We don’t need to run a game where we get every rule right, from the rules of the system to the rules of dramatic highs and lows. That’s what video games are for. As Game Masters, human Game Masters, our strength is our ability to zig if need be, when a machine can’t because it’s programed only to zag.

Furthermore, you bring a lot to the table as a human. Humans have personalities, senses of humour, and life-defining experiences. If everyone at the table enjoys when you compare the action to your favourite MCU scenes, don’t stop dropping pop culture references just because they slow the game down. Sprinkling your personality into your sessions is what makes them your sessions.

It’s Part Of The Game

On a recent (and amazing) episode of the People I (Mostly) Admire podcast, game designer and bestselling author Jane McGonigal said “My favorite definition of a game comes from a philosopher, Bernard Suits, who said that a game is the voluntary effort to overcome unnecessary obstacles.”

As cooperative and social pass times, Roleplaying Games allow us to have fun with friends above all else. Sure, there’s more rules and obstacles than there would be if we just hang out, but those rules and obstacles scaffold the fun. However, the rules and obstacles are the buy-in. They’re the excuse. There’s room in every RPG session for a little down time.

Even actual play podcasts allow for table talk. Heck, I’d argue some of the best moments from my favourite actual play podcasts came from when the cast just riffs, letting their personalities shine and putting aside playing in character and advancing the plot. When we relax and focus on aspects of the experience other than rigidly maintaining forward momentum, we give everyone at the table the opportunity to acknowledge the fun being had, together.

Efficient Isn’t The Only Way

As we’ve discussed in past Behind The Screens articles, we shall create fun at the table, my fellow GMs. Or, through inaction, allow fun to be had. An efficient game is only one way to have fun when roleplaying. Don’t be afraid to be yourself, warts and all, and go at whatever pace you’re most comfortable with.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Why Climb The Slide

When kids first interact with a slide, they understand that they’re meant to slide down. Eventually, however, kids want to try going up the slide. It’s an evolution of play pattern that’s still relevant to players of all ages, my fellow GMs. Here’s why.

Ownership

Being able to go up a ladder that’s meant for pre-school and elementary children to climb, and go down a slide designed to go at a fast but certifiably safe speed can be fun, but takes no skill. As a result, the child owes any endorphins generated by the experience to someone else’s design. There’s no sense of accomplishment, and nothing personalizing the experience. A child doesn’t even have to think about it. Sliding is about as passive an experience as walking over to a couch and lying down.

However, going up the slide takes thought. It takes effort. Even if effectively as many children slid down the slide as have climbed up it, and even if the majority of them used the same technique to get to the top, getting up the slide took unique effort to that child. Their brain processed the angles, their muscles fought against the design’s intent. The mind and body worked together to earn getting to the top.

Innovation Begets Learning

Not only do children feel better about themselves when they set themselves a challenge and then overcome it, they look at something familiar in a new light. They had to analyze the slide to work out how to climb it. Therefore, climbing the slide shows a better understanding of its design.

It’s well established that play stimulates learning. As explained in this Raising Children article on Preschooler Creative Learning and Development:

Why is creative play important for children’s development?
Creative play develops preschooler confidence, language, physical and thinking skills, imagination and emotional understanding.

By playing with the slide on a surface level, they begin to understand the slide better. The more freedom they have to approach a slide in their own way, the more they continue to play with it and the more they learn from it.

It Works, Regardless of Intent

When we discuss what this has to do with gaming -which we will be soon- this will be an important point.

Unlike mixing Play-Doh -which can’t be undone, accidentally ruining future play- or actively destroying toys (sadly, a phase many kids enter in their late preteens), climbing a slide doesn’t hurt the slide. As long as the slide isn’t too high, and kids at the top and bottom of the slide know to look out for other kids on the opposite end, no harm will come to the kids climbing the slide either. This is a fully functional alternate use of a toy that already promotes self-directed play.

Your Game Is Slides!

Obviously, slides are a metaphor for encounters or the RPG system. That doesn’t mean you can’t include literal slides in your adventures, naturally, it’s just not what I’m getting at.

After enough time where your players use the rules to get from point A to B to C, they start to look for ways to get to C without all this B business. They aren’t pulling a Michael Scott and drawing a gun in every improv skit. They’re using their evolved understanding of the rules and the world they jointly created with you in a different but consistent manner.

Casino Royale features my favourite pop culture example of this. There’s a chase scene through a construction site early on. The fleeing enemy uses parcour to get over and around obstacles. James Bond is not nearly so acrobatic. At one point, the enemy uses a pipe to swing through a gap above a closed door. James Bond just plows through the gyprock wall. Either solution could be an example of a GM describing the scene and expecting the door to force a player to stop running and use an action, but one uses acrobatics and an understanding of the environment, and the other used an attack and knowledge of the hardness rules.

Let Your Players Climb To New Heights

If your players present an alternative that is physically possible, consistent with the game mechanics, but goes against your plans completely, consider letting them do it. It may make an encounter easier than you intended. It also might mean you need to scrap some plans. But on the plus side, my fellow GMs, your player looked at the game in a new way, applied themselves, finding a way to express themselves and have a deeper kind of fun.

Now, it’s easy for me to say “scrap your plans”. I find running published materials and even material based on my own notes challenging. Not “harder than improvising”, just plain hard. So I understand that I’m not making the same sacrifice other GMs are by letting players flex their creativity and system mastery. If you, like Scarlett’s school, feel the need to implement a “don’t climb the slide” rule, I empathize. But I strongly recommend you not think of players who resent such a rule as disruptive. It’s very possible that climbing the slide to them is the ultimate expression of seeing the world through their character’s eyes and engaging with it in a fully immersed way. That is my ultimate goal as a GM, and why letting my players climb the slides is central to my GMing philosophy.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

The Basics of Game Mastery

Part 3. Game Master Responsibilities

In order to ensure that everyone at the table has fun, you need to ask yourself something:

What Is Fun?

I recently shared this meme, borrowing from Asimov’s tiered Three Laws of Robotics, on Facebook:

Someone replied that “This assumes everyone’s idea of fun is the same.” To which I disagreed, so he fired back with arguments including “This even assumes the Group is completely Homogeneous,” “It’s okay if everyone isn’t having fun every second,” and “The Story isn’t always fun. Often it’s horrific, sad, serious.” I pulled my chute on the conversation at that point, since he was arguing against interpretations that I just don’t think the meme was saying. Primarily, “You shall create fun” does not mean everyone is having fun every second. It means through action or inaction, some measurement of the group’s fun quotient increases.

But I do think “The Story isn’t always fun. Often it’s horrific, sad, serious” bears a closer look. Because if I’m playing a game where I expect horrific, sad, and serious moments, then I appreciate when those moments come to pass. It may seem contradictory to say I’m happy when a game makes me sad, so in the name of pedantry, I suggest this alternative:

You shall pay out player buy in, or –through inaction– allow player buy in to pay itself out.

To be clear, I’m perfectly fine saying I’m there to have fun, and even a serious game can be fun. So, for simplicity sake, I’ll keep calling “paying out player buy in” fun.

Delivering Your Table’s Brand of Fun

Different people play the game in different ways and for different reasons. A gaming group is a compound of the various elements and expectations each person -ourselves included, my fellow GMs- bring to the table. In order to deliver on the first law of the GM, we need to understand the parts and the whole of what we and our players enjoy, and how they relate to one another.

Deciphering your table’s idea of fun may sound like it takes social intelligence, but here’s something to remember: You already have something in common with your players. At the very least, it’s a preference for your game system or setting. Outside of organized play, there’s also a good chance you’re friends with most if not all of your players. Just knowing them tells you a lot about how to entertain them. If you’re not sure, it’s good to define what everyone likes about roleplaying before the game. This can be during Session 0, or in a pre-session chat at an organized play event.

Not everyone has the introspection to put into words what they like about their hobbies. I tend to lead with what I know to be the controversial ways I have fun with my games. “Just so you know, I tend to get colourful and visceral when I describe damage. But if anyone thinks that’d bother them, I can tone it down.” Give an example of the language you use to communicate ideas and what kinds of ideas might need to be brought up.

Like the person replying to the meme I shared, you could worry about the melting pot of different tastes at your table. In my experience, the average player understands that they are a fraction of the number of people at the table and expect an equal fraction of attention dedicated to their specific needs. A dramatic player might get antsy if a pre-adventure scroll shopping scene goes on a little long, just like a tactical player might scoff at how long the banter before the boss fight takes, but a quick “we’re almost done” does wonders to reset a player’s patience. If a player is a spotlight hog, frame it as the other players needing to get their fair share instead of slapping their hand for wanting more than their share. “I’ll get back to you soon, but players X, Y, and Z haven’t had a chance yet.” If that doesn’t work, going clockwise around the table clues the needy player in on when to expect their time for your attention.

Player Agency > Your Plot Twist

As discussed in part 1, we’re not really narrators or storytellers, we’re the fusion point at which disjointed stories intersect. It’s important to remember this when crafting your plots. If you’re anticipating your players’ gasps when you pull back the curtain and reveal the truth behind a lie they all believed, I can almost guarantee you will not get the reaction you’re expecting.

Don’t cheat at Guess Who. If your players ask “Does the secret villain have brown hair,” don’t deny them their win and change the villain’s hair to blonde. Don’t throw an invisible ball. Your description paints the pictures your players are imagining. Obscuring an important detail to keep your players from paying attention to it is abusing your power as their access point to the world you all share. This is especially true if you have to cheat to pull off a big moment.

A couple of examples of this from video games come to mind. In Skyrim, I was investigating a murder. When I entered the murderer’s house, he let me go everywhere but upstairs. Which makes sense, narratively, but that’s not how anywhere else in the game works. Someone had to program an invisible wall into just that scenario so I couldn’t do something I wanted to do and should have otherwise been able to do. Similarly, in Arkham City, Batman has Detective Vision that lets him see through walls. I approached a dead end that didn’t feel right. Detective Vision didn’t show anyone inside the room or on the other side of any of its walls. I still spent a long time at the entrance, going through my inventory to see if there was anything that could trigger a trap. Nothing. So I walked in. A giant muscular hand punched through a wall and grabbed me. A wall I should have been able to see through but couldn’t, but he could see me somehow. In both cases, whatever reaction the scene was intended to evoke was replaced by annoyance because I did everything right and the game didn’t care. With a video game, that’s forgivable. It’s how they’re programed. When a GM does it, it’s irresponsible.

We discussed in The Basics of Game Mastery Part 2. By The Power of Game Mastery how your players will do more of what you incentivize them to, even unintentionally. They’ll avoid doing what you punish them for as well. And if you punish them for trusting you, expect a slow, adversarial game. The better we are as GMs, the less our players remember that there’s a power difference between us. And a twist risks reminding them not to trust us. Or, as Perram recently put it on Twitter:

I've stopped using friendly NPC betrayal as a plot device. Because PCs think all NPCs will betray them and games grind to a halt. Just like every freaking door in a dungeon.

— Jefferson Jay Thacker (aka Perram) (@jaythacker) February 21, 2022

Pay Out What You Buy In

GMing is fun, but the responsibilities can make it a lot of work. If you find yourself giving more than you get, see if you can find ways to give less. A lot of responsibilities not related to running a game often fall on our laps. Asking someone else to schedule the game or setup an online space for it, designating a player the rule researcher or initiative tracker, asking for access to a player’s massive miniature collection. We shouldn’t be spending more time, money, and mental energy on a game than we have to. We’re all in this together with our groups, don’t be afraid to ask them to share in the responsibility.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

But these memes are to us as jesters are to royalty: a clever commoner trying to understand the perspective of the mightiest people in their lives. Sure, we can relate to some of these meme. However, they focus on the minority of situations in which we find ourselves powerless. In truth, being a Game Master means wielding the most influence at the table, in more ways than many GMs even realize.

The Basics of Game Mastery

Part 2. By The Power of Game Mastery

Role Playing Games run on collaborative storytelling, but as we discussed in part 1 of my series on The Basics of Game Mastery, no story gets told without us acting as narrator and rules referee in order to facilitate the fun at the table. To continue the series, I’m here to tell you that you have the power, my fellow GMs.

The GM Has the Final Say

At any time during a session, we can make the encounters easier or harder. We can set the tone lighter or darker. We can make the rules matter more or less. We can stick to our plans or go in new directions. It’s generally seen as disruptive when a player deviates from the path we lay out, but it’s accepted and even expected for us to surprise our players. It’s not just a suggestion that we can adjudicate the rules as we see fit, my fellow GMs. The rules of most RPGs specifically say so. For example, on page 444 of the Pathfinder 2e Core Rulebook:

I’ve been tongue-in-cheek about our omnipotence throughout this piece so far, but our rules-given ability to overrule the rules plays an important part in our role at the table. To facilitate fun, we need the flexibility to pivot based on how we read the table. I see a lot of examples about players having a hard day and needing a win, but I find this comes up regularly, but subtly. A table’s tolerance for and interest in spending time on rules minutia is so baked into the group’s DNA, your players might not understand that you’re exercising your right to hand wave (or to not hand wave) whenever a dispute comes up.

Some take joy in learning about corner cases, (in)famous rules ambiguities, and exploitable options. Others need the lawful satisfaction of getting a ruling right. Conversely, some players want nothing to do with mid-session mechanic dissections, or they don’t want to stop for an out of character discussion and lose momentum. We get to decide how much to indulge Player Types A & B at Player Types C & D’s expense, and vice versa.

We Are Their Experience

Note how I shifted the tone of the article in the previous section. It was all hyperbole and animation references, until I wanted to make sure my point drove home. That’s another aspect of our power, my fellow GMs. How we run our table directly impacts what the players get out of it.

I regret a call I made as a GM years ago that, at the time, didn’t even feel like I was making a call. Tina’s fairy bard, Wendel, cast permanent image in a shop, specifically expressing her interest in entertaining the town children. Matt made a joke about the shopkeep getting tired of the image. I “yes, and”ed Matt, and had the shopkeep complain about the illusion the next time Wendel came back to town. Tina had Wendel dismiss it, reinforcing that she was just trying to make people happy. It was clear that Tina, not just her character Wendel, disliked how that played out.

Looking back, I wish I’d sided with Tina and run it as a pleasant little moment instead of getting a meaningless cheap laugh at her expense. There’s enough cynicism in the world, and I chose more instead of optimistic escapism.

Beyond narrative choices , how we present ourselves at the table sets the tone for player behaviour. Commitment to using character voices and taking the scenes seriously begets the same from our players. Likewise, when we slip in pop culture references or go into asides that the game reminds us of, we’re telling our players they can make references and asides. Neither of which is the wrong way to run a game. Just be aware that our decisions as GMs impact their experience as players.

Carrot/Stick

In Philosopher’s Stone, McGonagall punishes Gryffindor for Harry and Ron sneaking off, which is dangerous, but rewards them for beating a mountain troll, the danger they were punished for finding. The reward was greater than the punishment. It would be like if you got a speeding ticket and a cash reward for rad driving from the same cop. Would you keep speeding if the reward for doing so more than covered the penalty? Sure, why wouldn’t you.

Incentives drive human behaviour. How we reward what our players do dictates what to expect from them. If you don’t want them grinding for XP in their downtime, don’t play out their hunting trip. If you want the wallflower to roleplay more, don’t break character to marvel at how rare it is for them to speak in character.

I liked how Will handled it when he GMed a session I played in. The players were in a tactically futile position (frustrating from the perspective of players who want to advance the game, but completely logical from the NPC villain’s perspective, another balance we need to keep in mind as GMs, as an aside). Jeffrey had his gnome, Abernathy, blurt out to the NPC “We’re you from the future.” We burst out laughing at the bizarre comment and Will let it play out, generously favouring Jeffrey’s plan. However, after the scene ended, Will let Jeffrey know that in the future, he would run closer to the rules. Basically, he told Jeffrey that cleverness got him a win, not an I Win button.

A popular tool added to Pathfinder in its second edition that lets GMs reward players is Hero Points. Although the Core Rulebook advices we give out Hero Points to PCs “performing heroic deeds—something selfless, daring, or beyond normal expectations,” I’ve previously suggested using Hero Points to reward whatever behaviour you want from your players. Engaged roleplaying, staying in character even when it means taking suboptimal actions, making everyone laugh, and taking notes are all worthy of Hero Points if that’s something you want to see more of at your table.

In Conclusion

There’s a lot of pressure on us, my fellow GMs, which is why it’s nice that the game empowers us so much. When these powers combine, we are unstoppable!

Next Time: Great Responsibility

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do with that great power I opened your eyes to, because the next installment of The Basics of Game Mastery series covers using that power responsibly.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

I got this from a professor at teacher’s college. When he addressed the class, he didn’t call us students. He called us teachers. He justified it by saying that teacher isn’t a profession, it’s a personality. So even if we didn’t have our degrees yet, to him, we were already his fellow teachers. 

Now, I got out of teaching specifically because to me it was a job and I didn’t have the personality for it. Still, his philosophy resonated with me. As with most things in my life, I related it to gaming. I’m not a Game Master because I run games. I run games because I’m a Game Master. I assume you’re the same way, my fellow GMs. 

The Basics of Game Mastery

This article kicks off a series on the basics of being a Game Master. With potentially a lot of fans of Power Rangers, G.I. JOE, Transformers, and My Little Pony looking at roleplaying games for the first time in 2022, and gamers who are also fans of those brands considering GMing for the first time because they want to be in a group running it no matter what, it felt like a good time to look at the basics of what it is we do.

Part 1. What Is A Game Master?

You could be a Game Master ready to run your first session looking for advice, or a veteran who hasn’t thought about your first game in years. Maybe you’re playing Pathfinder, Starfinder, Essence20, some cool indy game Rob Pontious invested in, or a game of your own design. At our core, we are the same.

Many try to explain the Game Master role through metaphor. You might have heard GMs referred to as storytellers, referees, or directors. It’s true. All of it. At the same time. We bring a complex combination of performance, sheepherding, and adjudicating to every game we run. Let’s look at these metaphors individually:

Storyteller

If we weren’t telling a story, how would the PCs know they all meet in a tavern? Who would tell them about the orphanage that went missing? Where would they aim their swords and spells if we didn’t tell them about the monsters causing trouble?

Roleplaying games evolved from the games of pretend played by children. The kids who kicked the game off by asking “who wants to play super heroes?” grew up to be Game Masters.

I take one exception to this comparison: “storyteller” doesn’t cover the collaborative aspects of a roleplaying game. We’re prompt tellers, getting storytelling balls rolling and keeping them moving when it slows down, but we are not the only ones telling the story.

Referee

If storyteller covers our role in the RP of RPG, referee is all about the G.

As a parent of two creative kids between the ages of 4 and 6, I can tell you how quickly games of pretend devolve into arguments over what is allowed in the game. The rules provide the frame work that helps everyone stay on the same page. Not only do they dictate what the game allows, they determine how to implement ideas.

Now, everyone should be following the rules. Unlike in sports, the other venue you’d see referees, no one benefits from deliberately breaking the rules (except for players who value the spotlight enough to taint their glory). In theory, every player plays by the rules. But each rule runs a part of the game’s engine, and there are lots of rules, so not everything lines up perfectly. That’s where we come in. Rule 0 states that the GM is the final arbiter of all things in the game. Yep, according to the rules, we rule the rules. Use this power responsibly.

I minorly objected to the storyteller comparison. I majorly object to thinking of us only as referees. So much of what we do is more than managing the rules. You can go a whole session without making a rule call, but you can’t go the whole session without telling a story.

Director

Balancing the narrator and magistrator metaphors, the director invokes the most important voice on a movie set. Directors tell story through others, following scripts written written by themselves, others, or both.

This is a strong metaphor, but it has trouble standing on its own. We’re more like directors and producers. We don’t just know the sets, props, and special effects we need for the game, we make them happen. Maybe we pay for someone else’s creation, maybe we create them ourselves. When you consider everything we do at the table, it starts to feel like we’re the entire film crew.

I do like this metaphor, but there’s still a problem. The director is the boss, or at least the CCO of a project. And that’s not true of what we do when we run an RPG session. Because we’re not making sure the players say the lines in the script. Even on projects that encourage improv, everyone works towards the next scene. As Game Masters, we’re only fairly confident what the next scene will be.

We’re Not Alone

None of the above three metaphors cover ever aspect of Game Mastering, but they also give us more power than we really have.

We are nothing without our players.

We tell stories with them. We referee when we have to, but we rarely have to. They direct us as much as we direct them. Therefore, my preferred metaphor includes the players. As Game Masters, we are facilitators.

Facilitators

From the French, facilier, or to make easier. Because that’s what we do. We don’t tell a story, we help the players tell us their stories. We run the sessions, not out of an interest in the rules of the game, but because by running sessions, we get to participate in them and witness them happen. Finally, we’re the social lubricant that lets us all play together. Whether our players live down the hall or flew across international borders, we’re all the table together to be entertained. When we say “so how do you want to do this,” we get to sit back and watch. Not in a director’s chair, but the front row seat in the audience.

More Basics To Come

Part 1 covered what a Game Master is, and a bit about why we run our games. Part 2 asks the big question: How to Game Master.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

I’m glad I did, because Caballeros Templados turned out to be at least bilingual, which lead to this exchange:

Which inspired today’s article.

Bottom-Up vs Top-Down

Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve described the difference between bottom-up and top-down, a staple of early episodes of 3.5 Private Sanctuary. I’m not even sure why, I just know it came up a lot.

In top-down planning, you start with a goal and need to figure out a way to get there. In bottom-up planning, you know where you are and need to figure out where you need to go before you can figure out how to get there. “I’m making a leek and potato pie” is top down. You have your meal, now gather your ingredients and get a recipe. “I need to make something with this leek and these potatoes,” is bottom up. You have your ingredients, but you need a meal idea before you can figure out your recipe.

Going back to my Twitter thread with Caballeros Templados, his pic with the Mentos and comment about Diet Coke conjured a strong visual of a silver, white, and red volcano erupting brown lava. As I often do, my fellow GMs, I asked myself “How do I turn the emotions I’m experiencing into something for my players?” Which, obviously, brought me to a Diet Coke Elemental trying to get to the party’s Mentos.

In a way, I had a top-down problem. I knew what kind of encounter I wanted, now I needed to build it.

Except, I’m not actually giving the party Mentos loot and creating a sugar free cola elemental. I had aspects that I knew could be an encounter, now I needed to figure out what that encounter would look like. Or, graphically:

Normally, they’re presented as binary options. You have a goal but no path, or a path with no goal. But what about middle out design?

Middle-Out

I just Googled it and discovered middle out is totally a thing already, by that name and everything. In that case, I’ll let Forecasting: Principles and Practice (2nd ed) by Rob J Hyndman and George Athanasopoulos define the idea:

The middle-out approach combines bottom-up and top-down approaches. First, a “middle level” is chosen and forecasts are generated for all the series at this level. For the series above the middle level, coherent forecasts are generated using the bottom-up approach by aggregating the “middle-level” forecasts upwards.

In the case of Diet Coke Elemental Wants The Party’s Mentos, our graphic looks like this:

Designing From The Middle

The middle is an excellent place to design from. As the graphic indicates, the idea has layers. It’s not just an idea that needs to be build to, or components that need to add up to a whole. You need to build the components before you can build your idea.

Find Your Middle

Middle-out design starts with an original idea. It’s not “I want a dragon encounter, what are my options?” or “Oooh, I like this dragon. What kind of encounter could I build with this?” It’s “Dragon who hoards dragon bones,” “Dragon thinks humans only speak in riddles,” or “Dragon with a guitar?” An idea that is neither the beginning nor the end, but the end of the beginning.

Up, Down or Both?

Now that you’ve found your middle, look around. In one direction, you have everything your idea could be. In the other direction, you’re blinded by how polished your idea can become. Don’t move on too quickly. Bask in your options.

Looking Down

Looking down expands your options. You know the Diet Coke Elemental wants the party’s Mentos, but what does that mean? Well, we need rules for our monster, rules for our item, rules for the two interacting, and rules for the PCs figuring out what happens when the two interact. We don’t want them to look back on the monster and the item after the fact and only then understand why the interaction happened. We want the thrill of keeping the two apart during the encounter as interesting as the consequences of the two coming together.

Looking Up

Looking up hones in on the specifics. You bought the Lego kit for the finished product, what’s the finished product look like. As I said in the Tweet, “I’ll probably skin it as an oil elemental trying to get their torches or something.” Looking up, I realize that an actual Diet Coke Elemental and Mentos would derail the campaign, I need to shed the silliness of the idea, but keep the drama.

Looking Back and Forth

Although you can decide your idea needs polishing before you can build it (going from the middle to the top then working down), or see what exciting toys fit with your idea before deciding what you want to do with it (going from the middle to the bottom then working up), you can also make a little progress in both directions.

• *looks up* I know the Diet Coke Elemental wants the party’s Mentos, and I know I want a less silly version of that idea, so what are my options?
• *looks down* An oil elemental. But what is that? Maybe a water elemental that’s not resistant to fire but, in fact, becomes a fire elemental when it interacts with fire.
• *looks up* The oil version needs to be a threat to the party to survive long enough for the “keep away” gimmick to play out, but the fire elemental needs to be a greater threat to the party to make the elemental catching fire to be a bad thing for the party.
• *looks down* Water elementals have Fast Healing while underwater, so if the oil elemental is a water elemental of Party Level +1 and gets the situational fast healing, that makes it moderate threat. Catching fire makes it a Party Level +2 fire elemental but without the situational fast healing, making it still a moderate threat, trading off a defensive ability for an overall increase in effectiveness. Ooh, or three Party Level -2 water elementals that become Party Level -1 or Party Level fire elementals, so we can have our gimmick go off once or twice and the PCs can still feel like they kept the situation from getting worse.
• *looks up* We need to guarantee the PCs have fire, and that they can keep it away from the oil elemental.
• *looks down* Have a passage blocked by oily webs that temporarily dull any weapons used to cut them, but can be burned in no time. Then have dangling fires in the next room, with the oil elemental encounter, whether the PCs have fiery torches or not. And since 2e elementals can take any shape, justify the oily webs by make the elementals spidery.

And there we have our Diet Coke Elemental wants the PCs’ Mentos encounter, without a Diet Coke Elemental or Mentos.

Weirdly, this is the second time I’ve improvised a fire spider recently.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

The Pathfinder option in question is the 2e Marshal archetype. Given the archetype’s abundance of offensive and defensive abilities, Dustin assumed the article covered handling overpowered characters. In fact, the article talked about handling underpowered characters. Still, Dustin’s confusion inspired this follow-up article. I resisted the temptation to go with the confusingly similar title Dealing With A Marshal PC.

Diagnosing An Overbearing PC

Before you can deal with an overbearing PC, figure out what about the build flags it as overbearing. Generally, a PC feels overbearing for one of the following reasons:

Too Successful

No matter what challenge you throw at the party, this PC clobbers it. Effectively challenging this PC means overwhelming the rest of the party, but choosing to challenge the rest of the party means this PC dominates the encounter.

Too Useful

Somehow, no matter what the party faces, this PC can contribute. Their niche is the entire game you’re playing. The PC isn’t min-maxed, they’re mean-medianed.

Too Much Spotlight

Maybe the PC isn’t overpowered. Maybe the player is overwhelming. In victory and defeat, the player makes everything about their PC.

What’s A GM To Do?

Let’s get the obvious out of the way:

• Fun. Any obstruction to the fun of someone at the table, us included my fellow GMs, needs to be dealt with.
• Talk to the player. They might not notice the issue, and might be your greatest ally in solving it.
• The operative word is “Too”. Being successful, useful, and in the spotlight are not problems, until they’re too successful, too useful, and too in the spotlight. Being too much of anything is, by definition, reaching a problematic proportion.

With the pillars of GMing advice covered, and whataboutisms shushed, let’s look at addressing these issues.

Relative Heroism

Unlike XP and levels, which we give out evenly across all players at prescribed times, Hero Points are ours to hand out as we please. Grade your heroes on a curve, my fellow GMs.

Take the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Across the 26 movies in that series, we’ve seen close to 100 heroes battle villains and save innocents. But which MCU character deserves a Hero Point the most in my eyes?

When the most powerful character in the party faces the toughest opponent, that’s not going above and beyond. It’s characters face actual challenges who deserve to be rewarded. Hero Points reward exceptional behaviour.

The player who gives monologues after every battle, meeting with every quest giver, and ordering every meal at the tavern doesn’t need a cookie every time they open their mouths. But if the mousey player speaks in character for the first time in a month and you appreciate that, toss them a Hero Point.

For a player more influenced by the carrot than the stick, you can setup a Pavlovian system to curb their problematic behaviour. They get a Hero Point for letting another player give the speech. For passing on the Feat that expands their repertoire to cover yet more situations. Yes, people play the game in different ways and for different reasons, but everyone at the table should be having fun. If the way someone plays impacts the fun someone’s having, find other ways to cater to why the problematic player plays that way.

Divide and Conquer

I can’t stress enough the mistake it is to increase the difficulty of the game to cater to the power level of an overpowered character. You’re much better off thinking of the party as two parties: The overbearing PC, and the rest of the party. It’s a different kind of balancing act, because you’ll need to shift the formula of the encounters. We’ll call them the A challenge, for the overbearing PC, and the B challenge, for everyone else.

Not every encounter needs to be split in this way. Every third to fifth adds the variety needed to get the spotlight off the overbearing PC. Plot them like Mario Party 1 vs 3 minigames. Sometimes the 1 player gets the advantage. Sometimes the 1 player is at the mercy of the other 3.

Sometimes the A challenge gets all the attention. The party needs to fight a necromancer and his horde of undead. The overbearing PC takes on the necromancer to stop the influx of undead, the party needs to cull the horde to minimize the damage of unchecked undead.

Sometimes the B challenge is the main event. A corrupted druid in a stone cell calls to the plant life outside, and only the overbearing PC can hold them off. They play a skill challenge mini game against the plants beating down the door while the PCs fight the BBEG druid.

The same works for roleplaying encounters. The silver tongued player is the only one captivating enough to distract the queen’s bodyguard while the rest of the party present evidence to convince her to call off her army.

Channel Your Feelings

Bottling your frustration shakes that soda until you can’t take the cap off without an eruption. Share your feelings. A great way to do so is through story telling. And wouldn’t you know it, roleplaying games tell stories!

There’s a brilliant sequence in Lego Batman 2: DC Super Heroes that shows the power imbalance between Superman and Batman.

After villains destroy the Batcave, trapping Superman, Batman, and Robin inside, the three heroes must manually ascend a deep pit to reach Wayne Manner. Batman and Robin jump from platform to platform, use their individual gadgets to solve puzzles and unlock new avenues to reach the top. Superman flies. The whole way. I love that the designers didn’t write Superman out in a cut scene. He’s a fully playable character in the level. Occasionally, he uses one of his powers to help Batman and Robin. But mostly, Superman hovers at the top of the screen as a constant reminder of how his powers trivialize Batman’s struggles.

Player actions form puzzle pieces. We put the pieces together and make the picture.

So if one player succeeds in one roll what it takes the other players forever to accomplish over multiple attempts and failures, we have the power to contextualize that however we feel makes the most interesting story. Quickly move on from the player who succeeds, but detail the struggles of the other players, the fearful consequences they narrowly avoid, and their sense of accomplishment when they earn the big victory. Superman may get to the top faster, but Batman’s journey was more interesting.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

For those unfamiliar with the greatest Canadian rescue dogs since The Littlest Hobo, Paw Patrol is a an animated action series for preschool children in which a rapid deployment team of dogs take on the role of every emergency service in fictional Adventure Bay. One of those pups is Marshall, a firefighter. He fights fires. Twice. Now in its eighth season of 40+ stories per season, Marshall, the team’s -and I cannot stress this enough- fire fighter, only ever fought fires in the season 1 episode Pups Fight Fire (when the fire fighter training course accidentally catches fire), and the season 5 episode Ultimate Rescue: Pups Save the Movie Monster. I assume television standard and practices banned fire emergencies from preschool programing for being too intense after the first episode, and Spin Master (owners of Patrol Patrol) pulled some strings to make the episode promoting the $100 Ultimate Fire Truck playset possible.

O.K…?

Armed with that knowledge, think back on some of the players you’ve had at your table. The ones whose favourite character type is “unexpected”. Players who build characters so passionately that, regardless of functionality, they love their new PC. Different players play the game in different ways and for different reasons, and as GMs, we facilitate play. As such, we can learn a lot about how to incorporate awkward character choices into our campaigns from a TV show with a character who’s specialty is… I don’t want to say “useless”, but…

Here are ways Paw Patrol seamlessly fit a misfit onto its cast, and what we can learn from them as GMs:

Share The Spotlight

Every episode of Paw Patrol includes a running gag in which Marshall trips, crashes into the pups, and then makes a pun. Although every pup has a unique personality and quirk, only Marshall has a running gag. Hardly anyone notices that the fire fighter rarely fights fires, but if an episode skipped the Marshall pratfall, children would riot.

A PC is more than the sum of its ABCs.

When one of your players introduces their character, what stands out? That’s what the player wants to emphasize. It might not be anything about their build. It might not even be what they say but how they say it.

Taking the Adventurous cast for example, Cathy emphasized Karrock’s size and awkwardness. When I introduced Xavier, I had a voice and catchphrases ready. Even if we stumbled through every encounter, as long as I got a chance to mug for the table, and Karrock’s size factored into the session in some way, we were happy. In fact, after we beat up some halfling bandits, Crystal handwaved the size restrictions and told Cathy that Karrock could wear one of their chain shirts. In Cathy’s mind, the bump to AC did not make up for the absurdity of Karrock squeezing into a shirt made for a halfling, and she quietly left the loot off her character sheet.

If a PC went all session without a chance to shine, good news: As GMs, we control the spotlight. Even if you’re running a system with social encounters as crunchy as its combat rules, every roleplaying game leaves room for dice-free scenes. If a PC was off for this session, circle back to them before the end of the night to make them look good. And if a PC is consistently off all campaign, try to work in a reoccurring way to make sure the player’s having a good time.

Support Role Opportunities

If Paw Patrol never puts out fires, what’s Marshall do on missions? Mostly, he uses his ladder. Which might have its uses, if he could remove the ladder from his firetruck, and there wasn’t another pup with a helicopter. Logistically, most missions that Ryder says he “needs” Marshall, Skye could handle better. But in a world where kids watch the show clutching their favourite pup’s stuffy, and toy stores sell wave after wave of all six main characters, every pup gets an equal number of missions across the season. Marshall gets the low hanging missions while Skye’s saved for the higher stakes.

At our tables, my fellow GMs, the kids clutching stuffies are our players, clutching their expectations to have a fun time. And the toy stores, they’re our players too. Their character sheets, personalized miniatures, and accessories are their toys they’re looking to move. And if there’s a player at the table whose PC is an acceptable choice for certain tasks but never the best choice, go with the second best choice. There’s a million reasons why we’d call on the bard with less religious knowhow than the cleric to make the roll. We know that it’s because this adventure in the ancient temple gave the cleric plenty of opportunities to roll Religion already, but we can come up with an excuse for players who need one.

Use The Same Tools For Different Jobs

In addition to a firetruck, Marshall’s standard fire fighting kit includes a pup pack with a water cannon. When he’s not using it to put out fires (which, again, he almost never does), he uses it to cool down his warm friends, water plants, or fire another liquid, like paint or tomato sauce.

Switching gears from a children’s cartoon to a Broadway musical, there’s a magnificent moment in Come From Away that makes me think of GMing. Come From Away is about the 7000 people airborne on 9/11 who were redirected to Gander, Newfoundland when the U.S. airspace shut down. These being international flights, not everyone spoke English, and were not communicated why they were being ushered around a remote Canadian town. A local communicates with a Swahiliphone family through the family’s Swahili Bible. Noting the universality of the Bible’s chapter and verse annotations, the local quotes Philippians 4:6 — Be anxious for nothing, which they look up and understand.

When I GM, context is king. I don’t care if I asked for a Linguistics check, if a player can contextually justify how they’d use a Religion check to solve the issue, I’m letting them roll it. In fact, the player doesn’t even need to come up with the idea. If the player whose Vampire Hunter PC in my campaign without vampires (which, for sake of argument, I warned them and they chose to stay the course) can’t figure out what to do in town, I might suggest they help at a local kitchen, “knowing as much as you do about garlic.”

Multiple (Lesser) Talents

In addition to (not) fighting fires, Marshall also serves Adventure Bay as a medic. On a show where no one gets seriously hurt. Truly, 100% of the times Marshall wears his EMP outfit, he helps someone with “just a sprain”.

Every party needs a potion mule. Every group needs a note taker, or initiative tracker. In addition to the role the player and their PC intended to fill, what other ways can they contribute?

Now, don’t drop every menial task on them, or come up with busy work to distract them. But if they can contribute in a way they genuinely enjoy, be it as a player or in character, that will improve everyone’s session.

When They Shine, They Shine

For all the fun we’ve had at the expense of Marshall for rarely fighting fires, rarely ≠ never.

Go get’em, Marshall!

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Scarlett, now 6, always had an incredible imagination, but she balked at structured games. She couldn’t handle Snakes & Ladders, with all its precise counting, waiting her turn, and the spaces being ordered in a way that she didn’t agree with. She did love game components. For years, we played Zombie Tower 3D, stripped of the rules. Effectively, we turned the game into a cooperative imagination story, so close to the tabletop RPG experience. I worried that taking that and adding rules might spoil what fun she found in games. However, after playing through an entire My Little Scythe game (and her even asking to paint the unpainted miniatures in the game), I felt like we could take the next step.

The Beginner Box

I’ve talked a lot about making plans for Scarlett’s first RPG experience over the last year. Maybe longer. I even bought 9^th Level Games’ Excellent Princess RPG, The Excellents, thinking that would be the game I used to introduce her to RPGs. However, I ended up using my Pathfinder 2e Beginner Box to play Pathfinder 2e with her.

Why The Beginner Box?

To Scarlett, games come in a box. They have tangible components, a board, and cards. Of course, I could have gathered all of that and presented her The Excellents as my own RPG boxed set. But The Beginner Box already contains all of the components I would need to track down. Plus, it’s a game I already know well. While the topic of The Excellents seemed like the best choice when Scarlett and I finished Netflix’s She-Ra series, a year of shows like Trollhunters, Dragon Prince and the How To Train Your Dragon series moved the needly of her interests towards a Pathfinder setting.

Preparation

Despite writing the Know Direction Network’s GM advice blog, unless I’m mistaken, I hadn’t GMed since 2019’s Mimips 11. And my last in-person game? My fellow GMs, I couldn’t even tell you. So I literally dusted off my GMing supplies for this game, which included:

• The Beginner Box: The adventure, and all of the accessories I need to run it;
• Pathfinder Dice Tray: Giving a novice dice roller a target for her rolls saves time chasing dice that roll off the table, and lets me dictate where the dice end up so I can see her results;
• My dice: For my rolls;
• Tube of 7 gaming dice sets in all of the colours of the rainbow: For Scarlett’s rolls;
• WizKid’s Wardlings miniatures: For Scarlett’s character(s);
• Bestiary Battle Cards: To quickly reference the monster stats;
• NPC Codex Pawn Box: For NPC standees, and if Scarlett would rather play an adult PC;
• Starfinder Alien Archive Pawn Box.

Starfinder Alien Archive Pawn Box?

The first encounter in the Bestiary Box adventure pits the PCs against giant rats in the basement. On the one hand, a classic. On the other hand, a cliché. Furthermore, Scarlett is extremely empathetic to living creatures, even rats and bugs. Introducing RPGs to her by asking her to kill a bunch of animals risked alienating her. Plus, again, she’s used to stuff like Trollhunters. Telling her we’re playing a game that brings her into a fantasy world and lets her imagination run wild, then showing her rats? It’s practically false advertising.

So I thought the Starfinder Alien Archive Pawn Box would provide a fun skin substitute for the rat stats. I found some flaming spiders which worked perfectly. Now instead of a cautious shop keeper asking the PCs to investigate strangeness in her cellar, a panicked shop keeper ran out to the street to find anyone to help with her spontaneous basement fire, only for the PCs to get more than they expected.

Pathfinder with Scarlett

Although the game had its ups, downs, and :Os, overall the game went well.

Successes

The ups.

Fun!

The biggest success was the fun we had along the way. She was engaged, followed the action, and thought like characters in the situations I described. For example, when she encountered the fire spiders, she asked to use cold against them. The pregenerated wizard can cast cone of cold. I explained that using the spell used it up, which took some reminding for it to sink it, but at least she got the gist and didn’t argue against the idea.

Sometimes she overstepped and tried to dictate how NPCs reacted to her actions. Some GMs might suggest giving over narrative control. I didn’t. Because Scarlett struggled with structure in other games, I used this opportunity to set boundaries and reinforce what she controlled, and what she needed to react to.

She took the structure well, and even laughing explained how excited she was.

Teachable Moments

In addition to teaching structure, we practiced Scarlett’s math and other practical skills. I kept the PC stat blocks on my side of the table, but she had the dice. When she had an idea, I told her the bonuses tied to the rules, the effects of success, and contextualized the likelihood she succeeded. For example, if she attempted an action the character excelled at (like being acrobatic with her rogue), I told her her bonus, then said “that’s really good. You don’t even have to roll very high, because you’re so good at this”.

I tried to use context to inform her choices. Like when her fighter got hurt and she wanted to attack on her cleric’s turn. “Sure, you can do that. You will need to roll high, though. Your cleric is OK with a weapon, but better at helpful spells, like healing.” If she didn’t take my suggestion, I dropped it and let her go with her idea. After all, we roll dice because the game has odds, not absolutes. If she expressed concern, I reminded her of the previous decision that got her there. Like if she was nervous her injured character was in trouble, I reminded her that she had the option to heal, maybe consider it next turn. But, again, as long as she understood what her options were, I let her dictate her actions, and her dice dictate her successes.

Miniature Options

Letting Scarlett choose between a variety of miniatures was the right call. It solidified up front that her choices mattered, and the game reflected her choices.

She went with the Wardlings, casting Boy Cleric as the cleric (using the Kyra pregen, named Justin), and Winged Snake as the fighter (using the Valeros pregen, renamed Shatter Master). Finally, she asked if she could use a Light Fury toy too. I said yes, a gestalt of the rogue and wizard (using the better of the Merisiel and Ezren’s stats, and named Moon Gem).

Struggles

The downs.

Unexpected Triggers

I changed the adventure to suit her personality. I also changed my descriptions to be more encouraging and less visceral. All of that I expected.

I completely neglected to consider how horrifying the Sin Spawn looks.

Without thinking, I brought my supplies to the table. Scarlett almost reneged on playing with me when she saw the cover of the Bestiary Battle Cards. She may be used to more fantastic monsters than giant rats, but she’s not desensitized to horror. I put the Bestiary Battle Cards away and carefully examined the art she’d be exposed to before returning to run the game.

Scheduling

You know how I know I gave Scarlett the full RPG experience? We had trouble scheduling future sessions.

The problem, unfortunately is my 4 year old, Abigail. The more fun Scarlett and I had playing the game, the more Abigail wanted in. And giving her an assistant GM job didn’t work. She wanted to do what Scarlett and I were doing, and didn’t understand how her interpretation of what we were doing wasn’t what we were doing, or fun for us.

Which breaks my heart. Adapting the game to Abigail denies Scarlett the experience she enjoyed. Giving Scarlett the experience she enjoyed means hiding from Abigail, because simply asking her not to participate doesn’t work. The ideal situation would be me playing with Scarlett, and Tina playing with Abigail, but in the rare instances where Tina and I are both free, we plan family activities. Abigail does enough self-directed play when Tina and I are adulting. She takes it personality if we ask her to entertain herself while her sister gets time with one of her parents.

Honestly, the root of this “issue” is that we’re a close family who enjoys doing activities together. Obviously I’m happy with that , even if it comes at the expense of getting to share a passion of mine with the one of my two daughters old enough to participate and appreciate it.

Why Did I Run A Printed Adventure?

“Daddy, stop looking at the book. It’s more fun when you use your imagination.”

Actual quote.

Which, again, is not a universal truth. Many GMs bring a published adventure to live. I am not one of those GMs. In order of fun experiences for me and my players, it goes: fully improvised adventure based on thoughts I’ve had > running a short published adventure I’m familiar with > running a short published adventure I’m not familiar with > running a long published adventure, regardless of familiarity.

I’m very aware of my shortcomings GMing published content. It was still funny to hear it from the mouth of babes.

Surprises

The :O s.

Dice

I bought that rainbow tube of dice at Gen Con 2018, hoping one day to give it to my daughters. Abigail has played with them a few times over the years, having fun rolling them through a dice tower. But when it came to roleplaying with them, we quickly started using the Beginner Box dice instead. Colour-coding the dice to the character sheets, and identifying the dice by colour, ended up being a huge boon for Scarlett, who’s number and letter recognition skills are still emergent.

Play Continues

Perram often says that playing an RPG doesn’t start when you sit at the table, it starts when you’re reading the rulebook. By that same token, the game doesn’t end just because we’re not at the table. After the session, Scarlett asked to play with the Boy Cleric and Winged Snake miniatures. They and her Light Fury toy went on adventures as Justin, Shatter Master, and Moon Gem. It was like the session was watching an episode of a cartoon, and between sessions was playing with the show’s action figures.

Seeing Scarlett hatch a new way to play with her imagination was the most rewarding takeaway from the entire experience.

Overall

It was great GMing for the first time in forever, and even better seeing Scarlett drawn into the game. We’ve played four sessions so far. I’d like to introduce her to Essence20 soon, and have her see G.I. JOE through my eyes.

Once we figure out how Abby can participate in a way that’s fun for everyone, I think we’ll have our new favourite family pastime.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

How Different Alignments Get Along

One of my favourite tools as a GM is the alignment system. It’s so easy to glace at a couple of letters at the top of a statblock and know what could make that NPC tick. The idea of alignment has been critiqued as antiquated and predeterministic in recent years, but I love it as a guideline that narrows down and inspires ideas for a character’s personality. If an encounter is running dry and rote, time to emphasize one of the NPCs’ personality. And if I didn’t prepare anything, I use their alignment as my guide.

I also subscribe to the idea of capital vs miniscule letters in alignment. Like lawful good vs Lawful good vs LAWFUL good. All three would be characters who respect the rules and want the best, but one might bend a rule, one won’t, and one definitely won’t and will have words with you if you do.

The Suicide Squad masterfully uses alignment. It’s baked into the concept. Incarcerated villains can reduce their sentences by agreeing to dangerous missions for good. The movie’s most vile character might not even be evil. Ruthless Amanda Waller recruits Task Force X (a.k.a. The Suicide Squad), and manages their assignments. Almost all of the character’s conflicts with the squad are not questions of right or wrong, good or evil. They’re about following orders. Her orders. She’s tyrannically LAWFUL neutral. When she veers towards evil, its with the farsighted belief that the ends justify the means.

Almost generically good Rick Flagg gets along with everyone except Waller. Unlike in the first Suicide Squad film, Rick Flagg doesn’t antagonize the villains under his command. He has a “we’re all in this together” attitude, and even develops friendships with some of them. He has a history with Idris Alba’s Bloodsport that predates Bloodsport’s crimes. When Flagg and Bloodsport cross paths again, despite their alignments, they’re immediately comfortable with one another. The friendship rekindles. In another context, they’d probably talk about the choices each has made. But given the circumstances of the movie, it makes sense that the two characters of opposing alignments would see beyond that and just enjoy each other.

If you’ve seen the film, I recommend you assign Pathfinder alignments to the major characters, and then think about the dynamics of their relationships with one another. You’ll find good and evil getting along, as well as lawful and chaotic. You’ll find lawful not getting along with lawful. The Suicide Squad highlights the storytelling depth and possibilities of Pathfinder’s alignment system.

An Imperfect World

In Suicide Squad, Amanda Waller works with a team of generically Hollywood technicians, in a room of flawless technology. If you remember any of those scenes, it’s on the strength of Viola Davis’ performance.

Waller’s command center in The Suicide Squad is rougher. And that makes every scene in the command center stand out. It’s not just because of the writing, but the presentation as well.

The characters in the room in the sequel are a mix of ages, genders, and body types. Even if you don’t catch their names, you can describe them. Not just physically, but their physical distinction makes it easier to notice and follow which character does what job on the team.

Furthermore, there’s a wonderful layer of realistic incompetence to how the team works. When moments go wrong on the mission, the command team can’t even figure out where to point the finger. The bureaucracy of the team makes it more likely that details were missed and a task went unintentionally unassigned, because everyone had tunnel vision on their own assignments.

Finally, there’s the technology. They don’t all operate tablets and computer with the almost magical capacity to do what needs to be done. There’s a mix of digital and analog technology, and the choice for how the technology is presented shows forethought and greater understanding of how the world works.

All this adds up to a believable, lived-in world. By spending a little time defining the background characters and scenery, the world feels more real. The next time you have a group of faceless NPCs, throw a few details out there to separate them. Give one of the five mechanically identical gnolls a mullet, see how much more attention the players give him.

Big Wins and Big Losses

The fight scenes in The Suicide Squad play out like tabletop RPG encounters. They take turns focusing on individual character contributions, with an emphasis on the character’s biggest successes and failures. You can tell a critical hit from a regular hit, and a regular miss from a critical fumble. Despite all of the chaos of the scenes, not only is it clear what the characters are doing, but it’s clear how the characters feel.

Make it your goal as a GM to run combats as flavourful and personal as The Suicide Squad fight scenes. If the gnoll with the mullet dies, turn to the player who had the most to say about the gnoll’s hairdon’t and give them a moment to react. If the Critical Fumble deck has the wizard blast the party rogue with Scorching Ray by mistake, let them banter about the gaff.

Additionally, the movie balances high level encounters with low level encounters. There are two noteworthy fights towards the middle of the movie in which members of the Suicide Squad tear through a bunch of NPCs. They’re fun scenes, but they also serve a purpose. The characters teach each other and the audience what they can do.

We as GMs can use these kinds of meat grinder encounters (where the players are the grinder, not the meat) to set a baseline so we know, practically, the areas in which our players’ characters excel. Then, when it’s time to challenge the PCs, we know their go-to tactics and can adjust our NPC defenses against them.

In Conclusion

I really liked The Suicide Squad. You may have heard Cathy describe my games as fun but with a tendency for my descriptions to disturb her. That’s because the tone of my games lines up with the tone of The Suicide Squad better than most media I can think of. Maybe that’s why I left theatres in such a mood to GM. Any media that gets me in the mood to game holds a special place in my heart.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

It’s an excellent interview, and a well-structured argument. However, I felt it left a pretty big unanswered question:

How?

Adding depth and complexity to areas the game and setting expect to be simple is not as easy as it might seem. Let me use Star Wars to explain.

The Complex Stormtrooper Issue

In the first act of The Force Awakens, we meet Finn (designation FN-2187 at the time). After witnessing a fellow First Order stormtrooper die, FN-2187 grew a conscience. He didn’t fire when ordered to, so his commanding officer, Captain Phasma, tells him to report for reconditioning. This leads to us discovering that many, if not most, stormtroopers are indoctrinated and brainwashed children kidnapped by the First Order. It really paints stormtroopers in a different, more complex and sympathetic light. They are as much the victims of First Order tyranny as our heroes

And then Finn kills a bunch of them. Not only does he have no issue killing stormtroopers, he screams “Yeah!” and “Did you see that?” excitedly when he blows up a turret.

Now, every Star Wars film features scenes like this, right down to heroes celebrating blowing up stormtroopers. But Force Awakens recontextualized stormtroopers, adding complexity, but did not follow through with changing how Star Wars uses stormtroopers in movies.

Sympathy for the Enemy

Our NPCs don’t automatically deserve to die. Not even the ones who set out to kill our PCs. They can be victims of circumstance, ignorant but able to learn, under the influence of a greater evil, or just outmatched by the protagonists of the campaign. They often aren’t afforded consideration, just assumed to be faceless obstacles in the adventure’s path. Could Be Worse had a classic comic illustrating this idea.

Over the years, Paizo’s settings evolved through its storytelling in published adventures to include more complex societies of humanoids traditionally cast as villains, goblins and orcs primarily. Unfortunately, the rules didn’t evolve at quite the same pace for dealing with foes. Like in Star Wars movies, characters in tabletop RPGs like Starfinder and both editions of Pathfinder solve problems by killing their enemies. They punish our players for trying to spare their enemies.

In 1^st edition, using a melee weapon that deals lethal damage to deal nonlethal damage instead came with a hefty –4 penalty on the attack roll. 2e shows more compassion, reducing the penalty to -2. Even still, in both cases, our players need to invest in options specifically to deliver nonlethal damage or sacrifice combat efficiency.

How do we deal with players who don’t want to kill their enemies in such a lethal game?

Making A Less Lethal Game

Here are a few mechanical solutions to Pathfinder’s tendency towards lethal force.

Knocking Out A Creature, the 5e Way

Here’s a first! I’m recommending retrofitting a D&D 5e mechanic.

According to page 79 of the 5e’s D&D Basic Rules PDF, any rule can be nonlethal if the attacker just wills it to be, even after rolling to hit and damage:

Knocking a Creature Out
Sometimes an attacker wants to incapacitate a foe, rather than deal a killing blow. When an attacker reduces a creature to 0 hit points with a melee attack, the attacker can knock the creature out.  The attacker can make this choice the instant the damage is dealt. The creature falls unconscious and is stable.

It’s simple, easy to imagine that the attacker pulls his punch at the last minute, and can even be handled retroactively. After combat, we can simply ask our players “were you all fighting to kill, or just knock out?” and proceed accordingly.

No Penalty for Nonlethal Attacks

Another simple solution is to remove the penalty for choosing to deal nonlethal damage with a lethal weapon.

Now, both this and the above suggestion have the issue of negating existing options. I doubt anyone is building a monk specifically because the Powerful Fist monk class feature lets them ignore the -2 penalty for nonlethal attacks, but equipment like the sap only exists because it has the nonlethal trait.

Hero Point for Using Nonlethal Attacks

Instead of finding ways around the penalty for making nonlethal attacks with lethal weapons, an alternative is to reward characters who choose to let their enemies live. As accepting a penalty on attacks for the sake of an enemy’s life could be seen as a heroic sacrifice, a Hero Point feels like an appropriate reward.

Obviously we can’t give our players Hero Points every time they take a -2 on an attack, so here are a few suggestions for implementing this idea:

• Reward a Hero Point to any PC who deals nonlethal damage to enemies in a low or trivial threat encounter;
• If a PC uses Sense Motive or Recall Knowledge during combat, provide them context as to whether their opponents deserve to be spared. Reward a Hero Point to any PC who deals nonlethal damage to enemies these checks determine don’t deserve to die;
• In encounters with groups of enemies whose level is lower than the party, occasionally assign one at random as innocent. If, through roleplaying, skill checks, or mechanics like the champion’s Sense Evil class feat, the PC’s determine the innocence of this enemy and deliberately spare them, reward each PC a Hero Point.

Although these mechanical suggestions help deal with the lethality of Pathfinder’s rules, there are other ramifications of sparing enemy lives.

The Enemy’s Through, What Do We Do?

Let’s say our players do try to spare lives as often as possible, that backs them into one of two corners:

Corner 1: The PCs with Prisoners Dilemma

PCs aren’t equipped to deal with unconscious or bound enemies. If they capture every enemy, in most adventures that would lead to dozens of hostile prisoners under their care.

This can lead to interesting narratives. The prisoners can heckle the PCs like their own private Statler and Waldorf, only to beg for mercy with sob stories when it’s brought up that the PCs could still kill them. And if the campaign was based around a party of bounty hunters tasked with bringing targets back alive, our players and us GMs alike would buy into the logistic issues as part of the fun. But those logistics became nightmarish when taking a typical adventure and aiming to play it unchanged except for more sympathetic enemies.

Corner 2: The Turn Undead Issue

Pre-Pathfinder editions of D&D featured a rule where clerics could make undead run away. You know, making them someone else’s problem. Maybe someone without access to magic and decent armor and weapon proficiencies.

Similarly, dealing nonlethal damage to enemies and then leaving them unconscious isn’t dealing with them in a more humane way. It’s leaving them to hopefully learn a lesson, possibly face harsh punishment by their evil masters, and maybe leaving them to just keep people evil. And, as the Core Rulebook puts it:

Just to be clear, the CRB’s advice continues beyond “Avoid playing”

Going back to Nazis, there’s a scene in Saving Private Ryan where one of the American soldiers feels bad for a defenseless Nazi and lets him live. That Nazi later kills that American soldier, the movie’s way of saying “That’s not how war works.” Whether you agree with Saving Private Ryan’s take on the situation or not, my fellow GMs, doesn’t matter as much as if any of your players do. You might be surprised how quickly one player’s “We can’t just let them live” turns into a whole table’s “It’s for the best” or “Our hands are tied” mercy murder.

Speaking of tied hands…

Captives And Your Campaign

Fantasy RPG problems require fantastic solutions. Such as:

Portable Prisons

Going back to Chris Sims’ interview, his fourth rule was “Some Nazis went to prison”. I outlined some of the ways bringing captives to prison can disrupt a campaign. So we’re just going to have to bring prison to the captives!

Below are a few ideas for magic items for capturing enemies:

• Bag of Holding Cells: Just like the classic magic item, but instead of measuring a bag’s capacity in bulk, it’s measured in bodies.
• The Face Book: A book of illustrations akin to wanted posters or police sketches. But instead of the subjects in the illustrations being criminals at large, they’re the faces of the souls temporarily contained in the book.
• Charm Bracers: How do I describe this? Imagine if every person you handcuffed transformed into a stone that bejeweled the cuffs like a charm bracelet.

Separating The Wheat From The Chaff

In Conan The Adventurer, an animated series from the 90s that managed to make Conan The Barbarian kid-friendly, Conan and his friends fought extradimensional serpents masquerading as humans. The star metal his sword was forged from banished the evil serpent men back into another dimension. Effectively, he didn’t kill anyone. Just as he thrust his sword an enemy’s way, the evil was sucked out of them.

Similarly, in the early Sonic The Hedgehog games, whenever Sonic defeated one of the evil robots he faced, the innocent creature forced to pilot it hoped away to safety.

Depending on the nature of the enemies in your campaigns, my fellow GMs, you can have the evil sucked out of them upon defeat, or the good rise to the surface.

Time To Reflect

Force Awakens tries to get us to care about the tragedy of being a stormtrooper while also getting us to cheer for the casual deaths of stormtroopers. Had the movie at least shown Finn trying to minimize stormtrooper deaths, or had him reflect on what he’s done, the few minutes between one dead stormtrooper rocking him to the core and hundreds of stormtroopers dead at his hands not phasing him wouldn’t have felt so jarring.

Sometimes, all our players need to deal with the complexity of our campaigns is a minute for their characters to express their feelings.

In Conclusion

A side effect of adding complexity to the cultures of your creatures is added complexity to your game. Ignoring this side effect risks undermining the good work the added depth brings to your game, and the hobby as a whole. Addressing it makes your game stronger, and the experience of everyone at the table better because of it.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Banner Art: Showing Mercy by Marta Danecka

Solar Opposites is an American adult animated sitcom, created by Mike McMahan and Justin Roiland (co-creator of Rick and Morty, and the voice of Rick Sanchez). It follows a family of aliens stranded on Earth, struggling to adapt to life on another planet and trying to solve all of their problems with over the top sci-fi gadgetry.

75% of the time.

The other 25% of the time, Solar Opposites follows a lawless society of resource starved humans, most of whom were shrunk and inserted into this prison terrarium for inconveniencing Yumyulack, one of the above aliens.

I bring this up because it shows how we can run two campaigns at once, giving us time to plan for and build tension for one by occasionally switching to the other. Solar Opposites weaves between two full casts of characters, with different plots, storytelling styles, and perspectives in, technically, the same world. And so can you!

The Subcampaign

The Subcampaign is a style of running two long term campaigns alternately. Unlike running occasional one-offs, the subcampaign generally includes the same group of players, in the same game space, on the same schedule. The games take place in the same setting, with overlapping timelines, but barely crossing paths. And usually, the same GM runs both the campaign and the subcampaign.

Why?

You might think of your perfectly stable ongoing campaign and wonder why anyone would want to slit it up.

A/B Storytelling

Most serialized fiction, especially ensemble shows, juggle two plots. The plot that gets the spotlight is the A plot. The episode title refers to this plot. Commercials for the episode focus on this plot. The B plot gets less attention. Sometimes, it only exists to cut away from dramatic highs during the A plot, or to flesh out secondary characters. Occasionally, the B plot exists to set up the A plot of a later episode, often an important one.

For example, in the Gravity Falls episode The Inconveniencing, the A plot sees Dipper and Mable trapped in a haunted abandoned convenience store. The B plot is about Stan not wanting to watch a certain TV show, but he can’t be bothered to get up to find the remote or change the channel manually. I like this example not only because there’s clearly a high stakes plot and a low stakes plot, but the two plots divide the show’s supernatural family horromedy genre in two as well.

Solar Opposites handles the A/B plot divine in a unique way for several reasons. Firstly, the first view episodes that introduce The Wall (the terrarium) play out like typical episodes, occasionally cutting from Yumyulack’s carefree day to the nightmare scenario he thoughtlessly created. At first they’re cutaway gags. Then a subplot. Then, the Wall gets full episodes dedicated to it, with the main characters of the series playing incidental roles in the background.

Secondly, the episodes that follow the alien family tend to be one and done. Even if they kill a bunch of people and destroy a lot of property, the status quo resets by their next episode. The opposite is true of episodes set in The Wall. Serialized storytelling and an emphasis on continuity define these episodes. Actions have consequences. It would be like if your A campaign was Carrion Crown, but your B campaign was Hell’s Rebels.

ALL The Toys

Can’t decide which of two Adventure Paths your group wants to run? Run them both! Players have an idea for other characters? Don’t make them choose! Want a variety of tones but don’t want your adventure to feel tonally scattered? Compartmentalize them in separate stories! Heck, if you want to try 2e but don’t want to give up 1e, run a 2e B campaign. Or a 1e swan song B campaign.

As a player, I know that my character concepts fall into either characters I could play for years, and ideas that I’m fascinated by. I’d appreciate the opportunity to flex both muscles alternately.

Breathing Room

There are cliff-hangers, then there are season finale cliff-hangers.

Some mysteries and moments benefit from time to percolate. And instead of inundating your players with terrifying prospects at the end of every session, mix it up with some easier to digest ideas to end some sessions, and the odd harder to swallow revelation every few sessions, before switching campaigns for a week.

Similarly, if the campaign doesn’t go according to your plans -say a setup encounter before a boss fight wipes out the party’s resources, or the players dominate it and look like they’re ready to steamroll your big bad- and you need a little more time to consider the next step, time to switch gears!

Keeping Your Chocolate Out Of Your Peanut Butter

While the Pathfinder campaign setting gets praised for its melting pot approach to fantasy tropes and having a place for any campaign style you could ask for, when the extremes mix, campaign styles get lost. I like misfit characters more than most, but even I acknowledge that a Numerian jetpack barbarian messes with the tone of a Dracula-analogue campaign in the Immortal Principality of Ustalav.

Two concurrent campaigns means two opportunities to explore different areas of the same world, and take options from the same pool in different directions.

A Place To Say Yes, And A Place To Say No

Have you ever played a long game of Sim City, carefully working towards your goals and addressing the city’s needs. Then one day you sit down and are in a more chaotic mood, so you unleash monster attacks? That’s fine in a game with save points, but in a linear campaign, being in a different mood can wreak havoc.

If you and your players can’t agree on how generous the campaign should be when it comes to available options, a compromise could be to let you have the tighter campaign you feel you need to tell the story you have in mind, with the promise that every few sessions they get the gonzo campaign where their sharkfolk inventor can fly around the desert tossing villains into their rotary saw golems.

How?

Obviously convince, now you need to know how.

1. Set A / B Expectations

Since the main reason to run two campaigns is to serve two different masters, and offer two different experiences, you and your group need to work out what two experiences you want. Generally casual play that steps into long form storytelling from time to time? A mythic adventure that switches to street level to remind your super heroes what the life of the average citizen looks like? A serious, high stakes political drama intercut with beer and pretzel casual gaming?

2. Work Out A Schedule

What is the ratio of main campaign to subcampaign? How often will you shift, and when?

What causes a shift? Is it based on a real world calendar? Does a dramatic high point in the A campaign trigger a B campaign session? Is it needs based, like players wanting extra time to update their characters when they level? Mood based, like “I think we can use a B session next week”? Or totally up to your whim?

Whatever schedule you set the switch to, it’s important to communicate to your players what that schedule is. If your group is OK showing up to your game with no idea which character and story they’ll be playing today, go with that. Odds are good that they’ll want at least a week head’s up to know what to expect.

3. Start Planning

Look into how serialized shows recap previous episodes, and use techniques like cue carding to make long term plans. If you want to run one of your campaigns at a faster pace, read up on Pathfinder Society’s Adventure Mode. If you’re running two homebrews, sort your ideas based on which campaign they fit into better. Read books and blogs by show runners who also ran their own spinoffs. The better you can craft your mind to think along the lines of what separates your two campaigns, the easier you’ll be able to juggle your A plot and your B plot.

4. Have Fun With It

Running two campaigns in the same world gives a great opportunity to setup moments in one campaign and pay them off in the other.

A PC in one campaign enters a weapon shop and is told they have weapons of all sorts, except for daggers, they’re sold out of daggers. Then, in the other campaign, the party encounters a cult of Pharasma that takes their god’s favoured weapon seriously.

In one campaign, the party faces a trolley problem scenario, and get to bask in the thanks of those they helped. Meanwhile, the party in the subcampaign deal with the repercussions of the people the A party neglected.

The B party starts a gun fight in a tavern. When the A party later visits that same tavern, the owner implemented a strict No Guns rule.

Every choice the party makes in one campaign is an opportunity for the party in the other campaign to see from another perspective.

Conclusion

Subcampaigns are not for everyone. But if you’re the type of GM who wants to run one type of campaign, but gets distracted by ideas of other campaigns, or runs a group with the player version of that problem, plan for it. Accommodate your need for the big idea you have, and the squirrel ideas that capture your attention from time to time. There are more ways to tell stories than just telling them one at a time.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

With other self-help books, however, the support structure doesn’t stop there. There’s Addiction Anonymous groups, obviously, for people trying to overcome their issues, yes. But writers have writing circles. Video game designers have game jams. Musicians have game jams.

Why do we as GMs take on all of the burden of growth, when there are thousands -dare I say millions- of us out there who can help us improve as GMs either through workshop or osmosis?

Game Masters Club

I’m proposing regular meet-ups of the areas Game Masters, Dungeon Masters, Narrators, etc. Regardless of system, we all tell stories, facilitate our friends’ fun, and literally make game nights happen. Even if at the end of the night, all we have in common is gaming and game mastery, that’s enough to start conversations, teach one another, and even learn about ourselves.

I’m proposing meat space meet-ups, maybe because Quebec announced plans to lower its state of emergency from orange to green province wide and I’m itching for socializing. Most of my ideas can be translated to online GM resource groups. In fact, many take cues from existing GM resource groups I’ve seen and participated in. However, I think there’s value in an area’s local Game Masters meeting in person.

A Place To Share

When we spend time with our fellow GMs, we improve as GMs by sharing.

Share Resources

One of my inspirations for GM Support Groups is the PFSprep.com. Formerly the [Pathfinder Society] GM Shared Prep Google Drive, PFSprep.com invites GMs who prep for Pathfinder organized play sessions to share the work they did online, creating a resource repository that spans over a decade of adventures run by hundreds of GMs.

Similarly, after longtime listener Majuba ran PFS #6–15: The Overflow Archives for my at PaizoCon 2015, I complimented him on the full colour, bound copy of the PDF he used to run the adventure. He offered to give me his copy, in case I ever ran it. This was shortly after the birth of my daughter, so while I accepted his offer with the intent to run it, the rate at which I GMed PFS took a nosedive shortly thereafter. I can say that from then on, whenever the topic of PFS came up with my local group, the first adventure I thought to run was Overflow Archives, specifically because I had Majuba’s printed copy.

Beyond adventures, there’s a whole industry dedicated to gaming aids that we GMs tend to take on the responsibility of buying. Condition indicators, range rulers, area of effect templates, flying bases, miniatures, maps, and more. The costs of these products add up, if they’re not prohibitively expensive. I know I’ve spent a lot of time on Litko.net for someone that’s never owned a Litko game accessory. But if a group of GMs was willing to go in on an order and split the cost of shipping, or even just knowing a fellow GM could make use out of a purchase I make, I would be more inclined to buy one.

Of course, that’s my old fashioned mindset of buying physical products and waiting for them to be shipped. If someone in your club is in on the 3D printing revolution, like Perram, you might be able to purchase game aids from them for a fraction of the cost, and no shipping.

Share Talents

Speaking of Perram, have you seen the latest pictures he’s shared of miniatures he’s painted? As my painting talents decline, his skyrocket. If I wanted to wow my players with an awesome mini, and I had access to Perram’s skills or miniatures, I could drop a boss monster on the table, pause for applause, then roll for initiative.

Someone I do have access to is Cathy. She doesn’t GM often, but when she does, it’s a production. Her original maps pop, because Cathy’s a talented artist with an eye for colour.

Now, if there’s no quid pro quo, you’ll find the most talented members of your group going, leaving you with a bunch of  hands full of gimmes and mouths full of  “much obliged”. However, a talent exchange encourages you to access your talents. What can you do that’s as valuable to Perram or Cathy as their maps and minis are to you? Are you especially good at logistics, and you’re willing to take over the scheduling of their sessions? Do you have a commanding voice and the ability to record readings of their boxed text? Like Batman, maybe your talent is money, and you can pay them for their efforts. Or maybe they just appreciate you as a GM and are willing to give you their time and talents in exchange for a seat at your table.

This is a touchier proposition, because of the ways certain parties can be taken for granted. But it’s also a likely evolution of such a club, and so it’s a logistic eventuality forward thinking clubs should plan for.

Share Experiences

Back to PFS, one of my favourite PaizoCon moments was after running a multitable special, a bunch of GMs who also ran it went across the street to the Denny’s to trade war stories. We’d all just run the same adventure in the same room, technically as fractions of the same shared session. But it wasn’t a shared experience until we got together and reflected on what we’d all just been through.

The image of Ernest Hemingway sitting down with Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein (literally, the header image for this article) is the goal of the GM group. Talented individuals sitting together in enraptured discussion over tea and snacks. I’m not saying I’m Ernest Hemingway, but I am saying Ernest Hemingway wouldn’t be Ernest Hemingway if not for the influences of Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein and the other members of the Stratford-on-Odeon writing circle.

If the group consists of GMs of different systems, you can talk about how the systems handle narrative control, player agency, rewards, storytelling, every aspect of the GM experience. Even how a different system frames the role of the GM can be valuable insight, especially coupled with the context of a GM who has run the game.

A Social Space

GMs discussing GMing together is certainly part of the purpose of a GM Support Group, but not the only one.

Vent

Sharing experiences is not just about talking about our best moments and big victories. We also get to lament our failures and release our frustrations with likeminded individuals. Sometimes all it takes to get over an annoying interaction with a player is to have someone say “Been there” rather than tell you what you did wrong. GMing is a lot about accommodating the players, and that’s at once the best part and the worst part of the job. Being in a setting where we as GMs aren’t outnumbered by players four, five, or six to one gives us perspective, and helps us avoid building up resentment for the players we have to accommodate more than others.

Us Time

Even if we’re not talking about our games, there’s a specific mindset that GMs have which we rarely get to share in. Say you dream of publishing the adventures you’ve written and run. Your players might encourage you to, whereas fellow GMs are more likely to have had the same thought and done the research. Instead of just “You really should,” you’ll hear “and here’s how.”

We can break off from the main group to run story rounds and other exercises to display and exercise our GMing skills, talk about the media that’s inspired our campaigns, or play board games that engages someone with a GM’s combination of creativity and social skills. A GM Support Group is the place where GMs get to be GMs as people, and not just GMs as the most important part of a game session.

Prestige

“Who are they?” a customer asks, noticing an engaged group of gamers in the back of the game store.

“That’s our GMs Club,” the store owner answers. “Anyone’s welcome to join them, as long as you’ve GMed a session in the store, or have a member vouch for you as a GM.”

You know how roleplaying games only need one GM for every five or six players, and yet it still feels like there’s a shortage of GMs in the world? If part of being a GM includes exclusive access to events at the game store, or invitation to private parties, you might suddenly have more players in your area willing to give GMing a try. You might question their motives, but getting a player to consider GMing is the first step to them becoming a fellow GM, regardless of why they took that step.

But How?

How do you create the GMing equivalent of a writing circle?

A Cool Name

Marketing! You’re not just a GM Support Club, you’re The Raven Spirit Guild. You’re The Pagemasters League. You’re The Secret Six (your secret is that only outsiders think there are just six of you). Would The Order of the Amber Die be as famous a gaming group if they didn’t have a cool name to go along with their epic reputation?

Once you have your cool name, spring for a cool logo. Something to include on your business cards, t-shirts, website and social media pages.

If you meet at a local game store, how intriguing would it be if their event calendar just lists “The Mysterious Masters” one day?

Reaching Out

Speaking of your local game store, that’s a great place to start. There’s value for a game store to be associated with the local GMs. The store knows which products to order based on the games that interest us as GMs. They know who to turn to if they want to start or improve an organized play league.

Alternately, you can approach multiple game stores and rotate meeting locations to accommodate GMs from further away or with restricted transportation options. Making your destination a rare treat means game stores can make a big deal about your visit. Instead of a group of GMs, you’re a band on tour.

Although there are advantages to meeting in a game store, it’s not the only possible meeting point. Restaurants and cafes with low turnover and a lot of small items on the menu might enjoy the regular customers. Bars, libraries, halls, community centers, and homes are also options, although they have higher costs and require greater trust. The ideal alternative to a game store is a cafe or restaurant owned by a local GM or their family, that’s both able to accommodate the group and could use your business.

Setting Expectations

Are you a casual gathering of anyone who sees themselves as a GM, or a members only club of GMs of a certain experience level? Are meetings free to attend or is there a fee? If there’s a fee, how transparent are you with where the money goes, and who handles the logistics? Is there a treasurer? Is every member assigned a role? Is one person in charge, or do all members that meet certain criteria get equal say? How do you settle disputes?

If you’re lawfully inclined, a charter that answers as many of the above questions as possible ahead of time saves time later. If you’re more of a chaotic spirit, it’s important to let people know that this is your club, and you will deal with situations as they arrive, following your gut instinct. Because situations will arrive.

Someone Taking Initiative

Most of all, for a GM club to happen, someone needs to make it happen. Luckily, as GMs, we’re used to taking charge, managing people, and getting things organized. Sure, a GM Support Group gives us a break from some of the hassles of being a GM, so what would we gain from taking on the hassle of starting a GM club? Because, deep down, that hassle is what makes GMing worth it. It’s what unites us as GMs. And if we’re already united, we might as well make the most of it.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

When I got into comics, I loved the feeling that these characters and this world extended forever in both directions. I was much more likely to pick up two issues of the same series if I got a sense of continuity, and might even follow those editors notes telling me what issue is being referenced by the characters.

RPG plotting has a lot in common with comic book plotting, with each session being like an issue, and a campaign being like a series. How much the story bleeds from one issue to the next, and from session to session, depends on how much the storyteller feels continuity matters.

Does Continuity Matter?

As a storytelling tool, continuity encourages greater investment as it rewards the audience for paying closer attention. In turn, it allows storytellers to tell more nuanced stories, as they expect their audience to know the plot and characters well enough to pick up on more subtle cues.

My GMing style loves continuity. Any given session, I mix in more ideas than the session needs. This allows me to call back to earlier ideas later on in a way that makes the world feel larger, and while the characters still feel important for having interacted with the new plot previously.

Like each issue of a comic, what happened in one session mattered, because continuity mattered.

Except…

Shmontinuity

Believe it or not, comic continuity isn’t the be all and/or the end all. Did you know Batman used to kill? Just about every issue ended with a dead villain at Batman’s hands. But later Batman didn’t say “I don’t kill anymore.” He said “I don’t kill, I’ve never killed, and if you suggest otherwise, I will trap you in a sewer, blocking the only exit, and if you die, that’s on you.”

Similarly, I’ve watched a lot of wrestling, WWE specifically, and it gets really selective with its continuity. Like, there’s a Triple H vs Undertaker match where they said Taker’s 19-0 at Wrestlemania, but he’s never faced Triple H. Except one of the 19 they just referenced in Triple H.

This is why nobody hates wrestling like wrestling fans…

Continuity-Mania

Maybe wrestling has it right. In a group where no one takes notes and you aren’t streaming to an audience, we are the final arbiters of continuity, my fellow GMs. If a moment sticks with you, bring it back. If you don’t remember all the details, odds are, neither do your players. As your campaign gets on, what you remember as the best parts is your brain highlighting what your players likely remember, and what it’s worth building off of.

That is, only if you aren’t interested in investing time in building and tracking a complex overarching story interwoven with meticulous subplots. Ultimately the role continuity plays in your campaign is up to you.

Continuity And You

Although similar, how comic books and pro wrestling use continuity does differ from how we use it in our campaigns, my fellow GMs. As global commercial entertainment enterprises authored by multiple storytellers and subject to more potentially derailing circumstances, continuity represents one of many more cogs in those machines.

Continuity isn’t necessary. Every session can stand alone. This is especially useful if your group meets infrequently, or the game is casual. And continuity is neither a good thing or a bad thing, it is simply a choice. Look no further than organized play to find examples of the strengths and weaknesses of low continuity (easy to jump into, but dangling threads never pay off) vs high continuity (evocative story telling based on complex worlds, but confusing if not played in the right order).

Here are some tips if you would like to add more long form storytelling to your campaigns:

Interesting but Irrelevant

While my players investigated a plot hook, I described a cold wind during a lull in the action, then had an iceberg fly over the city, and out of sight. They couldn’t fly at the time, and they were busy with more pressing matters. Months later, when they ended up on the flying iceberg for a dungeon crawl, it meant more to them because not only was it a cool (heh) set piece, they could get to the bottom of what was up with this flying iceberg.

Not All That Glitters Is Gold

I had zero plans for a flying iceberg when the session started, mind you. If they cleverly got up on it, it wouldn’t have been related to the plot they were pursuing but the time they spent off the path would impact what happened when they finally followed up on their current plot.
This may seem like a misstep, but it’s important. If everything interesting in front of the party pays off as soon as they investigate it, you will never be able to make long term plans. If you plant a plot seed and they dig it up immediately, no one gets a plot. They only get the seeds.

Unexpected Offscreen Evolutions

Once, at a concert featuring my neighbours band, I bumped into a friend I hadn’t seen in years. He introduced me to his girlfriend, someone I’d met with earlier that week about moving in with me as a roommate. Discovering a connection between two NPCs in my life (neither of which would mind me calling them that) made the moment that much more memorable.

This is especially useful if you start finding yourself overwhelmed with the number of minor plot threads left dangling. PCs level out of when an idea remains relevant to them, but combining two seemingly separate ideas into one ideazord increases the interest and gives you flexibility in how to implement it as a challenge, mechanically.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Back From The Dead

Along the same lines, the PCs aren’t the only characters that can have adventures are level up. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is the classic spin off story that explores what background characters are up to when the PCs aren’t looking. Wrath of Khan is another. A secondary character whose plot seemingly resolved remerges, experienced and changed. In a world with coming back from the dead, any past character is fair game to bring up, level up, and sick on the party.

Name Dropping

In the original edition of the first Star Wars trilogy, Jabba The Hutt gets mentioned in the first to movies, specifically in important conversations about Han Solo’s motivation. Had this character that originally went unseen for two movies not been hinted at, spending the first quarter of the last movie in the trilogy on a subplot about the character that has no impact on the rest of the trilogy’s plot (as in Rebels vs Empire) would have felt off. Instead, it kicked the last movie off by resolving one of the trilogy’s biggest curiosities.

I once introduced an NPC named Orwell in a campaign where the first session took place in a town called Orwell. “It’s named after me,” was all Orwell had to say to be immediately taken seriously as a high level NPC.

A Tool, Not A Burden

Of the homebrew campaigns I’ve concluded, I know the most satisfying were the ones that ended with a callback to prior events that snowballed in importance. However, that’s not the only way to ends a campaign.

The Avengers Earth’s Mightiest Heroes animated series loved to world build through continuity, but it’s series finale has Galactus show up and get beat up.

Similarly, we could throw a high level monster or even an evil god into the world, one the players are interested in even if they mean nothing to the PCs. It’s a conclusion because it’s the highest level threat the PCs have faced, and they’re able to face it because the campaign existed.

Conclusions

Your campaign can end with last words from the same NPC who first spoke to your party, or the party fighting Galactus before he eats the planet they’ve spent their whole campaign on. Or it can not end at all. Like the last issue you bought of a comic series, the idea that the characters and their adventures live on whether you and your players are still involved with them can be just as satisfying.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Behind every unbeatable hero is an everyday ally. These super pals keep the heroes grounded, give them an opportunity to share their thoughts, and provide insight and perspective. Some are so synonymous with the hero that adaptations without them feel incomplete. Plenty of Batman movies don’t include Robin, but not one drops Alfred.

Here’s why and how I think you should add a line to the Details section of your PCs’ character sheets for the PC’s NPB. Their Non-Player Bestie.

A Pal and A Confidant

You know how on sitcoms set in a workplace, the coworkers are also their only social circles? That’s like most RPG parties. And while that might accurately reflect the traveling band nature of an adventurer lifestyle, it also limits the individual stories you can tell. Giving each PC an NPC that is just theirs has several storytelling benefits.

Understanding The PC Better

Asking your players to create a NPB for their PC forces them to look at their character from another point of view. Who would they spend time with? Who would want to spend time with them? What makes the kind of friend their PC can be vulnerable with?

Not only will they understand their character better, but so will you. You will know who they want the world to think they are, and who they are when they feel safe.

Sharing Their Thoughts

We put our heroes through the ringer. After all, they can’t save the world unless the world is at stake. And that impacts even the most hardened hero. However, some adventurers believe facing the world with a steely façade benefits others. A leader needs their followers to see them as impenetrable. Citizenry needs a fearless icon to overcome their own worries.

Then the NPB swoops in and says “You may be fooling everyone else, but I know you. Part of you is terrified. You need to talk about it. And no, I wasn’t asking.”

Having someone the PCs can share their thoughts with who isn’t in the party allows us to explore their emotional states without compromising the public persona of the PCs.

Foundation to Stand On

As the PCs become more famous, and involved in threats on a grander scale, an NPB can provide insight into how the eyes on the street regards them. Because as PCs level up, they experience a rising scale of horribleness, it can feel like everything they do leads to something worse. Having an NPB reassure them that their past actions had positive impacts on the level 1 folks helps put the campaign into perspective.

Something To Look Forward To

Downtime is more than just a phase to make some income and sell off unwanted treasure. But every GM knows the blank stare of a player caught off guard by the question “What do you want to do in town?” Not only does an NPB give them a go-to answer, it gives us a diving rod for subplots. Instead of needing to remind players of the dangling threads they wanted to explore, the NPB is the ideal person to bring it up in character. Contextualized campaign information is always more immersive than GM exposition.

Types on NPBs

Because an NPB predominantly interacts with just one PC, consider creative ways they can be implemented. They don’t need to be standard fair, cookie cutter background characters.

Corporeal

A standard fair, cookie cutter background character.

Family

Whether blood relative or adopted family, having a connection that’s thicker than water and goes back as far as the PC can remember is as intimate as a relationship can get.

A Heck of a Barber

Some jobs just invite greater intimacy. Barbers, bartenders, tailors, caddies, psychiatrists. OK, psychiatrist implies intimacy. Perhaps its the power dynamic, perhaps its specifically that they aren’t a friend that brings out a character’s deeper thoughts. Whatever the case, this person (or even type of person, with the actual individual changing) opens up the honest side of the PC.

Imaginary

An imaginary friend, a construct of memories, an inanimate object that always has the right answer. An imaginary NPB gives even the broodiest loner someone to talk to.

Journal

Not every player loves roleplaying. That’s fine. Different players play the game for different reasons. If they would rather deliver a flowery monolog, or save their character development for a message board, let them.

Putting The B In NPC

An NPB is more than just an NPC.

Hopefully we’ve all been fortunate enough to create an NPC that our players latched onto and defended with their lives. Characters they felt so connected to, they speak of as fondly as they do their fellow players. Most of the time, however, this happened organically. An NPC in the right place at the right taught got the spotlight when a PC felt chatty. An improvised background character hit the right notes and became a party favourite. It’s hard to design the party’s next favourite NPC. In fact, I have stories of NPCs I thought would be recurring allies who turned into foils because the PCs took an instant dislike to them.

So how do you make an NPC BFF for each PC?

You don’t.

They do.

Their NPC

Our players creating their own NPBs benefits us so much, my fellow GMs. It gives them input into the campaign on a personal scale. It allows us to tap their creativity in a way they’ll want to participate in, because its related to their character. Finally, it means they’ll be invested in their NPB.

I know Andromeda is no one’s favourite Mass Effect game, but I thought the sibling customization was brilliant.

If you’re not familiar, you start the game customizing your character. Pretty standard for a game like Mass Effect. Then, you design a sibling. A sibling who gets trapped in their stasis chamber when your ship takes damage in the first part of the game.

Had I not customized my sibling, I’d probably still be invested in what happened to them if the game started in the same way. However, because I helped create that character, I had a greater sense of ownership over him. That said, I don’t recommend putting NPBs in peril

Trust

You know how the first five Spider-Man movies had a last act damsel in distress, and then the sixth on didn’t and something felt so fresh and interesting about it?

That is to say, NPBs aren’t for your story. They’re for the PC’s story. Don’t kidnap them. Don’t kill them off. Absolutely do not have them betray the PC.

Players need to trust their NPBs like their trust their real best friends. And they need to trust that you won’t exploit them for a cheap emotional reaction.

I’ll admit, its restrictive to say you’ll never harm an NPB. If a monster rampages through the PCs’ hometown and non of the NPBs are affected, it risks the opposite effect you are going for. Plot armor keeping the NPBs safe makes it harder to care about them, because their role as a tool becomes transparent. If you think you can be responsible, and only put the NPBs in peril when it organically makes sense, that can be effective storytelling and bring out real emotion in your players. But if you do it as a cheap trick, expect a weak reaction.

Thank You For Being A Friend

The ideal outcome of including NPBs in your campaign is a blurred line between where the GM’s world ends and and the player’s begins. NPBs give players influence over the setting, and you influence over their characters. Like the best friendships, you give a piece of yourself to each other, and you’re both better off for it.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

In that vein, I’ve adapted a tool for you, my fellow GMs, to establish the grittiness of your campaign.

The G.R.I.T. Scale

Long time listeners might remember 3.5 Private Sanctuary episode 55: COMIC Continuum. In it, I talked with Jay and guest co-host Tina about the COMIC continuum, by 2008 podcast Superhero Summit. COMIC was an acronym, and a shortcut for setting expectations for your session or campaign.

COMIC stood for:

Colour: How fantastic your game is.

Origins/Options: How wide a variety of options are available to your character.

Mystery: How known and accepted magic and monsters are.

Innocence: How the population reacts to the heroes.

Carnage: How violent the game gets.

I love the concept and think back on that episode often*. I’ve long wanted to develop my own version that applied to fantasy RPGs better, or ideally all RPGs. It took almost 15 years, but I finally did. The GRIT Scale.

Again, full credit to Superhero Summit and its hosts, Victor Cantu and JJ Lanza. The GRIT Scale stands on the foundation laid by the COMIC Continuum.

G.R.I.T.

G.R.I.T. stands for Graphic, Realism, Investment, and Technical.

Each letter represents an aspect of your campaign, which you assign a rating between 1 and 4. The higher the rating, the more of that aspect your players can expect in your game.

Graphic

How descriptive will the violence in the game be?

1. Abstract: Cuts don’t bleed, fire doesn’t burn, the consequences of weapons and magic is simply HP loss.
2. Occasional: To drive home a point, a normally toothless action might be described with fangs.
3. Representational: More or less as graphic as the dangerous lives of wizards and warriors fighting monsters would be.
4. Exaggerated: Descriptions get indulgent, and aim to evoke reactions.

Violence plays a major role in most adventure RPGs, from common conflict resolution in most random encounters, to epic showdowns to conclude campaigns pitting the players against their mortal enemies. Pathfinder by default handles fights to the death with the casualness of a side scrolling video game.

But do the dead just blink out of existence as soon as they hit the ground? Or does blood flow with the impact of every blow?

Think of a 1 as how the X-Men animated series pilot handled Morph’s death. While the show was willing to kill off a character, the camera cuts away to Professor X and Jean Grey experiencing his death psychically from the safety of the X-Mansion.

Sticking with the animated super hero theme, Grit level 4 is Invincible. The animators go out of their way to illustrate the impact of every blow. The camera lingers on the horror high points. Scenes of violence illicit visceral reactions from the audience.

Realism

What role does the real world play in your game?

1. Escapist: How we’d like the world to be. Evil is easy to spot and we solve our problems by killing them.
2. Gamified: There is room to explore realistic topics and themes, but you can also kill a roomful of goons without thinking about the families who just lost a loved one because rolling dice is fun and mooks is an action trope.
3. Grounded: There is a sense of consequence to your actions, and psychological and sociological arguments can win out in rules disputes.
4. Analogous: The game is an opportunity to explore life’s truths.

How your group deals with the goblin baby thought experiment shows what level of realism they’re looking for. In case you’re unaware, the goblin baby thought experiment asks if its right for PCs to kill a goblin baby. Would that baby grow up to be evil, because the campaign material says all goblins are evil (well, not anymore, thanks in part to the goblin baby thought experiment).

Players looking for a Realism 1 game don’t even want to be asked what they would do with a goblin baby. They are OK wiping out a goblin tribe, and they won’t question why -and actually prefer that- the entire village be able-bodied adults with no family or friends.

Players looking for a Realism 4 game, on the other hand, might relish the opportunity to adopt an goblin orphan and raise it themselves. Is it to save the baby goblin from the influence of an evil culture, or reparations for how the goblins get written off as evil and killed without hesitation. The game is equally

Investment

How engaged do your players need to be?

1. Casual: Everyone is here for a good time, if not a long time.
2. Steady: Try to play regularly, but some effort into the characters and campaign.
3. Committed: The campaign and its characters play a pivotal role in your social life.
4. Soulmates: You know each other’s characters better than you know the players. And you are OK keeping it that way.

No GM wants the big reveal they set up months ago to fall flat. That can happen when the investment levels of the players doesn’t match your investment level as a GM.

What you get out of an RPG depends on what you put into it. A story light dungeon crawl scheduled whenever everyone’s free is a nice way to spend time with friends, and an opportunity to blast some monsters from time to time. A 20-level adventure path rigidly scheduled on a weekly basis can feel as epic as a fantasy novel, personally geared towards you.

Casual players or a casual GM can be like a filler comic. You bought it because the cover features Batman caught in a Joker contraption. As long as somewhere in the issue Batman ends up in that contraption, you’ve gotten your money’s worth. At this level, a callback wouldn’t be appreciated, because it’s asking for too much investment in what’s come before.

Steady and Committed levels are more like shows with self contained plots and hints of meta. Steady’s like season 1 of Buffy, where every episode had a monster of the week, typically bookended by a scene connecting it to the season villain (The Master), and the season ends with a Buffy/The Master confrontation. Committed level would be a later season, that build on the previous seasons and secondary character relationships more.

When we’re talking Soulmates level, it’s like WandaVision. If you jump into a random episode, you have no idea what’s going on. Heck, even after just an episode or two, you don’t fully know what’s going on, and you return out of faith that the big picture makes more sense than a zoomed in pixel.

Technical

How much impact do the rules have on your game?

1. Light: Hopefully everyone knows how to play their character, but if the GM needs to make a call, so be it.
2. Moderate: Rules make the game more than just make believe, but they shouldn’t get in the way of a good time
3. Advanced: A solid combo or clever implementation of an option that’s completely within the rules is as exciting as winning a big fight and solving a tricky puzzle.
4. Intense: The only way to fully lose yourself in the game is to know the rules backwards and forwards and follow them to the letter.

Roleplaying game rules simulate a fantasy world in a way that allows everyone at the table to share an experience. However, rules can be a lot. A full simulation that also accounts for spellcasters and magical creatures needs a huge rulebook, and language ambiguity can bog a game down. While one of the rules is that we GMs have final say, that does not mean we have to silence rules discussions and hand wave arguments.

Similarly, RPGs have a lot of options. Some groups prefer to hit the buffet, others want a curated experience. The more rulebooks you allow in your game, you messier your plate might get.

The G.R.I.T. Scale and You

Although G.R.I.T. divides the game up into four aspects, each aspect covers a variety of elements that might be of concern to you and your players. Feel free to subdivide the aspects as you see fit. You might run a Graphic 4 game, with assurance to your players that no harm will come to children. Your game could be Technical X, where X represents both the number of options the players want available to them and consequently how much of the game time you see spent on rules discussions.

The G.R.I.T. Scale doesn’t replace a session 0, it compliments it. Set your expectations for how G.R.I.T.ty you intend your campaign to be, then open the discussion to see if where the players would like higher or lower scores, or exceptions.

The G.R.I.T. Scale and Me

I’m not joking when I say I’ve been thinking about adapting the COMIC Continuum for over a decade. Multiple acronyms were considered before I stumbled onto G.R.I.T., and then I revised each letter’s meaning multiple times. I’m happy with the word and letters I ended up with, but trust me when I say I know they aren’t the only options out there. If you have alternatives you’d like to suggest, I’d love to hear them.

*I went on a side quest trying to track the actual episode down, which turned out to be much harder than I expected. I wrote about it on the Least I Could Do blog, if you’re interested.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Lee built The Marvel Method on the philosophy that words on the page shouldn’t describe the image on the page. That’s what the image is for. You too, my fellow GMs, can leverage the creativity of your collaborators -your players and the gaming professionals who brought the rules you use and possibly the adventure you’re running- to focus your descriptions.

Avoid Redundancy

Imagine reading a Spider-Man comic, and coming to a panel of Spider-Man punching a wall next to a dodging Doctor Octopus, accompanied by the following text box:

“Spider-Man swings his fists, missing Doctor Octopus’ bespeckled face, but shattering the brick wall his punch lands on”

The text adds nothing. As a visual medium, comic book text is part of the art, just a part we process differently. If that description had been illustrated instead of written, the page would have the same panel twice.

Conversely, tabletop RPGs are an imagination medium. Battle mats and miniatures are focus points, shortcuts for the description of scenes that take place mostly in our heads. Just like the grid fill in the blanks on tactical details like distances and terrain, the rules fill in the blanks as well.

If a player casts fireball, and you describe it as a ball of fire erupting from the ether and engulfing the enemy warriors, what is your description adding? It’s fireball. Players expect a ball of fire. The area of effect of the spell shows that it engulfs the targets.

Contextualize

“As bits of bricks fly from where Spider-Man’s fist hit the wall, Doctor Octopus thinks about a blow of that force connecting with his far more fragile skull. Spider-Man means business.”

Now you’re seeing something the picture doesn’t show: Doctor Octopus’ feelings on the situation. A reminder of the relative attacks and defenses. And insight into Spider-Man’s mood. He’s not just punching, he’s not pulling his punches.

Back to the fireball. Before you describe it, first take everything self-explanatory about a fireball out of your vocabulary. Second, assume whoever cast the spell read the spell and avoid repeating the spell’s flavour text. In this case “A roaring blast of fire appears at a spot you designate.” Third, determine how fantastic this moment needs to be.

But How?

How can you contextualize magic? I laughed in Intrepid Heroes 55 when GM Ron Lundeen described a creature in Intrepid Heroes as “describable,” but the fact is “indescribable” gets used to describe monsters and magic because the concepts are alien to our senses by design. It’s textbook escapist entertainment, as in an escape from reality where the magic we, as GMs need to describe, doesn’t exist.

Recontextualize Life Experiences

What would it be like if 600°C popped into a room for 6 seconds? Have you ever opened a stove without thinking about the heat? The rush of heat feels like a warm breeze. Your glasses fog up, or you squint. Your muscles tense.

Likewise, sitting around a firepit makes me feel like the smoke has it in for my face. But also, the dancing flames are hypnotic. Maybe I’d describe the scene to the fighter in the party as captivating, like the yellows flames are dancing with the red flames, until the fire fades, leaving behind a blackened, screaming kobold.

Think About The Mechanics

Rules tell you more than the text spells out. Targets of a fireball get a basic Reflex saving throw to avoid half or all of the damage. However, you don’t move when you make a reflex save, so anyone who succeeds avoids the blast without leaving their square, or they leave and return to their square in 6 seconds. Like the art telling the lettered how the text in a panel can add to what’s seen, these are the rules telling you the blanks you need to fill in.

Think about that. Use it. Some of the targets look around and get a face full of fire. If they die, they die with a surprised look burned on their face. For the targets that only take half damage, how? Right place at the right time, maybe they’re standing next to a statue that’s roughly their size and build, the marble of which has been scorched while they remain mostly unscathed.

You can also use the player’s mechanics to boost their target. Your warlord took full damage, but that’s barely a quarter of their full HP? Give them the old “Superman gets hit by a missile, but when the dust clears, he brushes off his shoulder sarcastically and then smiles at you”. Your assassins both saved for no damage? “The fire instantly disintegrates their bodies. Or so you thought. A moment later, they both land on the ground, having ridden the concussion of the blast to heights outside of the blast, and landing when the area’s safe again.”

Magnitude

If this is the party’s first fireball, layer on all the ways it affects them. I remember the first time I went paintballing, the gun going off made me jump. High enough that the people around me had a chuckle at my expense. But within a few games, it was background noise.

“All you hear is the road or the fire and the screams of your victims” is shocking if you say it dramatically, but run of the mill if you use a meh undertone, both of which can be effective depending on the mood. You aren’t always trying to top your last description. You’re trying to match the feeling the PCs would have in that situation.

In Conclusion

When Perram complimented my descriptions in Know Direction 248 – GM Style, I was stumped for a reply. Upon reflection, it’s because I didn’t realize I was contextualizing writing tips I’ve gotten elsewhere, like only writing what isn’t already on the page. In the case of at the game table, our job as GMs is to describe what the players aren’t already imagining, and what the rules don’t tell us about getting blasted by magic and stabbed by medieval weaponry.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

The long story is less of a story and more a cathartic vent. 

I am someone who is happiest when my days are full. Pre-quarantine, my days were bed to work to evening with the family to night with my wife, or doing network work, or seeing friends. Weekends aren’t much different, with kids activities, groceries and housework, and seeing other family filling the majority of the day. 

I’ve been quarantined for a month this week, and it’s pushed even me to my limits. Now, I have to say that I’m in a much better position than a lot of if not most cases I’ve heard. I’m working from home, as has my wife, and we’ve been having a great time with my daughters. The weathers been fine to let them play in our backyard for the most part, and it’s been reported that Quebec is leading North America in social distancing and Covid-19 response. We are safe, secure, and happy. 

However, my office is now my work. It’s where I write from 6 till noon six days a week. It’s where my family understands to leave me alone. It’s not a room I want to spend additional time in. And even if it’s the four of us alone in this house for the foreseeable future, I don’t want to spend time away from them. 

One reality of maintaining the forward momentum of my lifestyle is I need to be strict and realistic about what I put my time towards. It’s why I’ve never had anything to do with Know Direction: Beyond even though I’ve always liked Starfinder. It’s why I quit my game group of 10+ years in order to launch Adventurous. The whole “you make time for the things you really care about” is not fair for someone who cares about a lot. So realistically, right now in order to continue to work, which I am lucky enough to still have, and my network directing duties at a time when The Know Direction Network has grown larger than I ever imagined, and to do what I can to keep my family sane and to get the family time I need to maintain my sanity, I can’t carve out an extra two or three hours a week to churn out my blog. Freeing myself of that responsibility also frees up my brain space that alternates between “ooh, that’s a good idea for a blog” and “I really need to find time to write” or in the case of Paint 2 Play, “I need to paint this mini/come up with these stats” when it comes to blog related thinking. 

In case it seems odd that the network continues to grow and I may seem to be doing more work and you’re wondering why I’m making time for X but not Y, not all project take as much time or energy. It’s like building a tower out of abstract shapes. I can rotate through certain shapes and find a way to maintain structural integrity, but if after a few rotations I notice the same shapes just aren’t fitting anymore, I need to accept that they don’t belong in the tower at the moment, even if the tower can handle and maybe even use other new abstract shapes. 

For fans of Behind The Screens or Paint 2 Play, I’m sorry I can’t keep up the content that was maybe helping you get through some tough times. But at this point I’ve missed two blogs in a row, and I’d rather disappoint you once right now than disappoint you a little every week that I think I can keep the blog going but I can’t.

Not in The Mandalorian. 

The Mandalorian

In case you saw the memes and assumed The Mandalorian is all Baby Yoda and “this is the way,” it is one of the best original shows streaming today, and has the best storytelling of possibly anything in a galaxy far, far away.

One of the reasons it succeeds in that regard is its ability to look at the Star Wars universe through the eyes of someone in it. Characters contemplate their actions and react to the consequences. Death affects these characters in a way that really makes Luke Skywalker look heartless for shrugging off his adopted parents’ crispy corpses.

In The Mandalorian, a 20m tall metal monstrosity with lasers in its face is treated more like a wild T-Rex than an extra tall Storm Trooper. 

The Presentation of the AT-ST

What separates the AT-ST in The Mandalorian from AT-STs in other Star Wars media is the presentation:

• It is introduced through rumour and reputation. They learn about what an AT-ST can do by exploring what it has done. Even though the whole audience can be expected to be familiar with AT-STs, and may have even seen in a thumbnail that an AT-ST featured in this episode, this investigation scene didn’t drag because it mattered to the characters.
• It is shot from underneath, emphasizing its size. As opposed to when AT-STs debut in Empire Strikes back, in the shadow of the AT-ATs. Or worse, in Return of the Jedi when the camera is at the AT-ST’s eyeline, mostly to put ourselves in its perspective when it falls for the ewoks’ traps. The only AT-ST that feels threatening is the one that turns out to be piloted by Chewbacca and an ewok or two and a new Rebel toy. 
• The red cockpit light not only gives this AT-ST a distinct visual, the contrast of such a loaded colour and the night setting gives it a diabolical look. 

Learning From This Presentation

The Star Wars fanbase’s familiarity with the AT-ST is similar to our players’ familiarity with the creatures in the Bestiary. Most are based on known entities, so our descriptions can be as minimal as “you see an orc” and the players will know enough to create a visual in their head and know what kind of threat to expect. 

However, it’s important that we remember a creature’s threat level is relative. You can throw dozens of orcs at a high level party and they’ll feel as impotent as a fleet of Star Destroyers armed with Death Star canons. However, at low level, a single orc can feel as dangerous as a single AT-ST. 

Implementation

How our mighty GM Crystal Frasier handled The Iron Lash in episode 25 of Adventurous http://knowdirectionpodcast.com/2019/09/adventurous-025-lashing-out/ is similar to how The Mandalorian handled the AT-ST. It was not a creature we felt particularly threatened by under normal circumstances (vagueness to avoid spoilers), but she description reminded us that this creature should terrify us. Additionally, it had minor tweeks to its details that set it apart from the typical creature of its kind. As a player in that encounter, I could not tell you whether this creature had a unique statblock or just a unique description. I can tell you that it felt like it could kill us all if we weren’t lucky, and that killing it was truly satisfying. 

When you are deciding how detailed your description should be, Table 10-1: Encounter Budget on page 489 of the Core Rulebook is your friend. Like The Mandalorian didn’t take an AT-ST for granted, you shouldn’t dismiss that chart’s use of words like severe and extreme. It doesn’t matter if the players have killed the types of creatures in your 1st level adventure a million times over their years in the hobby, if this is the character’s first time encountering this creature, ask yourself how that would feel. 

It’s why the goblins in Burnt Offerings were so memorable, and in a lot of ways those goblins are why Pathfinder became so successful so quickly. 

Conclusion

What is more satisfying for the players? Slaying an orc that felt like a champion of their tribe, or slaying Rando orc #1? What is easier to accept, having trouble and maybe even getting knocked out or killed by a champion or a Rando? 

What is more satisfying for us as GMs? Running just another Rando orc encounter, or introducing your players to Red Eyes, champion of the Aytee Hesty tribe, and seeing them cower and strategize? 

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Know Direction 221 – GM Tips from the Pathfinder Pros with Jason Bulmahn and Amanda Hamon

I sure can!

What Forward Momentum Is

You know how players are supposed to be ready for their turn? It’s always our turn, GMs. Even when it’s a player’s turn, they can say and do whatever they want, but unless we are answering their questions, giving them the results of their rolls, and explaining the ramifications of their actions, their turn is meaningless. You can think of a player’s turn as your and that player’s turn, and the GM’s turn as your and the whole group’s turn.

That means you are always on. You are listening when the players are talking. You are watching for reactions when you are talking. And even though we as GMs do the most talking at the table, the more meaningful our talking is, the more engaged our players are.

What Forward Momentum Isn’t

As I’ve mentioned before, the ultimate role of the GM is fun facilitator. I’d love to think that it’s assumed when I give GMing advice, at it’s core I believe my advice will help you make your game more fun. But I can get technical and analytical in my presentation, and a regular reaction to that is “but what about fun?”

So to be clear, if someone at the table makes a sweet pop culture reference and everyone is having fun joining in, you don’t have to slam your GM rod on the table and say “enough fun, we’re here to play a game!” The players can have non-game related fun. You can join in on the non-game related fun. However, try to stay in GM mode. Watch your players. Read them. When the distraction stops being fun for some of them, start thinking about your transition back into the game.

How I Forward Momentum

There are two factors that contribute to how I keep the momentum going forward: How I interact with the space and how I interact with the players.

Interacting With The Space

Like Amanda Hamon described in the episode I linked above, I GM a physical game. I stand for the majority of the session. When players are talking, I move closer to them, then hurry back to my spot behind the GM screen. I talk fast, I gesture boldly, I’ll grab a prop to embellish a description. All of this boosts the energy in the room, and keeps players focused, which reduces downtime between turns.

Interacting With The Players

Comedian Bob Newhart talked about a trick he used to keep his audience engaged during a stand up routine: Off ramps. When he works out a bit, he includes multiple ways to conclude the bit and transition into the next. That way he is simultaneously prepared to maintain a bit that’s really landing for 10 or 20 minutes, while also not needing to commit to 10 or 20 minutes of a bit that’s not working. In both cases his bit has a beginning, a middle, and an end, so even if he has to abandon it at the first off ramp, it doesn’t look like he’s abandoned it.

This is a complicated trick for a high level professional comedian (and runs contrary to the conventional wisdom that a GM wastes nothing), but it is a worthy goal for us to have, my fellow GMs. It’s also indicative of the relationship between momentum and engagement.

Every GM has their own style and priorities, so the following advice is biased towards mine; I love when my group is in character. They don’t need to use their character’s voice and cadence to ask where the bathroom is or if I’d like a chip, but when its time to make a decision, I hope that the decision is based on their character’s personality and perspective. When my players apologetically explain “It’s what my character would do” I want to dive across the table and kiss them (don’t read into the fact that I married one of my players).

All that to say, to me the easiest way to keep a game going forward is if every player is engaged, and the key to player engagement is staying in-character. As I mentioned last time, I also use my personal experience to ground my descriptions. Algebraically, here is how a turn goes at my table:

PLAYER: [takes action]
GM: [reference to their character’s personality or experience]. [incorporate reference into my description of their results]. [quickly sums up the ramifications of the results in game terms].

Example 1:

PLAYER: I attack the sahuagin.
GM: You are reminded of the sushi you had the other night. The raw fish wasn’t to your liking but you loved watching the chef skillfully filleting in the open kitchen. At the last second you adjust the curve of your blade to run parallel to the sahuagin’s scales, cutting right to the flesh. Your hit clearly dealt a significant blow, and while it didn’t kill him, you now hear it gasping laboured breaths.

Example 2:

PLAYER: I cast hydrolic push.
GM: You’ve cast this before so you’ve learned to hold your breath as soon as you’re done the verbal components, lest you end up with a salty taste in your mouth from breathing near seawater. Even your fellow party members are starting to learn the verbal components of hydrolic push so they can do the same, although [finds a player who seems distracted and uses their character’s name] didn’t get the memo, and now you feel like you licked every Pringle in a fresh tube. Even [that other PC] is better prepared for it than the monsters you target, you are blown clear across the room by the burst of water you conjure.

Find Your Own Momentum

Not every GM is able to stand their whole session, and not every GM needs to. Likewise, I am regularly complimented on my ability to describe action on the fly, so I know not to assume everyone is as comfortable improvising at their table. The ultimate takeaway is that if you have the group’s attention, use it. Stay on task as a GM to keep your players on task as characters.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

The Experience

On the morning of the second day of my trip, mere minutes into enjoying the luxurious pool for the first time this trip, a pain stabbed through my left ring finger so suddenly I hadn’t even noticed that I was brushing a tickle off my neck when that tickle counter-attacked.

I whipped my left hand, severing the (I’m gonna say) bee from her stinger and launch the insect side of the bisectioning into the pool. I watched with mixed feelings as she thrashed in the water – Had she stung me, or had I button mashed and stumbled across a fatality? The white barb, like a cross between a splinter and a spinal cord, jutting out of my finger added to the Mortal Kombat vibe of what I’d done to her.

My wife Tina just started on her way to an appointment to sign up for excursions when I flagged her over. She didn’t have tweezers on her so she eased the stinger out by hand, then suggested she stick round for a few minutes since we didn’t know if I was allergic.

Oh, right! I was in a foreign country, stung by a foreign insect I couldn’t fully identify, with no idea if my situation was about to get much worse, and no way of knowing other than waiting it out.

So we waited.

It didn’t get worse. Sort of.

When I didn’t have any kind of anaphylactic reaction, Tina went to her appointment and I lounged in the cool water with the girls for a few more hours, confident that the only result of the encounter was the itchiness of ten mosquito bites and one dead (I’m gonna say) bee.

It ends up, the pool was cold enough to have an icing effect on my finger. At lunch, my wedding ring started bothering me. I investigated and saw that my finger was swollen and red. I managed to yank my ring over the flesh lump to allow the finger to do whatever swelling it needed to do. It wasn’t until the last day of my trip that it deflated to its original size and I was able to bend my finger again and put my ring back on.

Using It

My first and last impression of getting stung was the surprise. The sting was over before I realized it was even possible. The surprised was followed by confusion and investigation.

In combat, my pattern when I attack is:

1. Determine if it hit
2. Deal damage
3. Establish riders to the damage
4. Sum up the mechanics we just went through with a description.

Even if my players aren’t conscious of this pattern, I believe some part of them is aware of it. So if I want to surprise my players, or get them to worry, I can change the pattern. Silently determine if an attack hits, ignoring any questions like “what are you rolling?” Then break the silence with a fragment of a description, something like “Your stomach… hurts?” but wait for them to ask follow up questions before fleshing the description out. Only then do I throw out the mechanical details that lift the vail on what’s happened.

The next lasting impression was fear of the further ramifications of the sting. Not only was I worried about what having an allergic reaction could mean for my health and safety, I was far from the comfortable familiarity of the Canadian healthcare system. Cuba’s health services have a good reputation, but that’s still asking for me to have faith in a reputation. Plus I couldn’t identify what stung in, if that matters.

At the table, this may have turned me around on my feelings about in-game diseases. My GMing style is very much in the moment, so the long term effects of disease are both too dragged out for me to make dramatic and too spread out for me to keep track of. However, the way Crystal handled Xavier’s disease in the latest Adventurous showed me the value of keeping track of disease. She sprung it on me during a transition scene, too, after we made a plan but while we were en route to executing it. Was it the exact onset time of the disease? Who knows! Does it matter? Nope. And that’s something I will try to keep in mind.

Conclusion

PCs aren’t the only ones who get better with experience. We may not be fighting giant bees with stingers the size of our torsos, my fellow GMs, but we can extrapolate from the moments in our lives that most closely relate to the scenes we describe to give an authenticity to the fantasies we roleplay.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Bad Starting Attitude

Across editions, the attitudes of NPCs towards the PCs are, from most hostile to most helpful: Hostile, Unfriendly, Indifferent, Friendly, Helpful. Based on how these attitudes are defined in the Pathfinder 2e Diplomacy skill description, my PC’s starting attitude towards my NPCs was just shy of Hostile:

Actively works against you—and might attack you just because of their dislike.

If there was a guard stationed outside a city who had the gall to ask the party what their business was in the town he was hired to protect, they would flex their character sheets and mock the idea that this lowly warrior thought he could do anything to stop the party if they tried. If a city official brought up matters like the consequences of combat within city walls, the PCs would strawman that official with offers to let the monsters run wild. And if their blatant dismissive attitudes towards every NPC resulted in my NPCs not wanting to give the PCs the help they needed, those same players would lament how “every NPC we meet is a jerk.”

It’s been a few years since I played with that group, and even longer since I GMed them, so the timing of this revelation doesn’t help much, but around New Years an idea struck me that finally shed some light on why they would always make jokes at the expense of every NPC they met:

The players saw their characters as The Harlem Globetrotters in a world of Washington Generals.

Dunking On The Helpless

In case this needs explaining, the Harlem Globetrotters are to basketball what the WWE is to greco roman wrestling. The results are predetermined, there are rules but they can be ignored in the name of entertainment, and the players are equal part actors and athletes.

Wasn’t even hard to find photographic evidence

Unlike pro wrestling, there is no backstory or continuity to the Harlem Globetrotters. Every game is an exhibition between the Globetrotters and the Washington Generals, wherein the Globetrotters so outmatch their opponents that they can perform multiple comedy sketches mid-game without the scores ever getting close.

The Harlem Globetrotters defy storytelling conventions. The Globetrotters are so far from the underdog, they are like Goliaths playing a team of Davids, but the Goliaths have the slingshots.  Of the two, they are the team more likely to cheat. And while the Harlem Globetrotters as an organization does a lot of charity work, it’s not part of the storyline of the game. They aren’t in the moral right or portrayed as the virtuous of the two. They are the better of the two teams winning a one-sided game and making fun of the less talented teams while they do it.

Pathtrotters

If hindsight allowed for hindtravel, how would I apply this metaphor to improve my role as fun facilitator? 

Exciting vs Bland

How are the Globetrotters the protagonists if they are neither heroic nor good guys? It’s because the Globetrotters are different. Their uniforms are flashy, and every player is allowed to customize their look. They have wacky nicknames, sometimes the only name they go by. Occasionally they display superhuman abilities. And by occasionally, I mean 1/game. 

The Washington Generals, on the other hand, are generic by design. The few who stand out are drafted to the Globetrotters for being too special. These are like the NPCs we have time to explain, or who elevate above the status of exposition or setting dressing. If we took the time to give every NPC the level of detail of a PC, most of what we do as GMs would be describing the population of the world. 

Players As Audience

A lot of the appeal of roleplaying is that players and us GMs are as much active participants as we are passive. We don’t know what anyone else’s turn will yield. In games as dependent on math and probably as Paizo’s RPGs, we don’t even know what our turns will yield! The more we set up a monster as a this terrifying threat, the harder it falls if our d20s don’t feel like rolling double digits. 

As a result, players awaiting their turns are left to watch how things unfold. And like someone who bought tickets for a Harlem Globetrotters game, they go in biased in favour of one side, and they’re looking forward to seeing the wacky antics of the side they’re there to see. In fact, a Harlem Globetrotters game might be the only “sporting” event where everyone in attendance is rooting for the same side. 

Let Them Dunk

Perram has asked before how many combats should the party be expected to win, and his view is that any estimate that isn’t with 5% of all of them is overestimating how often PCs lose. 

Even if Pathfinder rules are mostly combat, the game is not a tactical simulator. If it was, one monster of the party’s average level wouldn’t be considered a threat to the party that outnumbers it four or five to one. The game is designed to put the characters in dozens or hundreds of life-threatening situations every campaign, with the odds heavily in favour of the PCs surviving. Encounters that are less than a moderate threat are more about the opportunity to show off what the PCs can do. 

That’s encounters. The group I played with tended to extend this attitude outside of combat as well. They liked making clever remarks and cutting insults, and since the villains don’t survive long to get it out of their systems, so many random NPCs got burned for being there when the party was itching to be clever. 

Now, I’ve said before that even if one of our roles as GMs is fun facilitator, that includes our own fun. I enjoy jumping between NPC’s with varying outlook and motivation, seeing what relationships with the party organically form. What Crystal does GMing Adventurous? That’s my GMing goal. So spending years of sessions where the organic result of introducing a new NPC was “that NPC gets insulted and discarded” took away from my fun. However, that doesn’t mean there was nothing I could do.

I remember one storyline that was supposed to be a former villain named Gratt, a telekinetic rogue, attempting to redeem himself by helping the party against his former evil faction, the Six Fingered Gauntlet. The party rejected him, but didn’t kill him, and any time he showed up they aggressively mocked him. 

This was perfect. It is not the direction I expected the storyline to go, but it matched the PCs’ motivations, their existing relationship with Gratt, and the world they lived in. Even though it was similar to how they treated most NPCs, it was organic and contextual and therefore satisfying to me. 

Knowing that the PCs were just looking for a chance to spin the ball on their fingers and play keep-away, regardless of who, I could have fed them more NPCs who deserved it, hopefully leading to a good time had by all at the table and addressing this behaviour and the need behind it. 

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Pop Culture Database

I estimate that there exist billions of fictional characters. Some franchises are known for their large casts, either because it’s ballooned over its lifetime, like The Simpsons, or the concept necessitated a large cast, like Pokémon. It’s hard to making catching’em all exciting if “’em all” is, like, 10 monsters. Such franchises are prefect templates for NPCs.

Distinct By Necessity

When you have a large cast, the characters need unique elements to justify their existence. Look at any of the cast photos in this article. They are seas of distinct designs, and usually have similarly large personalities that can turn an average NPC interaction into a campaign highlight.

In the case of the WWE, the competition to get noticed is even more real. Yes, the matches are predetermined, but a wrestler’s involvement in storylines is based on the reaction they achieve as performers, so they are always looking to market themselves differently from everyone else on the roster in order to stand out.

Diverse As You Need It To Be

Although the designs of the cast photos are distinct, there is noticeable gender and ethnicity bias. However, you are the one in charge of what makes the cut for your campaign.

For example: GI Joe only had six female characters in its original run (outnumbered something like 30:1 by the male characters). However, in the 2010 reboot G.I. Joe: Renegades, four of those six characters were regulars on that series, and there were only 10 male regular characters. By being minorities among the case, they carved out more important niches than a lot of the male cast. Odds are, the number of NPCs you need to flesh out will be closer to size of the Renegades cast than the whole GI Joe franchise, and filtering that massive cast down to your needs lets you customize the diversity. If that’s still not enough, seek out a franchise with a lot of characters that leans into your instinctive blindspots.

Look Like A Creative Genius

I recommend picking a franchise you are more familiar with than the rest of the table. Your aim is to expand your franchise and draw your players in, so busting out your Hulk Hogan impression at a table of wrestling fans is going to derail instead of engage.

On top of using the creativity of others to benefit your game, you can try taking characters from separate franchises and blending them together…

…or anthropomorphizing a non-anthropomorphic character.

Use What You Know

Odds are, you know some pop culture very well. There’s no harm in using that knowledge to your advantage, and the benefits of the players at your table.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

The Rules of Rarity

Second edition added Uncommon, Rare, and Unique as traits to indicate how likely a character is to have less common options. According to the Core Rulebook:

Some elements of the game have a rarity to denote how often they’re encountered in the game world. Rarity primarily applies to equipment and magic items, but spells, feats, and other rules elements also have a rarity… Uncommon items are available only to those who have special training, grew up in a certain culture, or come from a particular part of the world.

This may all change when the Game Mastery Guide releases, but at the moment the rules for choosing these options are vague and inconsistent. Sometimes a not common option flat out says how to qualify for it with a second prerequisite line called Access. Other times, another option flat out says it grants access to one or more not common options, like Dwarven Weapon Familiarity giving access to uncommon weapons with the Dwarven trait. And then there are some not common options that do not give any indication how to qualify for them.

Lost Omens – Character Guide expands on this:

Sometimes, a stat block for an uncommon rules element includes an Access entry that lists specific criteria. A character who meets the criteria listed in the Access entry, such as hailing from a particular locale or being a member of a particular organization, gains access to the rules element…. As always, the GM has the final say on how rare an option is, who can access uncommon or rarer options, or whether specific options are allowed in the game at all; they may decide that a person’s upbringing makes sense for a specific ancestry feat even if the character doesn’t automatically qualify for access, or they may decide that same ancestry feat cannot be taken by anyone at all.

GM fiat is all well and good, but when conventional wisdom states that we GMs should say yes to players, following that advice eliminates the mechanical purpose of the Uncommon rarity. It also contradicts the precedence that a feat or backstory element is needed to access an Uncommon option. Although when there are Uncommon ancestries, it’s impossible to take a feat to be what your character gained access to at birth, and its hard to say a backstory like “Bob is a lizardfolk” does not give Bob’s player access to the uncommon lizardfolk ancestry.

There is also the argument that the Uncommon rarity gives us the option to reject material we don’t want in our campaign. The problem is that many of our fellow GMs want that same option for common options. So are we as GMs allowed to disallow any option in the game, but we have slightly more precedence to disallow options based on rarity?

It should also be noted that according to Paizo staff I’ve talked to, rarity is not used to limit access to more powerful options. It’s more for flavour and setting purposes. So don’t think uncommon = more powerful. It’s also important to note that by “nebulous” I don’t mean “broken”. The rules work as a guideline, they could just be more explicit in certain areas. Maybe offer a few ideas for how to grant access. 

So I put an idea together. The goal is to give us as GMs an option between Yes and No when presented with character concepts that require Uncommon options to work, one that neither undermines or is redundant with the rules of rarity. Instead of defaulting to No or Yes, consider “yes, but with training.”

Preemptive Retraining

I went into this in our most recent episode of Know Direction, but I consider Downtime one of 2e’s most practical successes. It amuses me that the Downtime Mode section of the Core Rulebook is one page long, but that’s because Downtime activities are mostly outlined in the Skills section. For our purposes, the rules we need are on that one Downtime Mode page: Retraining.

I mentioned in our 2e review that I think it’s odd/hilarious that through the history of the retraining rules, from 3.5 to Pathfinder 2e, the flavour mentions needing an instructor to teach you how to lose an old ability and gain a new one, but no such instructor is necessary to gain an abiliy in the first place. The best I can figure is that PCs are assumed to be passively training for the options naturally along their path, but retraining represents going off that path. 

What if that PC wants to go off the path before having to replace existing knowledge to gain new knowledge? 

Training

Back to Star Wars, what if Jedi aren’t strictly more powerful than everyone else in the galaxy, they’re just more complicated? The reason so many Star Wars films involve Jedi training is to illustrate that even though a high percentage of protagonists in these movies are Jedi, a tiny percentage of the population of this universe can say the same. 

Training works exactly like retraining, except instead of replacing an existing option with another, a PC must commit a certain amount of Downtime to training for an option before they are allowed to take it. Following retraining’s suggestions (the CRB’s term for the retraining time requirements, not mine), a feat takes about a week of downtime, a class feature takes a month. So say a player wants to give their character Backup Disguise, an Uncommon feat from the Firebrand chapter of the Character Guide that does not explicitly state how to access it, it will take them a week of Downtime to qualify. 

The Downtime Mode rules don’t have suggestions for things like spells and they don’t spell out whether all feats are equal (particularly archetype dedication feats). I suggest the following:

• ANCESTRY FEAT: 1 week
• GENERAL FEAT: 1 week
• CLASS FEAT: 2 weeks
• ARCHETYPE FEAT: 2 weeks
• CLASS FEATURE: 1 month

However, this isn’t the solution for all options. Training to be a lizardfolk makes as much sense as taking a feat for it.

Unkeep

 In the case of Uncommon options that don’t fit the mould, consider Upkeep instead. And instead of Star Wars examples, we’ll switch to Star Trek. 

A recurring theme for Worf, the Klingon security officer on Star Trek: The Next Generation and Deep Space 9, is that the other klingons treated him like he wasn’t a real klingon. He was out of touch with their politics, and acted more like the non-Klingons he chose to associate with. And yet, we were regularly shown Worf engaging in traditional Klingon activities, and talking about Klingon history and philosophy. 

Upkeep is training when you have access to an uncommon character creation option. So far there are uncommon ancestries, we may someday see uncommon backgrounds and classes. Before such an Uncommon character can advance, they need to spend Downtime on upkeep. If your player wants to choose an uncommon option at character creation, assign a certain amount of Downtime they need to assign to upkeep. For example, you could declare that a lizardfolk PC needs to spend one day a month on a special supplies run, because they have dietary needs that are harder to meet outside of their environment. Or they spend that time socializing with other lizardfolk, something that needs to be scheduled because the rarity of their occurrence means they don’t tend to cross each other’s paths. 

This is a less elegant solution, as it requires some kind of punishment for failing to meet the Downtime requirement, or mandatory Downtime that takes agency away from the player. It’s thematic, like a real world religious person having to go to church or dedicate a certain amount of their free time to worship, but thematic isn’t always fun. 

If anyone has any suggestions for implementing training on options like Uncommon ancestries, let me know via the Know Direction Discord. 

Implementing

Here are some tips for implementing Training and Upkeep activities.

Really could have used your help out there

One of the early scenes in Rise of Skywalker that establishes the sacrifice Rey is making by training is when Poe confronts her about how useful she would have been on that mission. I don’t recommend we GMs have characters train while the rest of the party is adventuring -this is a Downtime activity, after all, not an Exploration mode activity- but the idea that training is a sacrifice is realistic.

If you want to drive home  how challenging the training is, or what the character in training is sacrificing, you can jump cut back and forth between the different Downtime activities. The crafting PC making measurable progress on their item cuts to the tedium of working out and hoping for results. The information gathering PC schmoozing a crowd over drinks cuts to the silent loneliness of a reading alone.

We Need A Montage

If your player is more mechanically minded, you can break the training into a series of skill checks. You bring the flavour, they bring the die rolls. This can be purely for the fun of rolling dice and making checks, or it can be a minigame where you add or remove a day or two (no more than that) from the total Downtime needed based on their successes. Or you can have a ranking system based on predicted outcomes, awarding them titles or badges based on how their results compare to the statistical probability.

Squad Goals

Regular training is an opportunity to introduce a cast of supporting character NPCs, each a potential quest giver, ally in distress, or chance to roleplay. You can provide your player with classic tropes like a rival with the same skill set and goals, a sidekick who makes up for less ability with more heart and knowledge of the training, or an instructor who seems committed to the PC’s failure.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Christmas movie or not, Die Hard remains one of my favourite movies. However, it wasn’t until I saw the Die Hard episode of the Netflix documentary series The Movies That Made us that I realized the movie’s potential as a template for low level adventures.

About First Level Adventures

As a reminder, one of my biggest issues with Pathfinder 1e is how much of a slog 1^st level can be. By definition, it’s the point in the game where a player is least equipped to execute their ideas. However, because of how a few rules intersect* , 1e 1^st level applied this logical starting point in a way that compromised fun.

One of 2e’s strengths is how much more fun 1^st level is by default. Characters are more robust, the math is better applied, and there is more flexibility to what characters can do in a round by default. That means the challenges of a 1^st level character are the logical ones, and expand beyond mechanics.

Squishy

Your max HP will never be lower, your saves will never be worse, there will never be more pages of the Bestiary that threaten you than when you are a 1^st level character.

Limited

There is only so much a 1^st level character can do that is specific to their character. A feat or two, a few spells, starting proficiencies. Don’t take this the wrong way, but when you are a 1^st level character, you’re basic.

When a player talks about their character concept, rarely do they stop at 1^st level. Even if your players aren’t all the types to outline their 20 level plans, they most likely all have an idea of what they’ll be able to do around 5^th or 10^th level. In a lot of ways, 1^st level represents PCs when they are less than what they’re supposed to be.

Unfamiliar

You ever rewatch the first season of your favourite TV show? The characters seem off. The writers and actors are still trying to actualize concepts, seeing how elements actually work, and they don’t have touchstones to draw on yet.

Players bring new characters to the table in much the same way. The quote “no plan survives contact with the enemy” is often paraphrased for tabletop RPGs and applied to us, my fellow GMs, but it is as applicable to players and their character concepts surviving contact with the adventure. Unexpected rolls turning the dial of how competent a character is, waiting for opportunities to apply the character’s personality, and little things like how the other players pronounce the character’s name** or how easy the character’s voice is to maintain all impact how comfortable a player is with their new character during a 1^st level adventure.

Running Die Hard

The other action movies of the 80s that came before Die Hard – Terminator, First Blood II, Predator, Robocop- were like the high level campaigns that you just concluded, and Die Hard was the start of the new campaign. Even if McClane and Dutch had the same character class, you could literally fit Bruce Willis inside a hollowed out Arnold Schwarzenegger at the time. And yet this story of “just another American who thinks he’s John Wayne” fighting about a dozen bad guys across the whole adventure is ranked on par with explosive movies where the fate of the world is on the line. How?

It Has Time to Bleed

In Predator, Jesse Ventura’s Blain famously replies to being told that he’s bleeding with “I ain’t got time to bleed.” Contrast that with Die Hard, where several minutes are dedicated to McClane pulling glass from his bloody feet and crying.

Die Hard makes McClane’s squishiness a feature. It takes the time to remind us that getting shot at is scary, stepping on glass hurts, that this character is experiencing the worst pain he’s ever experienced.

Like Die Hard, you can use your PCs’ vulnerability as part of your narrative.

“The goblin you just missed shows you up, hacking at your shin. Training swords and your teacher’s stories didn’t prepare you for how much this would actually hurt. For a second your loss of balance and the numbness in your leg makes you worried you lost your foot. The stickiness running through your leg hair and pooling in your sock may prove your foot’s still there, but it does nothing to reassure you.”

The Setting Is There To Help

In The Movies That Made Us, the fight choreographer talks about how he walked around the location they’d be shooting in before working out fight scenes. A dangling chain helped McClane overcome a larger foe, just like a window the villain Hans Grubber shot out when McClane was behind cover helped him hit a target he couldn’t target. In the end, McClane used a fire house as a rope to escape from an explosion.

We usually have an idea where our players want to take their PCs, and we can populate environments with interactive elements that grant temporary bonuses based on where they see they characters going.

“This chain just happens to be hanging at the perfect angle. If you spend an action to Interact with it, you treat your proficiency in Athletics as Expert for the purpose of grappling foes within 5 feet of it.”

You don’t need to assign rules to every environmental item, though. McClane used his wit to use the environment to his advantage and you can reward your players for doing the same. Instead of deciding that throwing an alchemical bomb with the splash trait at the glass window behind your NPC deals an additional 1d4 piercing damage as glass rains down on them, you can simply describe the glass window and see how the players want to use it. Maybe have an NPC or two Interact with the environment first as a tutorial moment telling the PCs this is an option.

It Gets To Know Its Characters

Before we get to know McClane, he arrives at a party where he doesn’t know anyone and no one knows him. This contextualizes those awkward “tell everyone about your character” moments that kick off campaigns by making that awkwardness something the characters feel rather than just the players.

Furthermore, Reginald VelJohnson’s Sgt. Powell character does wonders as an NPC getting a PC to explore their motivations and reactions. If a player is quietly contemplating their character, that’s a great opportunity for you to step in and say “How’s your character dealing with all this?” Again, it gives the player a chance to talk about their character in a way that’s relevant to the adventure, and it gives you, the other players, and maybe even that player insight into who their character is.

About The Sequels

There is no better proof that Die Hard is a great low level adventure than the Die Hard sequels. With each subsequent Die Hard, McClane’s power level increases and Bruce Willis’ interest in what’s happening decreases. No amount of McClane shrugging as he drives a plane through a helicopter compares to the visceral feeling of watching him take 10 minutes to remove the Clumsy condition. It also makes the yippee ki yay moment more meaningful.

*Size bonus to AC + Small creatures getting Dex bonuses + minimal restrictions on armour available to low level NPCs made ACs way higher than the system says they should be, starting HP wasn’t much higher than average weapon damage and was lower than the average critical hit, meaning combat was deadly, it’s essentially rocket tag without the spectacle of high level rockets.

**Xavier is a common name in Quebec! Or at least it is save to assume Queberers know how it is pronounced.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Speaking of Action

Don’t forget that we partnered with Boss Fight Studio to get you a discount on some of the best action figures out there! Enter offer code KNOWDIRECTION at check out before December 21st to get 10% off any in store item in the Boss Fight Shop. I recently used Boss Fight’s Vitruvian H.A.C.K.S in a blog post I wrote for Looking For Group to great effect.

Smart Marks

You see, Know Direction and Paizo’s own Luis Loza was running a session of World Wide Wrestling for myself, Know Direction’s own Randal Meyer, and a very nice lady we didn’t know named Ryan. World Wide Wrestling is a storytelling game that simulates being wrestlers (as in athletic entertainers) working with their opponents to put on a kayfabe match with a predetermined finish. 

If you understood that last sentence, then you, like me and Luis, probably are familiar with professional wrestling. If not, then you, like Randal and Ryan, probably aren’t. World Wide Wrestling being a storytelling RPG, it doesn’t include a list of move names (or if it does, the players in this one-shot session weren’t privy to them). Since I couldn’t say “rope assisted reverse O’Connor roll” or “Bret/Piper Wrestlemania VIII finish” and be understood by my  non-wrestling fan fellow players, I needed to find other ways to explain what my character, Monohombre, was doing. Hence, the demonstration. 

However, this is not a scenario I find myself in when I game at home. Why?

Action Figures

If I need to explain a physical movement during a roleplaying session, I am never more than a frantic rush away from an action figure solution. 

I know I’m known for my toy collecting and love of action figures, but for serious. Roleplaying games are the codified, matured evolution of the imagination games children play, and miniatures are the likewise evolution of the toys we played with for those games. However, action figures also evolved in a different direction independent of games. By marrying the two adult evolutions of  children’s play, you get entirely new ways to express your character and your actions at the table. 

A few months ago, when I was playing in my friend Will’s Emerald Spire game with a ported over Monohombre, I had a blank action figure on hand that I intended to use to make a custom based on my character. Not only could I demonstrate the wrestling maneuvers Monohombre was subjecting the poor goblins to, I surprised myself by how effectively I could convey Monohombre’s body language during his introductory trial scene. 

Having an action figure at the table didn’t just enhance my play experience, it leveled it up. I feel as under equipped playing without an action figure as I do playing without condition cards. The right action figure (or action figures) can articulate your character’s movements when words might fail you. 

How?

Articulation. OK, and range of motion.

Articulation 

An action figure’s ability to move is called it’s articulation. The various mechanics that allow it to do so are points of articulation (or POA). A POA indicates that the action figure can move from that point of the body. 

Range of Motion

Just because two action figures have a point of articulation in the same body part doesn’t mean they have the same ability to move. The difference is range of motion. A swivel joint is a peg in a hole and moves like a helicoptor propellor, 180 degrees in two directions, or until it hits a stopping point. A ball joint is like your shoulder, adding a third axis to how the limb can move. 

For example, your standard Star Wars action figure has five POA: neck, shoulders, and hips.All five are swivel joints. That means Luke Skywalker can turn his head left to right, rotate either arm, or kick a Stormtrooper anywhere below the belt. Conversely, my favourite action figures, Boss Fight Studio’s Vitruvian H.A.C.K.S, have 17 points of articulation. 

A Vitruvian H.A.C.K, like the blank I was using for Monohombre, is practically an artist mannequin. In fact, you could use a cheap artist mannequin to similar effect. One reason I favour action figures is that artist mannequins tend to have higher tension in their joints to limit their articulation to human-like mobility. Action figures, like Pathfinder characters, don’t have that limitation. 

Special Offer

I was in the middle of writing this article and thought “You know what would be an everybody wins scenario?” So I reached out to my contact at Boss Fight Studio and explained that I was working on an article about using action figures as RPG tools. A few exchanges back and forth and lots of exclamation points later, and:

Offer valid until December 21, 2019

If you visit the Boss Fight Shop between now and December 21st and use offer code KNOWDIRECTION (all caps) at checkout, you get 10% off your entire order. It’s not valid on preorders, but otherwise, anything goes. In addition to the Vitruvian H.A.C.K.S. I’ve been plugging. If you are interested in their Legends of Lucha Libre or Buck O’Hare figures, you can grab them as well. Do note, I haven’t experienced any Boss Fight figures outside of their Vitruvian H.A.C.K.S, so that is their only line I can personally vouche for.

Here are a few products I suggest you check out if you are looking for a 4″ scale companion for your miniature:

• BLANKS: Like the figure I use for Monohombre, Vitruvian H.A.C.K.S. blanks are plain, monochromatic figures that come in a variety of colours (including transparent!). If you are looking for the super articulated version of Sorry pieces, these are your best (and cheapest) best. Note that I’m using the masked head for Monohombre. Each blank has a selection of heads, including one with a face. Blanks come in male, female, and skeleton bodies.
• BASICS: Basics are the middle ground. They have fewer accessories and fewer paint applications than the standard Vitruvian H.A.C.K.S. figures, but, unlike blanks, they have ancestries and classes.
• SERIES 1: Series 2 is Fantasy themed, but you might be wondering what and where Series 1 is. It’s weirdly hard to find even though figures from those waves are still for sale. The theme was Ancient Greece. The variety of moulds is more limited than Series 2 (it was their launch product) but if you’re looking for variety, there are some cool designs hidden away here.
• SERIES 2: This is where Boss Fight shines. Detailed sculpts and accessories bursting with personality that hint at a larger story. If you want an action figure that looks like your character out of the package, be they wizard, cleric, rogue, fighter, or, uh… miscellaneous.

Full disclosure: I worked with Boss Fight Studio on the Looking For Group – Richard The Warlock action figure I developed for my day job at Blind Ferret. However, my seeking them out for that project, like this deal, was a reflection of how much I appreciate the quality of the work they put out. No money is exchanging hands for this deal, this was not a paid blog post, and it would have gone up whether they agreed to this deal or not. 

My Crocodile Wrangler was based on GI Joe’s Croc Master. The party was looking to prove themselves in an encounter, I quickly found duergar to be a CR appropriate encounter with some fun abilities, but I wanted to add a unique spin to it. Croc Master came to mind and the encounter came to be.

Why?

As I’ve established before, my prepped sessions are far less entertaining for everyone at the table, myself most of all, than my improvised sessions. And one of the easiest ways to improvise is by drawing inspiration from your experiences, including the pop cultural experiences that left a personal impression.

Available Skin

During the combat, Perram mentions how dangerous this particular duergar looks. That’s because I made a Roll20 pawn out of Croc Master art. Even if I had not, if my players had asked for a description I could have described him based on my decades of familiarity with his design. Or I could have quickly Googled some art. Instead of painting a picture with my imagination, I can paint it with my memory. Traditionally, my imagination is stronger than my memory, but visuals are an exception.

Established Details

Beyond the look, I can bring a character to life by referencing details about them that imply depth. In the original GI Joe comics, Croc Master was not recruited to Cobra. He showed up on Cobra island and assumed responsibility for perimeter security. It didn’t come up in the session, but if the group tried diplomacy, I could have established something similar with the Three Piece Suit duergar, that the one with the crocodiles isn’t their leader, and they don’t even like him, but they aren’t about to argue with the guy with the crocodiles.

In this case, the inspiration never had a voice actor*, but normally calling on pop culture, especially a cartoon, informs how I portray the NPC. For example, the yak farmer from Explore & Encounter: KD Tries 2e, Farmer Bloom was modeled after Apple Bloom from My Little Pony. And remember, your voice doesn’t need to match the character you are impersonating. Having a template for an NPC’s voice helps you keep it consistent.

Field Tested

Instead of Croc Master, some crocodiles, and some other duergar, I could have created something whole cloth for the combat. Off the top of my head, a pack of suspiciously cagey weasels have been sneaking through the casino grabbing the shiniest chips. When confronted, they mob up and form a small humanoid shape. Maybe that’s as cool as I think it is, and maybe it will survive player scrutiny, but I won’t know how solid this composite weasel idea stands until someone tries to poke holes in it.

Touchstones

In Croc Master’s case, I didn’t call attention to the reference. Yes, I used the character’s art, but I did so assuming he would not be recognized. However, pop culture can be used to quickly explain an idea. Had I run the composite weasel encounter, I could have said it formed together like Voltron, but instead of giant metal man made out of robot cats, it’s a short furry man made out of meat weasels. More abstractly, I could have called it a weaselly Devastator. Pop culture provides us with an imagery-rich lexicon of reminders of pass times past, and piling fun memories onto the present game being played is just a good time sammich.

How?

Now that I’ve convinced you your campaign needs as many Cobra operatives as you can fit in it, how do you do it on the fly?

Association

I mentioned this on the Dice Geeks RPG Podcast I recently appeared on, but I was as prepared to move onto a circus act audition as I was to move onto combat when the Mimips 11 cast was working out how they would infiltrate the Three Piece Suit. Once it was established that their plan was to prove themselves in combat, I needed a challenge that was:

• Level appropriate;
• Not especially challenging;
• Memorable;
• Out of the book.

I used the Archives of Nethys’ monster filter find two good candidates: duergar and crocodiles. To paraphrase advice Sean K Reynolds once gave for an RPG Superstars encounter design round: It’s easy to throw two related monsters into an encounter that makes sense. It’s impressive to throw two unrelated monsters into an encounter that makes sense. Aiming to impress my players, I needed a connection point between duergar and crocodiles that was memorable and out of the book.

Hence, Croc Master.

Reskin

I like making monsters, but 2e lacks the handy chart from the back of every Bestiary that I used to improvise 1e monsters. Even with the monster creation rules (which I don’t believe I had at the time), the recommended stats by CR aren’t as succinctly summarized. So the easiest solution was to reskin existing stats. In this case, I used the Duergar Taskmaster. Because each crocodile was its own creature, I didn’t have to worry about swapping out abilities to grant anima companions. If this was an adventure I was writing for publication (more on that later), I would need to spend mechanics justifying their relationship. This being a minor encounter, I didn’t feel guilty loosely handling some less consequential mechanics. 2e’s less interactive mechanics mean I can do that without worry that a player might pull a mechanical Jenga piece out that topples my tower.

Evocation

Have you ever heard a movie described as “like X meets Y” where X and Y are other movies? Or “Like X, but Y” where X is another movie and Y is a plot element that’s been changed? That is not just how audiences describe movies, it is how movies are pitched. Spinning the familiar is like coding language to maximize the impact of every word.

Not only does this tool conveying your idea easier, it makes it easier to conjure up. Like Venom meets lycanthropy. Like The Fly meets The Blob. Like Voltron, but weasels.  There is so much inspiration to mine just by taking two concepts that set the tone you’re looking for and then seeing what’s in the overlap.

Recontextualize

I think about pop culture a lot, and I enjoy thought experiments like filtering absurd pop culture ideas through realistic lenses. For a good example of this, see every episode of Robot Chicken.

In addition to the fun recontextualizing pop culture can provide, it is also a useful tool for us, my fellow GMs. We all know Batman is a popular character concept for PCs but imagine him as an villainous rival for your party. Throwing a seemingly endless supply of teenage acrobat minions at them. Somehow always informed about the party’s abilities and equipped to counter them. Bankrolled by a rich and influential member of society, whose butler have military training. File the serial number down enough and your players might totally miss that they are being hounded by arguably the most recognizable modern pop culture icon.

But…

Beware, pop culture infusion can have some negative consequences. The most obvious is that it can derail your campaign. I used Croc Master in that encounter to save time, not to indulge in a GI Joe digression (which, even as the GM of actual play content, I would have had a hard time resisting if someone else initiated it). Similarly, as strongly as people can feel for the pop culture they like, they can have an equal and opposite reaction to the pop culture they dislike. It can be really deflating when a player follows “Wait, is this guy Batman,” up with the elongated groan of someone who has seen Thomas and Martha Wayne killed in crime alley once too many times.

Also, and I can’t stress this enough, pop culture thrives on the tabletop, but is problematic in published content. That isn’t to say pop culture has no room in published content, but much more care must be taken with how it is used. Having a character who throws a petrified bat he found in a Medusa cave is a bit much, even if you aren’t calling it a Batarang. The difference is the reaction you are trying to elicit. Pop culture at the table is fine, and it can get a knowing smile or chuckle in spite of themselves from your players. That’s fun, the purpose of playing the game. Whereas the purpose of publishing is sharing how original you can be, so much so you thought of something no one else thought of and it’s worth paying you money for.

Conclusion

Just like you don’t have to design every monster from the ground up, you don’t need to reinvent the wheel for every design, personality, or memorable moment. You can learn from pop culture. It can be your tool for better story telling, faster idea conception, and smoother GMing.

And now you know.

*As a 1987 release, Croc Master just missed making the GI Joe The Movie cut (which featured a number of 1987 good guys but virtually no 1987 bad guys), and he was off the shelf by the 1989 Dic revival of the GI Joe series. He never got his own commercial, only briefly animated for a commercial for GI Joe Motorized Action Packs. Even though the character has received new action figures over the years, he never made it into tie-in animation.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

Make them weird.

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

What Is Weird?

Uh… according to Google Dictionary:

weird /wird/
adj. suggesting something supernatural; uncanny.
n. archaic (Scottish) a person’s destiny.
v. induce a sense of disbelief or alienation in someone.

That’s unexpected. I thought it meant unexpected, a former pejorative that’s taken on a positive meaning in recent years. Supernatural? Destiny? A verb? Like, I never thought of Mr Yankovich as “Uncanny Al”. Although if that’s what he was going for, I’d have suggested “SupernturAl”.

Thanks for setting the weird tone, Google Dictionary.

Well, when I say make it weird, I mean do something unusual, unexpected. Give your players an experience they’ve never felt before.

Why?

Weird = Wonder

This genre is built on experiencing the impossible, of stepping out of our black and white farmhouse into a world of rich colours. How much less satisfying would The Wizard of Oz have been if after saying “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Dorothy cast plane shift? Even if she had that power, surely Dorothy would have held off casting it to explore this seemingly unthreatening other world she’s dropped into. Even if it’s not her end goal, it’s too interesting to ignore.

Wonder = Engagement

In a game where your players’ characters each have a suite of powers to interact with different situations, it’s important to remind them that there are situations that they can engage with on a personal level (to their characters), no powers required.

You know that N. Bedell’s comic about a GM who is frustrated that the PCs are ignoring his carefully crafted plot hook for a random NPC they are infatuated with?

I do not relate to that GM. That is a comic about a group of players paying attention, interacting with a person your brain sent to there’s. This is a GM succeeding at GMing and getting frustrated about it for some reason.

Engagement = Brain On!

When your players engage with something in your game, you’ve got them! The imaginary world you’re projecting means more to them than their cell phones, snacks, even the rulebooks. The game rules take their proper position of facilitators of this shared storytelling experience.

How?

Start Early

The sooner you introduce an idea that makes a player go “what?” (for reasons other than not paying attention) the sooner your players are thinking about the world you are bringing them int. The more they interact with something in your world, the more they are their character in your world and not a player at your table.

Mimips 11 starts with a journey through a bizarre extra planar mansion into a ring in a field called the Ramshircle. This is one weird thing after another that got my players wondering “what is happening?” Because it was intentionally weird, they weren’t asking one another, player to player, they were in character trying to grasp what they were experiencing.

Change One Thing

The setting of our Explore & Encounter adventure needed to be a farm, but it was a last minute change to make it a yak farm. That small change turned yaks from something not talked bout on the network to something I am synonymous with to our listeners. Evidence: Did you know which adventure I was talking about when I said “Explore & Encounter” or did it take you until “yak”? Further evidence: Perram designed the banner with no art direction from me.

Go Outside the Rules

If there are rules for it, odds are someone at your table gets it. Ever receive one reaction describing a monster, but then lose it in favour of indifference as soon as you mention the creature’s name. That’s because there is a tendency among people who consider the math fights aspect of tabletop RPGs to recall rules as soon as there is a contextual cue to do so. The longer you can keep your rules-minded players guessing, the longer your story-minded players have reign over your playground. If all goes well, your rules-minded players take the opportunity to tap into the story side of their brain.

The Legend of Your Campaign

Let’s say one of your players goes to PaizoCon and talks about your campaign. How would they describe it? Especially if you are running a canned campaign. What would make your version of Rise of the Runelords “the yak adventure”? When you are making decisions about your setting, descriptions, NPC voices, think about where your instinct goes and ask yourself if that’s memorable. If I asked you if you remember Alpha from Pixar’s Up, would you remember him as the Doberman Pinscher, or the Doberman Pinscher with the high-pitched voice? Did you even remember who Alpha was before I mentioned his high-pitched voice?

In Conclusion

Imagination. Creativity. Invention. Originality. All of the things that made fantasy the genre is was could be described as embracing the weird. A piece of jewelry than makes a wizard shudder? Trees offended when you pick their fruit? The more familiar you are with fantasy, the more you take for granted how stranger its foundation once seemed.

Every two weeks, Ryan Costello uses his experience as a Game Master, infused with popular culture references, to share his thoughts on best GMing practices to help his fellow GMs. Often deconstructing conventional wisdom and oft repeated GMing advice, he reminds his fellow GMs that different players play the game in different ways, and for different reasons.

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

GREW FROM THERE

The original concept was simple: A spreadsheet with two rows:

• 2e Name
• 1e Name

Sticking with just the names name this more of a list than a tool. Sure, I would have a reference to answer the specific question “What’s that monster called in 2e?” but why stop there? By simply linking to the Archives of Nethys entry for each monster, I, or anyone else using the tool, has access to the monster’s rules, inevitably the next step in the search for the monster.

Then I remembered the reason monsters were renamed: Because the names of D&D-originating monsters was a grey area in the Open Gaming License, which is why monsters are rarely named in published Pathfinder fiction and they’re renamed in merchandise like Pathfinder minis. So I should have a column for the names these creatures were given in the Pathfinder Battles line. And if I’m listing the names, I might as well link to their pictures on Pathfinderminis.com.

But that’s not where renaming ends! Some monsters have Paizo Intellectual Property names, like the Sandpoint Devil, and some online resources can’t use Paizo IP because they don’t qualify for the Community Use (usually because the resource is for profit). So I can link to alternate monster names on d20pfsrd. That’s one more name Pathfinder monsters can have, so a new column was added.

Finally, since I was linking to the minis a GM might need if they want proper representation of the monster on their table, I figured if the monster appeared in a pawn set, I’ll link to that as well. Maybe I’ll start linking to Pathfinderwiki entries to cover the lore.

As a result of these added features, the scope of this tool grew beyond what I expected so it’s not ready to show off today. At least right now it serves the original purpose I pictured and it will be a better tool when it’s done.

WHY?

Why do this? Well, it’s useful to me as a GM and freelancer, which means it might be useful to my fellow GMs and freelancers.

PERSONAL BENEFITS

As I’ve discussed before, memorization is one of my weaknesses of information retention. Because the motivation for the renaming was case-by case instead of systematic (say, renaming all monsters to be what they call themselves), I’m less likely to remember which monsters were renamed to what. As I started working on the tool, I saw other ways I could use it and set out to make the best tool for me.

Also, it helps me notice smaller changes, like that 1e’s derros were renamed dero (dropping an R) and 1e’s erinyes were renamed erinys (dropping the last E), and idiosyncrasies, like a few spots where the Bestiary table of contents aren’t in alphabetical order (Deinosuchus comes before Deinonychus even though N comes before S). These findings are fun for a Pathfinder enthusiast, and leave me with minutia to ponder.

I am much better at learning through interaction, which includes interacting with the same item from multiple directions. The more familiar I am with monsters, and the more ways I know I can interact with these rules, the more likely I am to know how to best find the information.

Effectively, making a tool to help me manage the Pathfinder monsters means I am less likely to need the tool I am making. I am OK with that.

COMMUNITY BENEFITS

An element of how Paizo published Pathfinder 1e that does not get the appreciation it deserves is how online community friendly they were. 1e wasn’t just D&D 3.5 rules evolved, it was a better play experience thanks to legally available rulebook PDFs and online tools, some of which were created by the community. After a decade of Pathfinder enthusiasts learning to play a certain way, a new edition meant losing a lot of resources we were comfortable with. It’s time to rebuild those resources.

Of course, I’m not a programmer, web designer, or… tool maker. So I’ll use the tools available to me. If someone is later able to swoop in and improve on my tool, I’ll happily switch to the better tool.

BUILDING ON EXISTING FOUNDATION

Despite losing a lot of the resources we’re used to, we still have a lot of free tools for our game. Just looking at the list above, my idea for a list of names turned into an interactive resource by incorporating the Archives of Nethys, Pathfinderminis.com, d20pfsrd, and Pathfinderwiki.

These resources are institutions of the game and the hobby, and they serve as an excellent springboard for other tools.

AND SO CAN YOU!

If you find yourself wanting for a resource you had in 1e, take action! That action can be as complex as making it yourself or as simple as reaching out to the people who made the tool you love and miss and let them know their work is appreciated. Just try to avoid sounding entitled to a new version.

It might help get an update made, or it might just make the day of someone who helped make your game the experience you enjoyed.

Well…

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

Appeals to Discretion

We’d all like to think that GM discretion means when we get to make a ruling, that ruling is accepted and everyone moves on. We’d also like to think that “we game Monday” means butts at the table and not buts in our Inbox. Oh our naïve optimism. 

Many players will see a rule calling itself out as at the GM’s discretion is an opportunity to plead their case. Pathfinder 1e may have been known as a rules lawyer’s courthouse, but there is more than one law school gamers attend. For example, I had a player from my high school D&D 2e game was a logic lawyer (or rather a “logic” lawyer, see below for the distinction), arguing, for example, that he should be able to parry melee attacks that the rules say hit him because *mimes parrying*. 

For all the rules lawyering dissuaded by Pathfinder 2e’s emphasis on GM discretion , it opens up different angles from which players leverage the GM to show discretion in their favour. 

Types of Gamer Lawyers 

Below are some ways in which players can argue with us GMs. Note that fun is not on the list below. I believe that fun is the goal of all of the below tactics, depending on your and your group’s brand of fun. 

Logic

Regardless of the rules, a Logic lawyer wants the game to make sense. An appeal to logic includes the application of real world facts and academic knowledge. 

The trick about fantasy as a genre is its relationship with reality. Yes, there are dragons and magic, but our ability to accept that does not dictate whether we think magic fire should share the reactive properties of real fire. Searching for a quote I saw a few months ago to the effect of “whoever gave padded armor the comfort trait in Pathfinder 2e owes everyone who ever wore padded armor an apology,” I came across a Reddit thread called [2e] An attempt at more historically accurate armor. It’s a good example of someone who felt the level of realism of an area of a fantasy game in which they are familiar.

 “Logic”

As opposed to Logic, an appeal to “Logic” includes the application of assumed facts without actual academic knowledge. 

The best example (albeit one I’ve gone into before) is the “logic” than an animal companion would attack enemies even if not directed to. This ignores the fact that the first step of training an animal is breaking it. The reason a Hollywood animal can perform in action scenes despite the danger their senses indicate is all around them is because they have learned to trust their handler more than their own senses. 

What’s important to remember is that just because someone’s presented their argument as logical when it’s actually based on how they feel, that doesn’t dismiss their objection. We may call argumentative players lawyers but misrepresenting an argument does not warrant throwing out their case. The way I approach a “logic” lawyer is to ask if disproving the facts of their statement will change how they feel. If so, invite them to prove their point (not necessarily during the session). If not, try to figure out what it is about their argument that would improve their experience. Perhaps it will make the game more cinematic, or immersive for some other reason. Regardless of whether it’s a logical argument or a “logical” argument, the player feels justified to object and it’s best to address whatever is causing the objection. 

Dramatic

Above all else, dramatic lawyers value the emotional roller coaster that is the roleplaying game experience. Sometimes that comes at the expense of the game part of the roleplaying game experience. 

Where logic lawyers will argue for house rules to improve the verisimilitude of the game, dramatic lawyers are the most likely to argue for spontaneous exceptions to the rules. They see the rules as facilitators for engaging storytelling. When they are engaged, they want the facilitator to step aside and let the scene, the storytelling, the drama of the moment take precedence. 

Think of it like the Ant-Man movies. The best scenes involve fun with size changing, and almost all of them ignore the simple rules of shape changing the movie establishes. Basically, Pym particles condense and expand atoms. That’s why Ant-Man’s punches hit with the force of a 200 lbs man. That’s also why this tiny 200 lbs man shouldn’t be able to ride an ant. To some, this inconsistency ruins the movie. To others, it makes the movie. To most, Luis makes the movie. 

A storyteller GMs can learn from.

Convenience

Some players just want to keep the momentum going.

We as GMs are not immune to analysis paralysis. Making rulings at our discretion can be as imprisoning to some as it is freeing to others. If a player is volunteering for a decision to be made against their favour, or the pressure they are applying is not for a decision one way or another but just some decision, you may be taking too long to make a ruling.

We don’t have to assume our players are looking to take advantage of us. If a rule says it is at the GM’s discretion, we can ask our players “what do you think is fair?”

Conclusion

Players arguing with the GM often are usually portrayed as the villain of the scenario or the bane of the GM experience. In defense of argumentative players, there’s a lot of time between a player’s turns, and that gives them time to plan several steps of a plan ahead, while we as GMs need to focus on what’s happening in every moment. If an early step in that player’s plan includes an interpretation or assumption that differs from ours, that’s a lot of brain power we are asking for them to throw out. And if they are the type of person who does better with a thought-out plan than on their feet, asking them to change their plan in real time can be anxiety inducing. 

Just because a rule says it is at the GM’s discretion, that does not mean players won’t argue their side. And a player arguing their side isn’t automatically trying to take advantage of us or the situation. If you find that too often the rules left to your discretion lead to arguments, try to establish a hierarchy of how you will adjudicate them (for example: dramatic > convenience > logic > “logic” or logic > “logic” > convenience > dramatic). If you are in the habit of saying “I’m making this ruling because it makes the most sense” or “because it’s the easiest solution” you can expect the tone of your game to start reflecting that.

PLAYER: I search X for traps.
GM: X? Oh, OK.

Oh no, some part of the GM brain thinks. I’ve told more that I said! By not anticipating that a player might search X for traps, the GM tells the player that X isn’t trapped, and that X probably isn’t that significant.

And that can be OK.

Self-awareness is important to what we do, GMs, but before you commit to neutralizing your reactions, understand the power of GM inference.

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

Framing the Stage

“Theatre of the mind” is the parlance for roleplaying games without an emphasis on maps and miniatures . However, even if your table has an elaborate, Order of the Ambre Die-esq setup, imagination fills in many blanks about the game, and the table has a lot in common with a stage.

Like the audience of a theatre performance, players have a set point of view on the table. Usually straight on, or at an upward or downward angle in theatre, and bird’s eye view at a table.

Pictured: All the world

If a director wants to foreshadow the importance of a prop, they have the set designer set it up somewhere prominent, or have the cast obviously interact with it. Otherwise, all props are created equal and either the audience is forced to process a multitude of items that seem important, or they disregard all items as unimportant. This can be your goal -I saw a murder mystery play with audience  interaction where anything on the set could have played a role in the murder, so high alert was the reaction the play wanted from the audience- but is better off avoided if it’s not.

Unlike a director, you are not in control of all the elements on stage. Your audience is also your cast, and if a character interacts with an unimportant prop, it can suddenly seem important to the other players. And a poorly timed low skill check can leave a lingering doubt as to its importance. Heck, a high skill check can be seen as evidence that something is extra important because the truth is super hidden. Basically, all things being equal, there is no difference between a character failing to find anything and a character successfully finding nothing.

The Power of The Unsaid

Theatre uses techniques and tricks to control what the audience focuses on, whereas cinema has cinematography and score to set the tone. I’ve talked before about how I am not a visual person, but I am 10x more visual than I am musical, so you are right to question my qualifications when I say this: Our role as GM is the cinematography and score of our games.

Have you ever watched a horror movie and things just felt off? A character opens a closet door and you gasp, then chuckle to yourself when nothing happens? That’s because there is so much more going on in the scene than what we see.

The human senses are not balanced. If we were playing a game where classes were based on the 5 senses, you’d be a fool to play anything other than sight unless you were prepared to lag behind all of the visual characters. If you’re playing taste, you might as well be sight’s familiar.

I did no research beyond a Google image search, but this looks right to me.

Furthermore, each sense contains a spectrum of subtle variation, especially (for us humans) sight and sound. Cinematography is the exploitation of the more subtle segments of the spectrums. Doing so plays on our anticipation and subconscious. Done well, a movie becomes more than moving pictures.

You direct the camera with your descriptions, but you direct the tone with your subtext. You can be intentionally subtextual (“Oh, you want to open the door without checking for traps?”) or unintentionally (“Remind me, what’s your marching order?”). These queues represent the subtle sensory input the PCs receive. No one in the world asked the characters what their marching order was, but when we ask for the marching order, it can be seen as the characters’ experience kicking in at the last second that there might be imminent danger.

There are tabletop soundtrack tools, most famously Adventurous sponsor Syrinscape, but they serve a different purpose than a movie’s score. A Syrinscape soundset creates atmosphere, providing the right mood of music and foley appropriate to the setting. Because it and similar programs are generic, we as GMs would have to dedicate a lot of time before and during the session to transition between soundsets in time with the dramatic beats of a scene. This is also not what these programs are designed to do, so a lot of our effort would be square pegging that round hole.

All to engineer a response that GMing creates naturally.

Note: This article covered the passive side of using your GMing tendencies to your advantage. In a previous Behind The Screens, guest blogger Vanessa explored deliberate choices you can make to increase the cinematic feel of your game.

Use Your Voice

This article is not a reversal of a previous position. There is value in knowing your GMing tendencies so that you can control the intentionality of your reactions. But before you see showing your hand as some kind of GMing sin, ask yourself what you and your group gain when you control the subtext of your responses. If players know there is more to your responses than what you say, they have a reason to hang on your every word. Understand when the game benefits from subverting subtext and when subtext adds a layer for players to consider.

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

Setting DCs
To get this out of the way: One area I screwed up early on that affected the session was setting the DCs of skills. Page 503 of the Core Rulebook has a chart summarizing Simple DCs. I like this chart a lot. It sets the difficulty of a task by the training required to accomplish it, which I think is the right direction. When setting a DC, ask yourself how proficient someone has to be to reliably (greater than 50% of the time) succeed. For example, if it’s an Acrobatics check, should everyone be able to do it (ie untrained, ex: balancing on a curb), only someone who is actively athletic (ie trained, ex: balancing on a balance beam), someone dedicated to the area (ie experts, ex: running across a balance beam), only the top practitioners in the field at the time (ie masters, ex: cartwheels across a balance beam), or only the top practitioners in the field of all time (ie legends, ex: an elaborate dance routine across a balance beam).

Core Rulebook page 503

It’s important to note that these aren’t prerequisites skill proficiencies, just touchstones indicating expected competency level. It’s one of the best examples of clear guidelines that allow for incredible flexibility. There are some “GM discretion” rules in 1e where not enough information is provided for even experienced GMs to make informed decisions. And notoriously, there are other areas in 1e that go into meticulous detail about what should factor into a DC, arming argumentative players with ammunition to debate whether their character should have succeeded at an attempt.

There are rules for setting level-based DCs as well, but these are when whatever is setting the DC has a level (such as an NPC or hazard). Otherwise, simple DCs are the way to go. As per the Simple DCs rules:

“Simple DCs work well when you need a DC on the fly and there’s no level associated with the task. They’re most useful for skill checks.”

2e’s rules for setting DCs are simple, flexible, and consistent. They are the best example of how a system can empower and support us, GMs. So how did I screw it up?

Two factors contributed to my mistake:

1. Out with the Old: 2e DCs are fairly similar to 1e DCs. DC 10 is average difficulty that anyone can accomplish, DC 20 is something that can only be accomplished with training and affinity. So when the PCs were hitting high the teens with their rolls, I should have realized that this was an accomplishment, and that the DCs I’d set in my head were too high. However, I did my best to wipe the old system out of my mind while GMing this session so I had as pure a 2e GMing experience as I could. Unfortunately…
2. Not Yet In with the New: I wasn’t used to 2e yet, despite the logic of the 2e setting DCs rules. The chart jumps from 5 interval increases to 10. Now, where it jumps makes sense: the gap between being untrained to trained, and trained to an expert is not as big as the gap between being an expert and being an expert to being a master, or being a master to being a legend. However, despite the logic how the DCs increase, I winged it wrong. I started with the first DC I set (A DC 30 Nature check to single out that Smatl is not like the other Yaks), which was intentionally above what the party should reasonably be able to accomplish, and then started to decrease the DC by 5.

I’m calling this a combination of a very me issue and an issue with GMing a new system, not an issue with the system itself. I made a mistake, saw that it was on me, and adjusted. Contrast this with the playtest, where while GMing I made mistakes, saw how the system actually worked and felt the playtest version of the rules (in this case, exploration) were the problem.

Exploration
Speaking of exploration, no area of 2e is as large an improvement over the playtest version as Exploration mode. I liked the idea of taking what amounts to the majority of the time in my game and codifying it a little. Adding a bit more structure gives us a language to use to change the pace of our sessions, and it gives the rules areas to add options. However, the playtest version of exploration mode was deceptively and needlessly complex, turning what’s normally the most casual part of play into another crunchy section, meaning there is no reprieve from the rules. Instead of approaching the scenes between combats from their characters point of view, they approached it from what the rules allowed them to do. I can’t minimize how much this took away from the game still feeling like Pathfinder.

2e’s exploration mode is not that. It ran as smoothly as the nameless 1e equivalent of this section of the rules, with the bonus that I had rules to change the tempo and use as tools. It is now what the packaging said it was supposed to be in the playtest.

The only real downside is that Initiative still doesn’t feel as flexible as I want it to be. The promise of removing Initiative as an ability was that what the PCs did in exploration mode dictated what would be used for Initiative. But it’s Perception or Stealth 90% of the time. And the 10% of the time that another option presents itself, because of how rigid skill proficiency is when compared to skill points, there’s a good chance the bonuses of any two non-Perception skill will be the same. Also, initiative is one of the few areas where I didn’t feel supported as a GM. When it came to my initiative, I felt like my options were to put thought into what my creatures and NPCs were doing -potentially asking the players to wait at a time they are ready to rush forward into Encounter mode- or just go with Perception or Stealth.

I hope experience with 2e experience shows me ways to add variety to Initiative and I develop an instinct for it, but right now I feel like it takes longer than 1e without adding anything.

Prepping 2e
I’m known for not prepping for my sessions, which is true except if I am running for a session with a new subsystem or other mechanical need. For everything else, I either know the system well enough to run or I know how to find the information quickly.

In this case, I prepped enough to feel comfortable with the mechanical needs of the session, mostly making sure my encounters followed the new rules.

Core Rulebook pg 489

Understanding the XP budget rules on page 489 took a few reads, but actually designing an encounter using these rules made me comfortable with them fast. In fact, it was a lot of fun flipping through the Bestiary for options to round out the more convoluted of my encounters.

Ease of Running
Having only read the Core Rulebook once and only the pages of the Bestiary that were relevant to this session, I was thrilled by how smoothly the session ran. When I needed to look something up, the rule was where I expected it to be, which again is a huge improvement over the playtest. There are no long pauses edited out of the audio of the session we ran, I was able to navigate my page of notes (below), two rulebooks, and the technical requirements of the online session as easily as I ran a homebrew 1e session.

A standout moment for me was when I was deciding what my pixie NPC would do, saw one of their spell-like abilities, and correctly predicted/remembered how many actions that spell took. My 2e GMing instinct was born, and I could see myself running this system for years to come.

I asked if he and Stone understood that a negative level is a stackable condition that mostly just applies a few -1s and not that he actually loses a level. Will said they did not. I followed up by asking if they understood that a permanent condition is ongoing, and that there are solutions to permanent problems. Again, not how they understood it.  Instead, they both assumed those words in that order meant, y’know, the meanings of those words.

Unfortunately, in a game where rules are with a narrative slant, the dictionary and the rulebook don’t always get along, which can lead to problems.

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

1e Clarity Problems

Here are a few additional examples of rules with meanings that don’t always line up with the expectations the definitions of the words create.

Distraction and Fascinate: The bard is frontloaded with situational abilities that sound extremely useful. Distraction and fascinate sound like the bard can use its thematic ability to draw attention and be annoying to goad a target into paying attention to them, or be a diversion, possibly catching a target flatfooted. Instead, the distraction in question is a distraction to distract an ally from an illusion that has their attention. It’s more like a counter-distraction. And fascinate does make targets fascinated, but it’s so tenuously fascinating that combat breaks the effect, meaning bards do not use this ability nearly as often as the label implies they will.

Knowledge (local): There is nothing in the rules that says Knowledge (local) is limited geographically. If you are from Qadira, currently in Tian Xia, and have a question about the customs of the Land of the Linnorm Kings, that’s a Knowledge (local) roll.

Throw Anything: Maybe it’s just me, but while making my first several Pathfinder characters I would come across this feat, say ooh, and then read it and remember it doesn’t make me any better at throwing things that are already meant to be thrown, only making me able to throw non-aerodynamic objects as though they were aerodynamic.

Attack: When is an attack the attack action described in the Combat chapter and when it is aggressive focus? If a wizard is confused and rolls “attack nearest creature,” does that mean they can drop a fireball, or must they draw their crossbow or swing their quarterstaff?

If you’ve listened to the PaizoCon 2019 seminars, especially the 2e design panels, you’ve heard the design team bring up that last example a few times. One of their design goals was to avoid having one term bear the load of multiple rules. A noble goal, but there is only so much the designers can separate how rules will be interpreted; the more specifically a broad word is redefined as a rule, the more room there is for interpretation.

Avoiding 2e Clarity Problems

We are on the cusp of a new edition, and that comes with it new risks of misreading rules. Trust me, as someone who combs through rulebooks for review purposes, I understand the desire to skim when your information processor needs a break but your enthusiasm still wants more. Here are a few pitfalls to watch out for to hopefully minimize potential misunderstanding.

Learn the New Format: We are used to 1e rules following certain formatting: feat and skill names are capitalized, spell names are italicized, etc. The rules format rules are changing in 2e. More words are being capitalized, which means it is easier to pick out rules text from flavor text, but you’ll need to remember/research which rules the capitalization indicates.

Rules (Mostly) Aren’t Words: It maybe be the designers’ goal to use the best word to define a rule, but how well that goal is accomplished is the player’s burden. When you come across a rule that feels like it should have more or different application, there’s nothing you can do but adapt. Think of it like learning how to pronounce an irregular word. Like, look, we all know Stephen should be pronounced “Stefen” with a heavy emphasis on the obvious F noise in the middle, but that does not stop  all the Stephens I know from pretending PH is pronounced V. I could take a stand, just like I could insist Xavier should be able to distract foes because he’s a 1e bard, but that’s not doing anyone any favours. Stephen is pronounced with a V. A 1e bard can only distract distracted allies from their distractions. The dictionary and a rulebook can have different definitions for the same rule.

Don’t Trust the Familiar: Furthering the previous point, the 2e rulebook can have different definitions from the 1e rulebook. You might be reading the rulebook and come across something familiar like Power Attack and think “I can save precious seconds by skipping Power Attack, a rule I’m familiar with, decreasing the total amount of time it will take to digest this 642 page tome,” that’s the wrong thought! You may know how a Power Attack works, but you don’t know how this Power Attack works. Treat the familiar as the least familiar of all or you risk never fully understanding 2e because you understand 1e too well.

Conclusion

Now I’m not adjudicating that designers should be free to corrupt meanings with poor or ill-intended word choice. I love words too much and I don’t have the authority to do so. What I’m saying is that a rulebook is like a dictionary for a practical dialect. It is easier to learn because of the similarity to an existing language, but familiarity with that existing language can lead to confusion. Just remember to take Captain America’s advice and watch your language!

I don’t think that most GMs sit at the right spot at the table. As a GM I’m always trying to think of ways to keep my players more engaged in our games. Besides storytelling and funny voices, I like to also use physical things: props, minis, maps, terrain, heck even a custom built game room decorated as a tavern. And like many GMs that have been to Gen Con, I’ve seen those amazing game tables that different companies make these days.

Professionally made game tables such as the Sultan from the now bankrupt Geek Chic traditionally put the game master station at the long end of the table.

An Easy Solution

But one thing I’ve noticed: They always put the ‘GM’ station on these things at one of the long ends of the table. The ‘head’ of the table, so to speak. But I always found that sitting at the far end of the table separates me from my players. They have to turn their heads sideways to look at me, and their natural focus becomes the battle-map in front of them. It also makes it easier for players at the far end of the table to feel less engaged and become distracted by their phones.

And speaking of the battle map, drawing on it or moving minis is also harder. I’m often left asking one of my players to do that for me, which breaks some of the immersion of the game. So I thought about it… and think its best to GM from the side of the table. From the center of one of the long sides, the rest of the players spaced around the table’s other edges, now the focus of their view is the Game Master. The battle map is still there, and the GM will have a lot better reach.

Without replacing the table, just a simple seat rotation changes everything.

This does give the GM more space than any of the other people at the table, but with their piles of books, minis, and such, usually the GM needs more space than anyone else. Besides, I’ve long made use of the Chessex Battle-Top to make sure we /all/ have plenty of space at the table, and a riser of any type that allows players to keep books and notes under the battle map will make sure things don’t get too crowded.

I’ve done a few test runs of running the game like this and I have to say, a great improvement for me. As long as you have five or less players. As more players show up, it becomes more likely to make more ‘efficient’ use of the table. But I don’t like running more than five people anyway. Even PFS games seem a bit crowded for my tastes.

Asking around, I’ve since learned this isn’t a completely unique revelation with many of my friends and industry contacts chiming in to say they’ve done this as well.

The Right Tools for the Job

So I started to wonder what a custom table designed to handle this style of play might look like. I’ve seen a few examples online, and sketched up this simple design that I think will be easy to make. Take a 3.5′ x 5′ and snip the corners off one side to give everyone some extra elbow room.

A simple shape to make, this puts all the attention on the GM while giving players enough room to breath.

A quick trip to Sketch Up to visualize the design, and integrating a full size shelf to store books and sheets when not in use.

Only disadvantage here is what to do when more than the five people show up. Some of them have to start sharing edges. A ’round edge’ design eliminates that problem but is harder to cut. My education friends were quick to point out that these are called ‘kidney tables’ and can be purchased online. Though they’re usually plastic and designed for public settings, not medieval taverns.

Other People’s Tables

Of course, again, I’m not the only one. And as I’ve talked about this many of my friends took to Pinterest and found other tables inspired by the same thoughts:

And of course there is Matt Mercer’s table from Critical Role, though its designed for optimal streaming instead, but with the same benefits:

Lessons Learned

Maybe the end of the table works best for your group after all, or maybe a shift in seating will help make your games more engaging. In the end, this is something that plays to each game master’s style and environment. But I think it is important to give it a thought beyond what the ‘normal’ is. Its easy to spend thousands of dollars in this hobby looking for ways to make your game better, so what harm is a shift in literal perspective?

Also, as others have pointed out to me, with a circular table, or a square table, or octagonal table… none of this is an issue. All sides are equal. When I play at Gen Con I notice how much more I enjoy that set up. I even intended to buy a round table for my game room when I built it  until I found the banquet table I have for $100 from a closing hotel. Maybe I’ll be looking to find that banquet table a new home soon.

Hey Ryan (and readers!) I was inspired by your recent blog to write a response, not to dispute or even argue against your case, but mostly because I wanted to add my personal balancing methods to the pile. I think it’s particularly interesting because as a GM, I have figured out the key to balancing (in my specific case) is not balancing very much at all.

Throwing CR Out The Window

Fairly early on I’ve learned to stop trusting CR (Challenge Rating.) I get the idea behind CR but it simply stops working when you add in a bunch of variables. And Pathfinder is full of variables. Party size, enemy group size, mixing CR values, situational abilities, terrain… There’s so much that adjusts the difficulty of an encounter that using CR is unreliable at best. CR is great for seeing at a moment’s notice approximately how strong a monster is however, so that is it’s only purpose, for me personally.

I have replaced CR with EXP-budgeting. For which I use this table:

Source: GM’s Guide to Creating Challenging Encounters. By Alex Augunas 

To read this table, simply add your players (say 4 level 3 characters) and select how challenging you want an encounter to be (let’s go with CR +0, aka dead average.) This gives us 4*200 = 800 experience. This is my only guideline, I will aim to add monsters to an encounter that total about 800 experience points in rewards. In addition, I will endeavour to spend about half this budget on one or two larger (budget) foes, and the rest on smaller ‘goons.’ This is the first step in my ‘balancing’ process. And its purpose is mostly to ensure I won’t throw encounters at the party that they can’t handle by virtue of being underleveled for it. That’s the only factor this method accounts for however, level and expected challenge.

Go With What Makes Sense

And here it is I think a lot of people differ. A lot of GMs I know will now start looking for monsters that target a specific save, or that have a strong save themselves (for example, a high will save against that pesky witch in the player party who keeps slumbering everyone and their cohort’s mother!) On the flipside, there’s a common design trope I hear recently where GM’s believe they shouldn’t design encounters that the players aren’t likely to win. They’ll choose monsters or things that have specific weaknesses that cater to the party. Or they’ll remove creatures or abilities from an encounter the party is unable to deal with. While I believe you certainly shouldn’t endeavour to kill the party, there’s nothing wrong with designing something the party is ill-prepared for.

The way I do it, is I look at the circumstances of the encounter. Where is it? Who is present? What would they do in day to day life, and how will their experience and abilities reflect that? If it involves monsters, I choose monsters that are both thematic and cool for the area and feel I’m trying to create. I’ll often even write a short, 1-2 paragraph story as to why this monster is there at that time! Verisimilitude is very important to me personally, and making encounters that above everything else make sense is an integral part of my style.

An added benefit to this method is that I stopped concerning myself with who’s in the party. I don’t think about their saves, their spells or their party composition. Does this mean there’s occasionally a monster there that the party is horribly unprepared for? Like a Quickling when the party has no cold iron weapons. Or something that the party will breeze through? Like a few Ogres against the aforementioned Witch? Yes, it very much does. But that’s the beauty of balancing encounters with this method.

After all of this is done, I ask myself one simple question: Is this encounter aware of the party? And if they are, I will adjust it accordingly. I will do small tweaks to inventories or abilities that the people and things in the encounter would reasonably change to be better prepared for the inevitable encounter with the party. A vulnerable necromancer might invest in a potion of blur to throw off the party’s Rogue. A dragon might search his vault for a scroll of resist energy to ward off the party’s ice-mage who’s got two red-dragon kills to her name already.

How This Affects Play

This has created a few interesting dynamics in my games. First of all, this enables people to play the game how they want to play. Optimizers and math-minded people will find themselves delighted in the fact their optimization works well against the brunt of situations. People who love planning and preparing find themselves enjoying the fact the curveballs the world throws at them are no match for their bag of holding and the various trinkets, scrolls and potions they have collected.

And occasionally…  Occasionally the party will lament not investing in that scroll of glitterdust the overeager salesman was trying to shove down their throat. If only they had listened to his far too long and suspiciously impassioned speech. Occasionally they’ll be forced to adapt and overcome, or even to run. But using this method, not once will the players feel crossed or screwed. You didn’t put those monsters there to mess with the party, they’re there because that’s their place in the world. Everything thus far has made sense and when they break this down, this encounter too will make sense. Yes, obviously the cursed monastery has kung-fu zombies in it! Evil was dripping off that place, and everyone in the tavern was talking about the things that go arughghh-HIYA in the night. I bet if we go in there with a few scrolls of cure moderate wounds and a few blunt weapons that fight will go very differently!

This also means you won’t need to pull shenanigans, like upping HP or AC or slapping an advanced template on every encounter. 

Conclusion

If you run into balancing issues at this point, it probably stems from one of two things. One of the players is severely over-optimized to the point of trivializing so many encounters your other players can’t enjoy them. Or conversely, someone is so under-optimized they’re constantly at the risk of dying, or worse, putting the party at risk. Both of these scenarios are social issues however, not balancing issues.

I think using the game mechanics to punish or uplift these players is a mistake. One of the elements that makes a game like Dark Souls such a good RPG is that the laws of the world are always the same. They do not compromise and are always the same for everyone. Even the bad guys! If they fall off the map they’re just as dead as you, no matter how huge their boss-name is.

Your best bet is communicating with your players what kind of game you like to run, while they’re most welcome, their playstyle might be better suited for a game revolving around a world that’s designed to kill you, or that’s designed to be explored relatively harmlessly. Rather than a world that’s designed to be that, a living, breathing, realistic world.

Heading straight for the Hospital, too.

What could have possibly motivated designer Will Wright to include this Godzilla feature? The game is all about creating a city, what made him think “I bet people who play this city would love the opportunity to destroy it.” Because whatever it was, he was right. You couldn’t get through a conversation about SimCity in my schoolyard growing up without Godzilla showing up. And honestly, I played a tonne of SimCity in my youth and enjoyed the city building aspects of it, but I don’t know if I would have ever tried it if I wasn’t looking forward to putting the Disaster menu’s main attraction to good use.

Thanks to the Know Direction network’s own Luis Loza, now you too can add Godzilla to a game that isn’t about Godzilla. But I’m sure there are GMs out there who are asking me the very question I asked SimCity’s designer: Why? Why add Godzilla to Golarion?

Why indeed.

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

Foreshadowing
One of Pathfinder’s storytelling challenges is that it isn’t long before the heroes start to feel like super heroes. Levels 2-4 are exponentially so much better than that each level that proceeds it, characters can feel like they’ve come so far so fast. Then you hit level 5, entry point to the sweet spot. What could possibly make a 5^th level character feel anything short of invincible?

#godzillashead

Humble overconfident PCs with the image of a radiation-breathing super dinosaur leveling the next town over. Maybe they can teleport to the scene, but is there anything they can do to penetrate the King of Monsters’ whopping AC 48? How lasting an impact can they leave on a creature with DR 20/epic and fast healing 30?

Storytelling Opportunities
One thing about Kaiju movies is that they are rarely about fighting the creature. They are about surviving it. The PCs might not be able to fight Godzilla in the above example, but they can provide relief for the fleeing survivors, aid to rebuilding efforts, insight into why that just happened.

GM boredom, probably.

Instead of telling the players that disaster struck a city, show them disaster striking!

Lack Of Prep
A great GMing tool for improvisation is “You see ____. What do you do?” Flesh out the scenario by answering the questions your players have, drawing on a combination of internal logic and reference.

In this case, “You see Godzilla. What do you do?”

Before long, their questions have helped you create a scene, given you an idea about what concerns them about this scene, and hopefully sparked some creative ways to turn these concerns into challenges.

What’s especially valuable to you, my fellow GMs, is that most of those ideas won’t involve confronting Godzilla. But in the (far too likely) event that one of the PCs charges Godzilla, Luis has you covered. Frankly, I envy the player whose PC death story involves getting a surprise round on Godzilla (reducing his AC to 42, so you know it’s the right answer)!

The Id Factor

I’ve described myself as a fan of Godzilla in concept more than I am most things in execution. I’ve seen two Godzilla movies, both American, one was terrible, the other I enjoyed. But even if the second Godzilla movie I saw was worse than the first, nothing will make thinking of Godzilla not bring me some measure of joy.

Awww. He thinks he’s people

Now, a lot of what tickles the id enrages the ego. Who would accept this pop culture infusion into a fantasy setting? What if I were to tell you that Godzilla is only 26 years younger than Cthulhu?

Math!

HP Lovecraft died in 1937, but he was only 47. He would have been 64 in 1954, younger than the average lifespan. Statistically speaking, people HP Lovecraft knew could have seen the original Godzilla film in theatres.

Research!

Do I literally mean you should include Godzilla in your Pathfinder game? Yes. But I understand your concerns. Even with the serial numbers filed off, introducing kaiju to a campaign that isn’t specifically about kaiju can cast a gargantuan shadow over your actual plot. However, what I hope you take away from this, my fellow GMs, is that the next time you see an option like a monster that feels above the CR your players will ever be able to face, ask yourself, like Will Wright did before us, “how would this option change my game?”

Perram recently suggested I talk about my improv strategies as a topic on the podcast. However, similar to what I said in the No Prep GMing seminar from last year’s PaizoCon, I told him if I would if I knew how I did it.  Mostly, I just follow my instincts as a story teller and manager. However, with my latest experience fresh in my mind, I can offer some advice and recount some of what happened to hopefully help you, my fellow GMs, or at least show a bit of what I’ve previously just talked about.

In Behind The Screens, Ryan Costello offers advice, ideas, and insight for the Pathfinder GM. He deconstructs popular GMing advice to account for different styles and motivations of Game Masters and players. Afterall, everyone games in different ways for different reasons.

Some Prep

You may be shocked to learn that although I brand myself as a zero prep GM, I did spend some time at PaizoCon prepping this adventure. It was not the type of prep I would normally need to do for a regular session of a homebrew, but because I intended to turn this session into multiple Patreon rewards, the prep had a purpose. Beyond those ulterior motives, however, the prep I did was helpful in running a smooth game, although it wasn’t always standard fare for my game sessions.

Monster Design
I wanted the session to be memorable, so I created a new monster for the boss fight. Since I was at a con, I had access to the talented Liz Courts to commission for art. I had a vague idea of the monster I wanted (like a naga but with a spinal column body, brain for a head, and sinuous grey membrane skin) and the abilities it should have (it can invade your body and steal your brain). I developed the visual in tandem with the creature’s abilities, and I can’t separate their concurrent development to tell you which informed what.

During my downtime at the con I skipped over to the Business Center and created a Google Doc in which I fleshed out the creature’s abilities. When I had a clever name for an ability, I used it. When I didn’t, I used a stand in name that was short and self-explanatory. “Shoot brain energy at you” was one of them. I wrote in line with the Paizo style as naturally came to me. It was good enough to use but would need a polish after the fact to get it publishing ready. The goal was to minimize how much polish I would need.

Where I spent the most energy was on the rules. I cross referenced the Monster Statistics by CR table in the Monster Creation rules (yep, used the legacy PRD because it’s still the site I know how to find the information I need the fastest) to make sure my special abilities were balanced to the CR. Not only for my publishing plans but also because I believe a well balanced monster is important for the fun of an encounter.

In my design, I realized my monster had familiar type companions, caled brain children, that needed rules of their own. I whipped up a unique ability for them and a couple of abilities for my main monster that tied into them.

I didn’t have time to create two new monsters entirely from scratch so I found monsters with comparable CR and body types (snake-like caster for the main bad, and flying nuisance for the familiar). I ended up filing the cereal numbers off the lunar naga and replacing the melee attack and spells with the special abilities I’d created. Likewise, the familiar were styrges that lost their attack ability and gained a unique ability. These will be updated before they see print but they were close enough to what I needed to work in a pinch.

NPCs
In addition to the main boss fight, I had a couple of encounters in mind. One (that got cut from the adventure for time) used a monster straight out of the Bestiary. One involved goblins and a horse. I could have used vanilla goblins for that encounter, but PaizoCon afforded me access to fully unlocked HeroLab. It took only a few minutes to stat up a goblin kineticist, some low level goblin brawlers, and a couple of goblin zombies. The zombies were a last minute replacement for two more brawlers when I started designing the kineticist and found an element that granted a negative energy blast.

PC
Around  7:00am Monday morning, I had reason to believe Perram wouldn’t have time to create a 4th level PC for the game. Again using the PRD, I found the 4th level wizard from the NPC Codex and printed them out. When it turned out that yep, Perram had a character, I had one for him ready to go.

No Prep

The rest of the adventure technically falls under No Prep. This is also misleading because although I didn’t write any of these details down or researching them, I spent a fair amount of time at the con thinking about them. Therefore, these weren’t the results of no prep, just mental prep.

Locations
I had no maps, and no details written down about any of the three locations in the adventure.

I had a name in mind for an intriguing set piece that would kick off the adventure, the Wind Swept Library. This library, building and all, would randomly appear in a field, announced only by leather bookmarks blowing in the wind an hour before its arrival. The exact layout or contents of the library were not decided and only existed as I drew maps at the start of the session. This is an area I plan to flesh out a great deal before publishing, but for now the above details are all it needed for the adventure to run as I anticipated.

The second location was a pretty standard cave that housed the goblins. I knew it’s location relative to the library. That’s all I needed. I wish I’d thought a more clever name for the goblin tribe that lived there.

The final location didn’t end up getting used and the boss fight was moved due to time running out. I knew there would be one encounter, something I came up with years ago but had yet to use, before the boss fight. The dungeon was a linear set of rooms with little thought put into the ecology of the location. This would also need to be fleshed out to be published but served its purpose should it have shown up in the session.

Subsystem
There was a subtle timing mechanic running in the background of the first half of the adventure that informed how many familiars the boss would have in the final encounter. It ultimately came down to a few specific choices, and paying attention to decisions the players made in the name of saving time.

Running with It

I’ve informally surveyed my players in the game about how it went and based on the feedback am confident I wasn’t the only one having fun. Vanessa in particular had nice things to say about my improv skills, energy, and creativity. The session will release to Patreon soon, and probably on the main site about a month later. I look forward to hearing feedback from listeners once they’ve had a chance to hear it. For now, I hope I’ve outlined my process in a way that you find helpful, my fellow GMs.

One of the most frustrating situations for both player and us GMs is the dead end. Everyone just wants to advance the plot and the action, but there is no clear way to do so. Too often, a session deadends because a challenge had few or only one solution and no idea how to handle failure to accomplish or even determine that solution.

Challenges are best when there is a spectrum of solutions, which a variety of characters can approach each in their own way. Not all solutions need to be equally effective, nor do they all have to yield the same results. The perfect example of how to craft a challenge in Pathfinder 1e that you should all look to when designing your own, Game Masters is the locked door.

Assuming you don’t have access to a key (we’ll get back to that key later), how does one get through a locked door? You could pick the lock. You could smash the door. You could try magic. Without even going into mechanics, we’ve found three logical (for a world with magic) angles from which to approach this challenge. We’ve also found ways in which the four classic classes (cleric, fighter, rogue, and wizard, with only the cleric being debatable) can approach this challenge. Each approach has benefits and drawbacks:

• Pick the lock
  Benefit: Costs no resources, makes no noise, takes 1 round, can be retried.
  Drawback: Requires a trained skill and special tools.

• Smash the door (Strength check)
  Benefit: Requires no skill, takes less than 1 round
  Drawback: High DC, noisy

• Smash the door (with damage)
  Benefit: Requires no skill, anyone who can deal damage can contribute
  Drawback: Takes multiple rounds, very noisy

• Cast a spell
  Benefit: Makes little noise, takes 1 round
  Drawback: Requires access to the right spell, costs the use of a spell, not guaranteed

Although there is no cleric-specific solution, they can contribute by casting spells that improve ability or skill checks, and they are usually hardy enough to smash a door down if it comes to it.  The ideal solution, picking the lock, is limited to a specific build. But that limitation is not a roadblock, and that’s what makes this an exemplary challenge. Any party can overcome it, without compromising its in-world purpose.

There is even the additional approach of tracking down someone with a key. A ranger could use Survival to determine the route of a guard with access to this door. A bard could leave the door, Gather Information in a nearby town, and charm the keyholder. A psychic could cast locate object. Most characters can approach this challenge class-first and find a fulfilling way to attempt to overcome it, with various logical repercussions.

Imperfect
Compare this to the chase rules, where logic, character, and circumstance are narrowed down to minimal, immutable options. Can’t climb the fence or acrobatics across the clothes line? There is little else you can attempt to do without either diving deep into metagame thinking or approaching the obstacles outside the box in a way that negates the purpose of the chase mechanics. Instead of questions like “describe my surroundings” and “can I use this other skill that completely makes sense based on what little I know about this situation?” you have to ask questions like “how does moving an extra card work again?” and “can we never use the chase rules again?”

Failure
In the locked door challenge, failure wasn’t the end. There was always another option, just with different consequences. Those consequences are the stakes of the failure, and, most importantly, include decisions. There’s an audible difference between a table that’s silent  because they are mulling over a difficult decision and one that’s trying to come up with direction.

Published adventures often suffer from deadends challenges. Adventure authors need to give us GMs direction on how to overcome a challenge, but word count is at a premium. They can imply that there’s flexibility to the solution beyond what’s printed, but that can run counter to your motivation to buy a published adventure, as well as PFS’ rule to run as written.

One of my favourite PFS challenges in this regard is in the 4–19: The Night March of Kalkamedes by Michael Kortes. The premise of the scenario is that the PCs are following a sleepwalking NPC to figure out where this mystical night summons expects him to go. The challenge in question is a pit in his path. The scenario is opened ended with how the PCs get Kalkamedes across, meaning the players can find mundane solutions like ropes and planks, or dig into their abilities for creative applications.

By contrast, too often the consequence of failure is the same as the result of success. There’s a PFS scenario with a chase scene that stood out for this. Succeed at the chase and the fleeing NPC gives you the information you need to continue the adventure. Fail and you find the fleeing NPC’s dead body, all the information you need to continue the adventure neatly summarized on a note in their pocket. Arriving at the same destination made it a journey for the journey’s sake, and in this case I did not enjoy that journey.

Challenge Design Tips

If you want your challenges to be multifaceted, here are a few things to keep in mind:

• Do not design with rules in mind, design with the world in mind. Back to the chase example, don’t think “I need a DC 15 Climb check, so there’s a fence here” think “I need a fence here, what could that mean for characters who need to be on the other side of it?”
• Have an idea of the best solution, acceptable solutions, and crazy-enough-to-work solution DCs and consequences. Note: You don’t need any examples of these different solutions in mind when designing the challenge, as long as you have an idea of how to apply a player’s actions when your reaction is “That’s a great idea”, “yeah, that could work”, or “…what?”
• Make sure there are stakes that matter. If the villain has a hostage on the other side of the door, don’t have him wait for the PCs to overcome the challenge before factoring the hostage into the situation. Have the wellbeing of the hostage factor into how the PCs approach the challenge.

If you have any fond memories of your players overcoming your challenges in unexpected ways, or if you have any challenges you are particularly proud of, share in the comments below, on our Discord, or other social media.

*I do not apologize for my blanket dislike of the chase mechanics. If you are a fan, all I can say is, sincerely, “How?”

Creative Commons credit: DnD Party by Blazbaros

Listener Andrew M (not to be confused with network member Andrew Marlowe) suggested I elaborate on a comment I made in Know Direction 198, where I said Nickelodeon’s 2012 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was closest in tone to my campaigns, mixing humour and drama and body horror.

WHY?

Balancing drama and humour can seem like a challenge. After all, aren’t they opposites? Wouldn’t not committing to one over the other lead to failure to do both?

Human psychology is not that one dimensional. The uncomfortable laugh is the best example of our ability (and at a certain level, need) to find humour in something serious, and the best example of an uncomfortable laugh I ever came across was in a Holocaust survivor’s memoires. He talks about the day he arrived at a concentration camp, how someone who had been there for a while met with the new arrivals and told them how he was able to survive so far. The veteran survivor concluded by saying that by listening to his advice, he could see everyone in the group surviving, before reassessing his audience, pointing to our protagonist, and saying “except for you.” Our hero’s reaction to being singled out as the least likely to survive a concentration camp? He burst out laughing. He explained that the only alternative was crying, and upon reflection he believed he survived because he was the kind of person who would sooner laugh than cry in that situation.

CAN IT BE DONE?

On a brighter note, Avengers: Endgame! Spoiler warning again, because that’s still the polite thing to do, but odds are you’ve already seen this, one of the most significant movies of our time. Not only is it the culmination of 11 years of groundbreaking storytelling, it’s a masterpiece of tone shifts, sandwiching a rompish time heist and a dazzling climatic battle featuring dozens of variously powered heroes between scenes of a father’s wife and children effectively dying when his back was turned and a funeral for a cinematic icon, with another funeral somewhere in the middle.

I sincerely meant “on a brighter note” above, but I can understand if it was taken as a joke when the following sums up a lot of reactions I’ve seen to the movie:

That reaction is valid but not universal. True, I teared up at a few points during the movie (EXTRA SPOILER WARNING: I even made myself cry by getting the idea that Stan Lee should join Nick Fury on the porch towards the end of the film), but the reactions to my viewing experience that lingered longer were excitement and amusement. Thor breaking down and telling his mother yes, he is from the future was one of the funniest movie jokes I can remember. Then there were the multiple successive chills I got during the climatic battle.

All this to say, if you need an example of drama and humour blending together, look no further than the number 1 movie at the box office.

HOW?

If the only Hollywood directs with a track record for billion dollar movies can do it, surely you can too, right? Sarcasm aside, yes, yes you can. You just need to understand the root of the reaction you are trying to get.

Soul

The key to how Endgame effortlessly switches between different emotions is because the emotions are sincere. The touching moments and the humour both come from a place we can relate to. Maybe we haven’t had a taco ruined by a spaceship landing, but we can relate to looking forward to eating something that’s ruined somehow right before we get the first bite.

Mind

The balance of drama (the in-character world we are engaging with) and humour (the real world reality that this is a game and we are playing) is core to the experience. No matter how elaborate your maps and miniatures are, a good portion of an RPG exists in our heads, and the most engaging game is one where the individual mental games overlap and coexist. That’s what makes pop culture references and jokes about absurd alternate actions so effective. They remind everyone that we may be virtuous heroes on epic adventures, but we’re also a bunch of geeks surrounded by books, dice, and tiny toy monsters.

I’d love to come up with examples for all six of the Infinity Stones but other than good comedic timing and not using your power as a GM to make jokes at your players’ expense, the rest of the stones are a stretch. That’s just the reality of it.

CONCLUSION

Laughter is not an indication that your players aren’t engaged in the story. Often, it’s the opposite. And the reason we all want an engaging story of high drama and life or death situations is because we find those things fun.

BACKSTORY
The fleshed out origin of your character, usually following a three act structure of status quo => inciting incident => stuff happens => turning point => resolution. Not everyone uses these terms, but they’re my favourite.

Peter Parker was a poor, unpopular high school kid (status quo), when he was bit by a radioactive spider that gave him super powers (inciting incident). He selfishly used these powers for fame and fortune (stuff happens). That selfishness lead to the death of his beloved uncle (climax). He learned that with great power there must also come great responsibility, and he set himself on a path of doing good (resolution).

What’s important there is that the resolution is not the end of the story. It’s the start. A backstory establishes a new status quo, and the campaign represents a larger inciting leading to bigger stuff happening.

“But Ryan,” you might be saying. “You hate backstories with the fire of a thousand suns. It all started in your youth, when a backstory plundered your village…”

Backstory is to character creation as chocolate is to dessert. It’s so universally liked that it’s often the only item on the menu. If someone doesn’t like chocolate, it is so anomalous it can be inflated in other people’s mind as hate. You’d have to hate chocolate to not like it, right? So when someone wants dessert and doesn’t like chocolate, the waiter is all “Uh…” Or worse, “dessert is mandatory, so eat the chocolate.”

In case it wasn’t clear in the episode, I am not against backstories. Yes, the characters I’ve played with elaborate backstories have without exception made my turns slower, my roleplaying less engaged, and the experience less entertaining. But I am very much pro the goal of mandatory backstories -deeper roleplaying and more complex characters. What I am anti is mandatory.

Different players play in different ways and for different reasons. What works for many and even most doesn’t necessarily work for all. If you want to encourage deeper roleplaying and more complex characters, by all means, ask your players how they feel about writing backstories. Let the players who are gung ho about backstories use that tool. For the players who are ho-hum, here are some other suggestions.

CONCEPT
Concept is backstories for players who need inspiration and not details. It’s a chocolate drizzle on a cheesecake instead of a chocolate cheesecake.

Take the Spider-Man backstory and reduce it to fewer points or vaguer connections. When a nerd with problems got powers, he used them to try to solve his problems only to realize his problems are bigger than him. It’s not the origin of Spider-Man as much as it is the idea of Spider-Man.

What’s important about both backstories and concepts is that they inform how the character reacts. It’s just more obvious in a concept because the format is shorter and so the content needs to be concentrated.

SNAPSHOT

You know how most movie trailers are a series of scenes, but every now and then you get one that is one single scene from early in the movie that establishes everything you need to know about the movie? That’s a snapshot. If concept is backstory zoomed out, snapshot is backstory zoomed in.

Former co-host of the Private Sanctuary, Matt Belanger, recently reached out to me asking for help with a cohort’s backstory in a campaign he’s playing in. His party rescued a group of prisoners, and he wanted to take a conjuror from the group as a cohort. However, it was already established that the prisoners’ gear was unaccounted for. Matt wanted a quick but fun reason to get the conjurer his gear so his cohort was reading to go. He tried a few rules solutions, like the Pathfinder pouch, but found flaws with each idea he came up with. So he turned to me for a creative solution, of which I came up with two:

OPTION 1: Bad at Magic
The conjurer leads you to a clearing where a seemingly random rock formation is actually a topographical map of a nearby area. He asks you to remember a weed and the rock with the white stripe, then leads you six hundred yards due South. There he tells you to stop and pretend you are the weed and asks where the white striped rock would be. Based on your estimate, he gets on all fours and digs until he finds a leather bag containing all his goods.
When asked why he didn’t use magic to make almost all of that easier he said “Shoot, I always forget I’m a powerful magician.”

OPTION 2: Bad at Ethics
When the coast is clear, the conjurer summons a pack slug, a magical creature with a bag of holding-like stomach. He picks up the pack slug, which is the size of his arm, pulls out a knife, and guts it, removing the gear he packed inside.
“Sadly, that pack slug was the last of its kind. I’ll need to come up with a new trick for a cache is a hurry,” he says, tossing the flopping corpse over his shoulder.

In both examples, we have no idea why these characters the this way but a very strong sense of who these characters are. And more importantly, how these characters will react.

ALIGNMENT
Matt’s reply to the above query was “Option 2 it is!! The NPC conjuror is true neutral so that one works.”

My like of alignment as a tool for roleplaying might be as controversial as my dislike for giving my characters backstories, but again, from experience, alignment has flavoured so many of my characters and lead to a great deal of entertainment at the table.

One way I use alignments that isn’t written in the books is the idea that one or both parts of the alignment can be capitalized. An LG character is as much defined by their lawful nature as they are their good outlook, whereas an lG character is a little lawful but big time Good. And an lg character is lawful, and is good, but isn’t particularly either. They’re more likely defined by something other than their morals and ethics. By breaking every alignment into four intensities of that alignment (CAPS-CAPS, CAPS-min, min-CAPS, and min-min) This expands the number of alignments from 9 to 36.

The below chart by Easydamus.com offers an alternative take on nuanced alignment. It suggests that there are alignments between alignments that are significant enough to be defined. It’s applied asymmetrically, so it expands the 9 alignments to 16, but it adds depth the the 16 by overlaying them on what they call the 10 primary motivations.

I have defined two characters by their alignment: Azaul and The Scales of St Cuthbert. Azaul was chaotic neutral, and was my introduction to the concept of chaotic neutral. He wasn’t even my character, he was an NPC in my friend Marc’s adventure when I happened to drop by. Marc may have said nothing more than “His name’s Azaul, he’s a fighter, and he’s chaotic neutral.”

Going on only this, Azaul became a legend. He gutted three giant wasps he killed so he could bind their stingers to his hand, creating wolverine-like claws. He negotiated the price of glue he was buying above the tag, creating the catch phrase “3 gold!” By the end of the session, Marc told me to keep him, that Azaul had become far more than he was every originally intended to be.

Alignment is an amazing tool as a GM. When players inflate the importance of an inconsequential NPC with no personality or motive, the quickest way to figure out what they would respond to is. A lawful NPC wouldn’t betray their master but could be convinced with logic. A chaotic NPC might be quicker to flip on their master, but can anything they say be trusted? A good NPC responds to a moral appeal, an evil NPC responds to personal offers and threats.

IN CONCLUSION
Backstories can be a great tool for inspiring roleplaying, but it’s important to remember that the goal is more important to than the tool. If a player isn’t having fun making a backstory, there are backstory generators. If they aren’t having fun playing a character with a backstory, don’t make them. Explore other options to get you and them in their character’s head, like broadening the idea to concepts, or establishing a defining moment for that character. When all else fails, use the information the character sheet already tells you about the character, like their alignment and ability scores (which we’ll get into in further detail in a future installment).

And remember, GMs, these aren’t just tools to get your players into their characters. They are just as useful to get you into your NPCs.

Mechanical Balance
A game is balanced when all options have equal effectiveness. Rock–Paper–Scissors is balanced because every option has an equal number of options it beats, options that beat it, and options it ties with. Whereas where I grew up there was a variant called Rock–Paper–Scissors-Match where a Match (represented by a single finger) beat Paper but lost to Rock and Scissors. This meant that Rock and Paper were mechanically superior to Paper and Match.

If we were game designers and not just kids who messing with a game in ways we didn’t understand, we might have been able to add elements to turn this lack of balance into depth. The simplest way would be to add a points element, turning the variable odds into a feature!

Rock–Paper–Scissors is symmetrically balanced. Like Chess or Checkers, every player has the exact same options. It doesn’t matter that not every piece in Chess has the same capacity to achieve, the sum of the sides is not only equal, it’s the same. Symmetrical options would make for a dull RPG, however.

A good example of an asymmetrical game is Street Fighter. Cloned characters notwithstanding, each character has unique moveset and statistics, like strength, speed, and reach. The designers ascribed values to every adjustable element of a character and aimed to design each character to meet a certain value. In a controlled environment, any two characters should have equal opportunity to win the match.

What is the point of a game where all options are differently equal?

Accessibility Balance
The goal of asymmetry in your game is to add variety. In a board game or video game, asymmetry adds replayability. If you like a game but find play repetitive, changing who you play changes how you experience the game.

In a roleplaying game, asymmetry is essential to the play experience. If playing a wizard doesn’t  feel different from playing a fighter, the difference is superficial. One of the reasons I think the kineticist is such a successful design is because it feels like a wizard that plays like a fighter, but in a way that fills a niche instead of feeling like the concept and mechanics clash. If a player tries a wizard and finds spell casting frustrating but doesn’t want to play a fighter because they look boring, the kineticist is the next class I would suggest.

Accessibility balance is different from mechanical balance. You aren’t trying to make sure any two items on opposite ends of a scale have the same weight. You are trying to balance the needs of the player base.

It’s why I shake my head when I see arguments that certain options should be better or removed from the game because there are mathematically better options. The mathematically better options are typically more complex. Accessibility balance means the game needs some more and some less complex options. There’s no point having complex options if the less complex options are mechanically superior. The wizard might be optimally better than the sorcerer, but that doesn’t mean the sorcerer shouldn’t exist. The sorcerer gives a similar but simpler experience as the wizard, which is why it needs to exist.

Going back to the simple options being weaker by necessity, Mark Brown recently released a video about synergy between options. He talked about how when he found a combination that was greater than the sum of its parts, it increased his enjoyment of a game.

For builds to matter, there needs to the potential to unlock more powerful options. This is important for the engagement of many players. For some options to be more powerful, or have the potential to be more powerful, there need to be comparatively less powerful options. Otherwise the complexity of a build doesn’t matter.

One of the areas Pathfinder fails at this is in prerequisites for options. Often prerequisites represent the worst overlap of complexity and power, requiring forethought that players who want a simple build don’t enjoy, and commitment to suboptimal options that players who prefer more complex builds don’t want. If simple building is a pleasant path through the forest and complex building is brachiating through the treetops, options with two many prerequisites are invisible walls that the only way to get over is with a running start.

In Conclusion
Mechanical balance can not come at the expense of accessibility balance. One of the strengths of Pathfinder 1st edition is that it balances power with complexity, one of the most important balances for a roleplaying game to achieve. 

There are two definitions of balance in game terms:

1.    Balance between characters;
2.    Balance between rules.

In both cases, it warrants asking “who cares?”

I don’t mean that dismissively.

This installment of Behind The Screens will look at the importance of a balanced party. Next installment will look at a balanced rules system.

Balance Between Characters

How much does it matter that everyone in the party operates at the same power level? Is Hawkeye keeping up with Thor? Should he?

I have played in groups with players playing suboptimal characters, and I have played in groups with players playing optimized characters. Sometimes they were the same group. I’ve seen three kinds of reactions from players to their suboptimal characters:

1.    Blissful indifference;
2.    Frustration with their character;
3.    Frustration with the rules.

Additionally, I’ve seen two kinds of reactions from the other players in the group to the suboptimal character:

1.    Indifferent indifference;
2.    Frustration with the character.

Indifference

The player most likely to be blissfully indifferent is Cathy. By blissful indifference, I mean that Cathy builds her character to concept, and her concepts never take into account how mathematically effective they are. She tends to play support characters, so they are sustainable even when suboptimal.

For example, her Adventurous character, Karrock, is a cleric of Cayden Cailean. Compare how invested she sounds when she brings up her ability to create and distribute free booze to how hesitant she sounded when we had to buff her to be the frontline warrior. That’s because being in the frontline went against her concept. It went against Karrock’s personality as well, so the resulting role playing lined up.

Other players whose characters are teaming with a suboptimal character mostly don’t mind. Mostly.

Frustration with the Character

Most often, players who are frustrated with their suboptimal characters are new to the game. They read the Core Rulebook, maybe even the Strategy Guide, and they thought they knew the rules enough to make a good character. The thing is, you can know the rules well enough to know how to administer them but not necessarily how to judge them.

For example, my friend Amelie recently made a bard for our Curse of the Crimson Thrones campaign. She sent me her build to see if there were any red flags. One of the things I love about helping Am with her characters is that she tends to find options I’m unfamiliar with. In this case, jitterbugs. I was excited to find out what this spell does. Unfortunately, what I found was a spell that is almost exactly like hideous laughter, but worse. Same caster level, same range, same save, same DC, lesser effect. Similarly, when she made a sorceress, she took Quicken Spell, a feat she can’t use until 8th level, but with no level prerequisite preventing her from taking it at character creation. These could have lead to frustrations at the character not delivering on expectations if we hadn’t caught them early.

It has happened that other players get frustrated that one of the characters in the party other than their own is under-delivering by their assessment. They don’t just see players as responsible for a character but as responsible for a portion of the party. To them, a player accepting that their character is suboptimal is being irresponsible to the group.

The reverse can also be the case. If one character is so optimized that they are contributing more than their share, this can be frustrating to the other players in the group.

Dealing with Character-Created Frustration

I will get into frustration over the rules at the character level when I discuss balanced rules. For now, let’s look at what to do with frustration at your table caused by an unbalanced party.

This is not a rules issue or a balance issue but a social issue. It’s why you have to ask “who cares?” The player with the problem character? The rest of the party? You, the GM? The solution may be in the rules, in interpersonal communication, or both.

Talking Out The Frustration

I am always a fan of addressing a problem directly.

If a player wants their character to contribute more, direct them to optimization guides online or buddy them up with another player who knows the game or that class well enough to offer tips (assuming they are skilled at offering tips). See if there is something circumstantial about their frustration (like when a cleric player I had felt their character was repetitive but I hadn’t included any undead in the campaign).

If one player has a problem with another player’s character and the other player does not wish to deal with it, evaluate one’s frustration over the other’s indifference or satisfaction. Do what you can to avoid thinking of one of the players as the problem in the situation and instead focus on the situation as the problem.

You could promise the frustrated player that you will take the optimal or suboptimal character into account and balance the adventure accordingly. Exactly how is all about knowing your players, particularly the frustrated player. Frustration over a suboptimal player can be out of fear for their character’s safety or it could begin and end with the player feeling the other player isn’t being fair to the party. Frustration over an optimal character can be about one player getting more than their share of the spotlight, or it can be about the character shortening encounters the frustrated player would have liked to spend more time on.

Using the Rules

If you can’t find the solution by talking through the frustrations, the solution may be in the rules. Is there a type of challenge that the optimal character  is weak against, like a charge build getting foiled by difficult terrain, or a hotshot gunslinger with… shoot, I was going to say a poor Will save but their grit is tied to their Wisdom. Is there anything a gunslinger is bad at?

Maybe the party needs greater access to healing magic if one character is contributing below expectations. Maybe the bad guys need bonus hp equal to the OP PC’s last hit +1. Just be careful. No rule operates on its own, and there can be many and far reaching unintended consequences to changing the rules to solve your group’s problems.

When we were still playing 3.5, Tina’s first character was a battle sorcerer, which was a variant class from Unearthed Arcana. She envisioned what we now think of as a magus, but the battle sorcerer was intended to still play like a primary caster, just a slightly heftier one. To solve this conflict between character concept and execution, our GM gave Tina a sword that targeted touch AC. This sword ended up in Matt’s fighter’s hands at one point and he became so much more powerful than the rest of the party that it was hard to justify in character why he should give the sword back.

Similarly, I’ve tried adjusting ACs and HPs to account for optimized characters. This taught me two things:

1. It’s punishing them for wanting to play the game a certain way, which contributed to my adapting the philosophy that “Different players play for different reasons”;
2. Players who routinely make optimized PCs are able to do it because they are math minded. If they fail more often than they understand to be statistically probable, they will doubled down on their optimization, making cheesier choices because it’s the only they can make the rules make sense to them.

Rules/Discussion Combination

Before trying to solve a social issue by adjusting the rules, I suggest pairing a bit of discussion with a bit or rules adjustment. “You may notice that your character isn’t delivering the killing blow as often. I’m worried that your character is overshadowing the party and I’d hate to ask you to restrict the effectiveness of your build,” if you think they’d be open to that. “Your character’s taking away from my enjoyment of running this campaign. Can you try a few more flavourful choices for the next little bit? I don’t want to nerf your character, probably as much as I don’t want your character to nerf my campaign.”

Notice that my second example is a GM laying out how a character affects their fun? Let’s go back to this installment’s thesis question, “who cares?”  If the answer is you, the GM, that’s perfectly valid. Despite the memes, the GM/player dynamic is not adversarial. You’re still a participant in the game, and likely playing at a table with friends. And when a friend starts a sentence with “I’m frustrated because…” the polite response is to listen.

I was recently reintroduced to one of the game industry’s most famous takes on the topic, originally known as Timmy, Johnny, and Spike but updated to Timmy/Tammy, Johnny/Jenny, and Spike. Mark Rosewater, Head Designer for Magic: The Gathering, originated the theory of the Timmy/Tammy, Johnny/Jenny, and Spike. He discusses it, among other topics, on his recent appearance on Justin Gary’s Think Like A Game Designer podcast, but the theory’s been around for close to two decades.  Surprisingly, other than a few clarifications and an update to the names to be more inclusive, the idea hasn’t changed much since 2002.

Towards the end of the interview, Rosewater summarized these three player types as follows:

• Timmy/Tammy wants to experience something
• Johnny/Jenny wants to express something
• Spikes wants to prove something

Other sources summarized each type pejoratively (like on the comedy cards based on them from the Unglued, Unhinged, and Unstable sets), often tongue in cheek. Without judgment, though, the above summaries show that what truly defines this categorization is player motivation. Other places I’ve seen categorize player types, like the Game Mastery Guide, group them by behaviour. Power Gamers, Rules Lawyers, Divas, etc. While this kind of categorizing can be useful, it’s looking at the symptoms instead of the cause.

Offhand, here are some examples of each player type from my experiences:

Timmy/Tammy (Experience)

Over a decade ago, when my preferred board games were party games, I was visiting my friends Lance and Chandra, the Sputniks. A game of Settlers of Catan broke out on their custom made Catan table inset with hexagons to insert the tiles. Towards the end, Chandra initiated a trade, which I accepted, allowing her to score the 10^th victory point and win the game.

Good for her, I thought. That was fun.

Lance scowled at me. Looking back, I can understand why. I played that game like a little league kid, just having fun. That trade didn’t benefit me, and it directly lead to another player’s victory. Playing for the experience isn’t ideal in a competitive game, although Chandra won by recognizing that I wasn’t playing tactically and exploited that, meaning of the two Spike players, she was the one who proved her superiority.

Along similar lines, the best example of a game played for the experience is Cards Against Humanity. It’s technically competitive, but even the rulebook dismisses the win conditions. For the most part, the real win condition is the fun had along the way.

Cathy is the best example I have of a Tammy. No one will ever accuse her of being anything but invested in the game. I’ve said before that I wanted her on the Adventurous cast because she has great intuition for the hooks and directions we should take. A lot of this is because the experience is her top priority.

The easiest way to make Cathy sigh is to tell her she leveled. It’s hilarious to see the rest of the table woot while Cathy pouts. But while she has aptitude for the game’s rules and character options, it is a chore to her. A necessary evil for the real reason she plays Pathfinder: To play Pathfinder!

Johnny/Jenny (Expression)

I’m Johnny! When I played Warhammer 40 000, I played a Crimson Fist Space Marine army, a chapter that is flavoured by its status as being nearly wiped out. So I decided I wouldn’t include any plasma weapons in my army, because plasma weapons wound the user when you roll a 1 (at least in the editions I played). I gained no benefit from this limitation and denied myself an important part of my army’s arsenal, but I just couldn’t justify a Crimson Fist army using a weapon that could potentially diminish their dwindling numbers.

When I played the GI Joe TCG (yep), one of my decks was an infiltrator deck. Normally you were limited to the number of soldiers you drew during the deployment phase, but a few cards had abilities that let you add new soldiers later in the game. Sound tactic, you might say, sounds more like a Spike than a Johnny. Here’s the thing. Ripcord had an infiltration ability, but he also had a rider that he only infiltrates if you win a combat in which he is used as the boost, and his boost bonuses were terrible, the second worst they could be. His power wasn’t great either, especially for his supply cost. There were a bunch of reasons to exclude Ripcord from my deck. I kept him in for one reason: he was on theme.

As it relates to Pathfinder, the best example of my Johnny tendencies are in our review of the Playtest rulebook. As soon as I couldn’t give Karkerkast the low Charisma that defined the character as much or more than his abilities, I checked out of the system. Being able to express my character mechanically is so core to my motivation as a player that a system that denies me that option is not a system I want to play.

It’s important to note that the rules just let me give myself a penalty if I want. I could play him as the curmudgeon he is regardless of his Charisma. I think that’s a key difference between playing for the experience and playing for the expression: As a Johnny, I need the system to work with my ideas. I can’t just pretend that a plasma gun misfire teleports my Crimson Fist away from the battlefield. And I need to be able to consider flavour and crunch and make a meaningful decision, which Pathfinder 1^st edition goes like a champ.

Spike (Prove)

Of the three player types, Spike is the only one that I feel the motivation is summarized critically. Maybe it’s just that I can see myself in playing for the experience or the expression more than playing to prove something. Maybe it’s because these player types originate in a competitive game and so the competitiveness inherent in playing to prove something is more appropriate than saying a roleplayer has something to prove. In any case, Spike is the player who woots the loudest when they level up.

My days of being a Timmy Catan player are behind me, and I go full Spike when playing competitive games. If there’s a win condition, I’m trying to find the best path to it. I can play a light game and have fun with the lightness, but I never take my eyes off the prize. I played Rick and Morty: Close Rick-Counters of the Rick Kind Deck-Building Game https://boardgamegeek.com/boardgame/221372/rick-and-morty-close-rick-counters-rick-kind-deck this weekend with Cathy, Am, and Tina. I wasn’t drafting the funniest cards or the characters I liked, I was drafting for strategy. At one point Am casually mentioned that her hands weren’t great, like she was getting unlucky. In her at that moment, I saw my past self casually making a bad trade that cost me a game of Catan.

I think Alex demonstrated he is a Pathfinder Spike when he tried to prove that Toughness is a trap feat in Discord recently:

For GMs

Being conscious of player types is not about stereotyping your players, it’s another tool to help you understand how and why they play their games. Cathy’s heard her fair share of snide comments about how wrong it is to not want to level her characters, but if it’s not an aspect of the game that interests her then there’s nothing to gain from trying to help her understand the value of leveling. She knows the value of leveling, she just doesn’t derive fun from it. Likewise, when I called Perram out on opening too many doors during the recent Adventurous specials, it could have been seen as nitpicking or being an adversarial player, but to me it was the system and the story getting out of synch, and my immersion is based  the system and story synergizing. Finally, Alex may come off as a power gamer when he tears Toughness apart, but it’s because his passion for the system that makes his Iconic Designs so fascinating and entertaining also fuels his opposition for dry options like Toughness.

It is not our job as GMs to turn Johnnies into Timmies, or get a Tammy to see the value of a Spike. We are the ones most responsible for bringing the fun to the table, and understanding what motivates a player to play helps us understand what our players find fun.

Randal tries to draw Marathis’ Goblet

I am great with words and numbers, and very much not so with art of any kind. I can’t paint, I can’t draw (see my rendition of Marathis’ Goblet to the right), I can’t sculpt. I run games at my home and I tend to rely on premade maps/tiles and miniatures instead of drawing enemies or maps to play on. Even so, I still find myself drawing maps of some kind to show the players where they are in relation to their current goal(s). My simple pencil scratch on paper is sufficient, and certainly has been for decades, but with the current explosion of gaming online and the access to premade art and maps, I sometimes feel like I should spice it up. I simply don’t have the time or desire to improve my artistic talents, so I need to look at other options.

After drawing my own map for Groundbreaking so that I could track the terrain and locations as I write, I decided that I wanted a professional piece of art to go with the amount of time and energy I put into the region. I wrote a bit about using a map to retcon canon here. Using my original drawing along with a series of good questions, Tony “MrKrane” Carter was able to create a beautiful piece of functional art for me. As he made progress, he would send me images to ensure I was happy with the direction he was going or to have me approve a new icon or request. When finished, he sent me copies with various layers turned on or off. It occurred to me that as a GM, I could use different states and quality of maps to provide my players with different levels of immersion in the game. Here are a few of those ideas.

A greyscale rendering of Randal’s map of Marathis’ Cradle.

The Pencil Drawing. Many maps are simply hand drawn, using white paper and grey pencil. Tried and true, there is no reason to stop using this method. If, for some reason, you have issues with immersion when drawing or handing out simple pencil maps, remember that there is a good chance the characters have dealt with maps like that in their world. Unless you are spending good money on a color map with terrain features and keys, most maps you acquire are going to be simple. While it might be ink instead of lead/graphite, or on papyrus or furs instead of paper, the same quality issues are going to apply. Heck, if you find the grizzled old trader in a tavern and convince him to give you a map of his hunting trails so that you can find the wyvern nest, you are likely going to get something akin to a drawing on a napkin anyway. Therefore, you should feel no shame or guilt in handing players a crudely drawn pencil map, heck, make the scale wrong just to add authenticity! I took my painstakingly (again, horrible artist) hand drawn (digital pencil) map and greyscaled it to create a possible pencil sketch handout.

A layer of Tony “MrKrane” Carter’s map of Marathis Cradle.

The Terrain Survey. Maps have locations, but often, the players have no idea what or where those locations are. If you are playing a Kingmaker style game, then you may want a map that simply shows the terrain as seen from above. Wether that is from actual aerial observation (flight exists in many games) or reconstructed from traveling and surveying the old fashioned way, simply providing the terrain as it exists is going to give the characters (and their players) a lot to work with so that they can start to figure out their plan of action. This can work well for battle maps as well as for overland maps (such as those to the right).

A layer of Tony “MrKrane” Carter’s map of Marathis Cradle.

The Key. Of course, having a map without any locations marked on it is only going to do you so good. You are going to need to have all of those locations written down somewhere. If you are doing the art yourself, please remember to put the key on a layer separate from the rest of the art. This will make it super easy for you to make simple changes to the locations without needing to redo any of the actual map itself, as well as being a toggle to turn them off when saving a player version of the map. Heck, you might as well have a Player key layer and a GM key layer so that you can move/copy things to the player’s layer as they discover things. If you are commissioning a map, remember to ask that the key be done on a separate layer (if you are receiving a layered file) or that you receive two copies of the map (one with, and one without).

Different dungeon wall styles using only pen and ink.
http://www.fantasticmaps.com/2013/04/dungeon-hatching/

The Dungeon. Depending on your dungeon crawl style, you could end up with vastly different maps. Even if you are using premade maps, tiles, or terrain, it is a rite of passage to draw the dungeon as you navigate it. This often takes the form of the GM drawing for the player that either keeps it or redraws their own copy, but can often simply be a player drawing as the GM dictates directions and distances. For maps such as this, I like to remind players that they are not cartographers sitting at desks with all of their tools and implements available. I allow quick sketches, preferring that they stick to simple maps such as the ones to the right.

https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/55u1bc/oc_first_attempt_on_isometric_dungeon_drawing/

Isometric. This is a fascination to me. I only recently have discovered isometric drawing paper, and have marveled at how it took me almost twenty years to hear about it. Even simple sketches, when done isometrically, can render so much more information than a simple top down map can. They do require a little more planning and better awareness of the third dimension, and so even though these can be drawn simply, it might be more hassle than it is worth to draw complex locations and scenes. Even so, I plan to try to start drawing various maps and locations in isometric when that third dimension is going to be important. Since I tend to love designing Zelda style dungeons, it often is!

Well, I hope you have enjoyed this look at various stages and styles of maps, and how I use them in my games. As always, please continue to join us at our Discord server https://discord.gg/Rt79BAj.

“PREVIOUSLY…”

In a world where days or weeks pass between game sessions but mere minutes or seconds pass for our intrepid adventurers, only one person at the table has the power to get the players on the same page as their characters: The Game Master!

Last installment outlined two types of teasers. First, we’ll be looking at the TV style of teaser, the cold open. This is a teaser to get players into character early, and get their enthusiasm up. The advantage of teasing a session versus teasing a whole campaign (which we’ll look at next) is that you have assets that you can use. You know your players’ characters, they know your NPCs. You have shared experiences you can reference.

Highlight Reel

Imagine a summary page for a comic or the first 10 seconds of an episodic TV show based on your campaign. You need to get a lot of exposition across in minimal time with maximum retention. To do so, you need to hit a succession of basic psychology, including:

The 5 Ws: What happened and why should be the thrust of your Highlight Reel, with every established Why accompanying its respective what, and every mysterious What reinforced as something that happened for heretofore unknown reasons.

Along the way, emphasize who the relevant characters for this session are. The PCs, obviously, but which NPCs play an important role in this session? If this is an Ethan Rayne episode of Buffy, the teaser might show key moments from previous episodes to remind viewers about Rayne’s relationship with Giles and past encounters with Buffy, but just enough to provide context for what is to come. It might just show him looking all creepy.

More like Creepthan Rayne, am I right?

Also, make sure you give each PC equal weight unless this session is designed to spotlight certain PCs. In that case, make sure the PCs out of the spotlight get a spotlight soon, unless you know the associated players don’t care for it.

A little where and when is helpful but don’t need much spotlight unless they’re unusual or new.

The 5 Senses: There is more to what the PCs are experiencing than what they see and hear. As you summarize the events they’ve experienced, remember to throw in physical sensations (usually an assortment of pain, but the odd pleasant feeling can remind players what they are adventuring for). Scent is an evocative sense that we often underestimate the value of. Taste is a little trickier, but I feel the need to point out that one version of the Pathfinder 1e Alpha gave dwarves a bonus to taste-based Perception checks. Emphasizing different senses depending on the PC’s race can flavour* your campaign.

Show, Don’t Tell: You ever ask someone to help you remember something only for it to come back fully formed the second they start answering? The brain processes external input differently than it does filed memories. Instead of a prose recap of events, “The mayor begged you to help with the imp infestation in the sewers,” for example, replay those moments. Put on your mayor voice and beg “Please, our sewers are over run! If not you, who will handle this imp infestation? Who‽”

An ideal highlight reel is less than a minute long. Less than 30 seconds is idealer. Your goal is to recap the entire campaign in the shortest chunk, say one sentence or 5-10 seconds.

Your quest: To undo the spell of Living Stone cast upon your family, by driving the evil Serpent Men back into another dimension, and vanquishing their leader, the cruel wizard, Wrath-Amon!

Follow that up with slightly more detail about the specific adventure the PCs are on, in a sentence or two, or 10-20 seconds.

You look for the ancient Book of Skelos, hoping to use its magic to remove the spell of Living Stone. But Needle’s loyalty was questioned when he encountered an older, larger phoenix.

Finally, recap the action from the last session, specifying something significant that happened to each PC (without telling them how they felt about what happened).

Conan, your sword still smells of sulfur, the stink of freshly vanquished snake-men.
Zula, what little you understood of the garbelled message Gora (Zula’s cousin, but you don’t need to explain that to him) magically sent you weighs on you. “Help!”
Jezmine, you tracked down all but one of your throwing stars. A familiar glinting in the shadow of an outcropping just past the battlefield catches your eye.
Greywolf, Sasha pokes her snout into your side and gestures to Misha, who limps away from the battlefield.

A highlight reel can be digital or analog.

Digital: If you don’t have any video editing software or experience, it’s easy to implement your highlight reel as a slide show: PowerPoint is easy to come by, and Google Drive has a free slide show function. If you are running an AP, you can copy and paste images pretty easily. If you aren’t, you can instead take pictures during your sessions. Everyone at the table has a camera in their pocket, you can encourage players to take pics for the highlight reel. Play Syrinscape as you run your slide show and deliver your narration live and voila! You have a quick and easy summary to get your players ready for the session.

Analog: There’s a reason some systems call Game Masters the Storyteller! Before there were virtual tabletops, there were tabletops. Before there were calculators, there was the human brain! And before there everyone had access to the most powerful interconnected computer complete with video editing freeware, there was story telling!

The advantages of analog teasers mirror those of a GM versus an automated storyteller: you can respond to your players. If your recap casually mentions “Krusty” only for it to be met with blank stares and murmurs from your players, it’s less disruptive for a storyteller to add “The Klown”before moving on.

Stay Tuned…

In future installments I’ll explore the other teaser options I presented in part one, namely Squash Matches and Campaign Guides.

*Not apologizing for that.

Art by Alan Cooper

Teasers for TV shows -or Cold Opens- serve a similar purpose. Medical dramas suck viewers in with the most original scene in what is otherwise a formulaic episode. Shows like Buffy and Dr Who that can vary in tone let the audience know whether this episode is a Hush or Don’t Blink, or if it’s a Once More With Feeling or Bad Wolf. Star Trek establishes the episode’s threat by throwing some red shirts at it.

RPG campaigns don’t usually have teasers. They are continuous stories strung, with one session’s end point typically marking the next session’s starting point. And that’s unfortunate, because like a casual Buffy viewer getting blind sided by The Body, there is a lot of experience lost by not being able to properly prepare.  Depending on how an adventure is laid out, some encounters can serve as teasers in that they remind you of your party’s strengths and weaknesses. As GMs, we shouldn’t feel the need to hold our players’ hands, but if multiple encounters go long because every creature has a particular DR and the PCs are well aware of what they should have done to overcome the DR but it’s too late, the fun at the table suffers. It’s like the experience of watching a movie where the characters are so consistently not doing the obvious thing they should do that you want to yell at the screen, except the people who want to yell are also the ones in charge of the characters.

There might be some backlash to the idea, but we can use teasers in our games to our advantage, GMs. They are about setting expectations and hinting at some things to come, key words being “expectations,” “hinting,” and “some”. A good teaser sets the tone for the session and narrows the vast world of a fantasy setting down to what is contextually important. Because it is contextual, it doesn’t break verisimilitude. Yes, The Punisher exists in the same world of as The Silver Surfer, but there are enough corrupt business people and organized criminals in the Marvel universe that years can go between Punisher having to interact with cosmic threats.

Published adventures have a variety of tools you can use as teasers. If you are running homebrews, you can use these tools as templates to design your own teasers:

• Product pages: When an adventure starts, players already have an idea what they’re getting into because the GM sold them on the campaign. What sold the GM on the campaign? If it’s a published adventure, odds are it was the product page. If you’re running a homebrew, imagine what the product page for your campaign would (and wouldn’t) reveal.
• Campaign Guides: For the GM and players committed to more than a few paragraphs, a Campaign Guide goes into depth on the background, setting, and important characters for the campaign, as well as rules to prepare players for recurring mechanics related to the adventure.
• PFS Opening Scenes: Almost invariably, Pathfinder Society scenarios open with a meeting between the PCs and a quest giver with some information that’s relevant to their quest. While these scenes are formulaic, there are usually qualities to them that help them stand out. I’ll go into some of the more memorable quest giver scenes and how to write one that stands out in the next Behind The Screens. For now, consider a PFS quest giving scene the prototypical teaser, laying out important exposition and giving the players opportunities to arm themselves with knowledge by asking the right questions (which, in my experience as both a PFS player and GM, they never take full advantage of).

In the next installment, we’ll go into crafting and implementing a good teaser.

Despite the warning, Hero Points might be the game’s most popular optional rule shy of the unchained classes. They were included in the 2e Playtest as a core rule. The Glass Cannon Podcast’s bottle cap system (essentially, they use bottle caps as tokens to represent Hero Points for those unfamiliar) really illustrated how engaging the rule could be. Hero Points are mechanically useful for players and psychologically useful for GMs. When tension is high and the PCs need to put their hair up and square up, having a rare resource that lets them show the importance of the moment to them to try twice as hard to succeed leads to nice dramatic moments and gives them greater ownership of their characters and the adventures they’re on.

From the GM side, we have a tangible, meta reward system that indicates the player behaviour you appreciate. Want great roleplaying moments? Players paying attention to and speculating on the plot? Help cleaning up after a session? Give Hero Points for the behaviour you want to see more of. You can go a step further and give each player an individualized reward system. If a player has trouble keeping their character sheet up to date, offer them a Hero Point if they show up next session with a new character sheet. Does one player bring accessories every week that help the sessions run smoothly? Hero Point to tell them you noticed and appreciate it. As long as all players understand how they can earn their Hero Points and each has an equal likelihood of earning them, then the system is fair.

That said, I’ve always had trouble as a GM implementing a Hero Point system. Although I have minor negative feelings about the flavour of Hero Points (that the player characters aren’t being extra heroic as much as it is the universe giving them yet another advantage over the average character), that is not the source of my failure to implement it. Rather, rewarding them takes me out of my GM zone. If there’s one point I’ve repeatedly fallen back on, it’s how much I cherish engagement at the table. Tracking who deserves a Hero Point is one more distraction from the story, and as the gate keeper of this system, if I’m not giving them out, they aren’t out there to use.

What I and GMs who can relate to my issue need is a GM-less alternative to Hero Points. Ideally, this system would retain the GMs ability to reward certain behaviour without the onus on the GM to track it. Impossible, you say? Oh GMs, you clearly haven’t been listening to the Private Sanctuary podcast archive.

Years ago, “Chatty DM” Philippe-Antoine Ménard joined me on Private Sanctuary Podcast 193 to discuss the then new Marvel Heroic Roleplaying from Margaret Weis Productions. It was one of the few episodes that dove deep into a non-3.X engine RPG, and remains one of the more memorable GM episodes because of it.

Marvel Heroic Roleplaying had a subsystem that does everything I want my GM-less Hero Points system to be. The Doom Pool. When players feel like they need an extra bump, they could choose to add a die -any die- to their roll. However, whenever a player adds a die to a roll, the GM adds the same die to a pool of extra dice. The GM can add these extra dice to their roll in the same way. I don’t know if this was explicitly stated but I pictured the GM putting a die into a dice tray to keep track of the extra dice available to them. Effectively, the universe is letting the players bend the rules to their advantage, but it will right itself.

It’s probably obvious how this system recreates the tension of a clutch roll, and how it’s easier for the GM to implement, but you might wonder how it retains the psychology of rewarding good behaviour. It doesn’t. It punishes bad behaviour. While you should use the dice in your Doom Pool to increase dramatic and danger in important encounters, save some. These are your sticks.

“That’s a bit too much metagame thinking, player. I’m going to put this d8 aside with your name on it.”

“Player, you’re 15 minutes late. I put aside a d4 for every 5 minutes you were late.”

“OK, player, we’ve talked about you interrupting the other players. I’ve assigned a d10 to you, don’t make me assign another.”

A Doom Pool allows us to give up some of the responsibility of a Hero Points system while keeping the power in both player and GM hands.

I found myself getting annoyed at one particular worker, Diamond Tiara. When I thought about why this worker annoyed me, I discovered either brilliant synergy of flavour and design or an incredible coincidence. Inspirational either way!

Diamond Tiara

Diamond Tiara is a spoiled rich filly, and usually positioned as a rival of the series main fillies, including Sweetie Belle. This rivalry plays out in the game, mechanically. Sweetie Belle has a task called Practice Her Cooking Skills at the Cider Mill that nets her 10 XP and 70 bits for 90 minutes of work. A bit below average return. Diamond Tiara, meanwhile, has a task called Take a Hooficure Break at the Day Spa that nets her 10XP and 120 bits for 70 minutes of work. A bit above average return. Sweetie Belle bits per minute rate is almost half that of Diamond Tiara. So why is Diamond Tiara the worker that annoys me?

Sweetie Belle

Flavour-wise, Sweetie Belle’s task is work whereas Diamond Tiara’s is play. So on the surface it seems wrong that she makes morew bits getting a hooficure than Sweetie Belle does working. That, of course, is 100% on theme and so I fully endorse the wrongness it makes me feel. Like appreciating a wrestlers heel work, it’s a good bad.

Most tasks in the game take a multiple of 30 minutes to complete. So if I send 10 ponies on tasks simultaneously, the majority will end around the same time, or be able to repeat the task a number of times before ending at the same time as the longer tasks. That means if I want to manage my workers efficiently, I only need to log in for a minute or two every half hour. But not Diamond Tiara. She’s either 10 minutes too late or 20 minutes early, meaning I either have to give her special attention to get her working efficiently or downtime between tasks.

What’s funny about that (aside from the whole “grown man” angle) is that if I give her down time and send her on a new task with everyone else, she’s still more productive in 90 minutes than Sweetie Belle. It’s knowing that she could be even more productive that I’m reacting to. Given how well the game aligns with the franchise, I have to assume some designer chuckled aloud and muttered “this is going to frustrate players so much…”

That’s where you come in, GMs. In game design, there are show elements and there are tell elements. Show elements overlap with flavour and tell with crunch. Fireball’s flavour, for example, is the character experience while the crunch is the player experience. The character’s physical anguish is translated to the player’s concern with how few hit points they have left. That’s the typical show/tell, flavour/crunch effect. However, there are iconic scenarios that are made memorable by how they lean into the show element, when the crunch does more than just what the rules say they do.

When a rust monster walks on the scene, fighters run. When the party finds a treasure chest, they become extremely cautious. When a wizard turns invisible, the groans come out and the Perception checks come out. Rust monsters do not have fear effects, mimics do not cause a paranoid condition or invisibility the frustrated condition. These rules have a psychological layer that influences the encounters in which they appear. The crunch shows as much as the flavour.

Compare the fear the table experiences if a rust monster is present (or even hinted at; how would your players react if they find a steel trap rusted away from the inside in the first room of a dungeon?) to an encounter with a mite. These small fey can cast doom once per day, a fear effect. But do players see mites and run? Doubtful. If they fail their save against doom they’re more likely annoyed than afraid.

When a rule elicits a reaction at the table similar to what the characters experience, that’s the ideal. The game is doing our work for us. In most cases, it’s up to us to take these tell elements and find the show in them. If a player is annoyed that they’re shaken by a mite, play that up. Describe how they’re distracted by thoughts of its tiny fingers poking around in their mouths, that the shade of blue reminds them of a playground toy they once fell off of, that they’re overwhelmed by the idea that they might hurt this adorable foe.

Find the emotional layer the mechanics you are using resonate and make your encounters about that.

ABSTRACT vs CODIFIED
Pathfinder 1e, like many RPGs before and after it, abstracts liberally. The classic example; What is a hit point? Some combination of a character’s physical and mental toughness, caginess, and luck that amounts to how many times they can be stabbed. Armour Class is a similar combination of elements, but less abstracted. If your AC is 25, you know what portion of that 25 is your ability to dodge, whereas if you have 100 hit points, you know relatively what amount of that comes from your Constitution and what comes from your class, but that still doesn’t mean much.

Codified vs abstracted rules each have their advantages and disadvantages. When a rule is codified, there is more for a designer to play with. Touch attacks and incorporeal attacks are very similar mechanically, but because they have the codified types of armour they ignore, the big difference between the flavour of both attacks can be explored through subtle mechanics. Likewise, a designer can look at the different types of codified armour bonuses that are less explored. For example, magnifying lenses that ignore size bonuses to AC.

The more codified a rule, however, the harder it is to implement. You don’t just grant temporary bonuses to AC, you grant a type of bonus, which typically don’t stack. The player then has to verify what types of bonuses make up their PC’s total Armour Class to see if they gain the benefit provided. Designers have to be careful too, as there are unwritten rules about the relative power levels of the different types of armour bonuses. Codification can also lead to confusion when the internal logic of the system is not universally agreed upon. For example, if you have multiple magical barriers designed to deflect attacks, only the best one works. A warrior running around with two shields is as easy to hit as the same warrior with one shield. But if you learned to jump out of the way two different ways, you can do both at the same time. I feel the need to clear up that I mean that Dodge bonuses stack for some reason, not that the difference between Dex to AC and Dodge to AC is extremely subtle.

Flip that to our abstract rule, hit points, and you have far less confusion but also far fewer options. Hit points are hit points. You can ask what a hit point is for your entire lifetime in this hobby and never know for sure because the rules intentionally leave it vague. As long as you know how to use it, you don’t need to know how it works. Like driving a car even if you couldn’t pass a basic engineering course. However, too abstract a system and you have to find ways to add to it. Without a solid foundation of codified explanation to hang from, we were left with temporary hit points and hit points you gain temporarily, two different rules both in the Core Rulebook. The latter is presented as the exception, but it is tied to barbarians from 1^st level, earlier than the most common form of standard temporary hit points.

LACK OF CODE
Flying and swimming are problematic because they act like codified rules, but they aren’t coded the same way as the rest of the game. By the above definitions, standard movement is a codified system. You have your speed. It’s measured in 5 ft increments. The world at large is divided into 5 ft squares. The minimum you can move is 5 ft, the max you can move as part of a move action is your speed. That’s 90% of the land movement rules, not even summed up as succinctly as I could. Then there are four other types of movement: burrow, climb, fly, and swim.

Burrowing is uncommon enough that it’s basically treated like teleporting from one land point to another. I can’t think of a single published encounter designed to have multiple burrowing creatures meet and fight while burrowing, but if it came up the burrow rules encompass enough that it can be played out relatively simply.

Conversely, flying and swimming have far more rules, and they are all the wrong rules. Ascending at a 45 degree angle, turning 180 degrees, these are the only instances where in the rules where facing and angles matter, to the benefit of no one. As discussed above, a codified system allows for greater rules expansion. There are few to no feats or spells that interact with the flying vertically or turning around rules. They slow down play and do nothing to add to the fun other than adding a layer of realism to a game that’s OK with characters surviving 100 ft falls.

Meanwhile, rules that would be helpful -like how to play out vertical positioning on the tabletop- are completely absent.

Swimming is similar in that it turns PCs into helpless sinkers unless magic or skill points are invested first. Maybe there’s historical accuracy or realism, but when it creates an “oh no, a water level” feel at the table, too much fun has been sacrificed for the sake of reasons other than fun.

RETROFIT SOLUTION
Fortunately, we don’t need those clunky rules any longer! Even if you are on the fence or decidedly against Pathfinder 2e, the swim and fly rules have been simplified without losing their depth in an easily ported over fashion. Gone are the degrees of difficulty. Here is the fly action, which can be used as a 1e move action with no difficulty:

FLY
Requirements You have a fly Speed.
You move through the air up to your fly Speed. Moving upward (straight up or diagonally) counts as traveling through difficult terrain. You can move straight down 10 feet for every 5 feet of movement you spend. If you fly to the ground, you don’t take falling damage. You can use an action to Fly 0 feet to hover in place. If you’re airborne at the end of your turn and didn’t use a Fly action this round, you fall.

There is no swim action, but the swimming rules and fly action provide the necessary tools to create one:

SWIM
You move through the water up to your half your Speed or up to your Swim speed if you have one. Moving downward (straight down or diagonally) counts as traveling through diffcult terrain. You can move straight up 10 feet for every 5 feet of movement you spend. You can use an action to swim 0 feet to tread in place.

These simplified rules are so much more in line with the granularity of the rest of the 1e system, and much more fitting for the corner case rules that flying and swimming can be. With the above house rule, I never plan to run flying or swimming in 1e the old way.

Highlight
Sometimes details are missed. Maybe your players were on their phones, maybe they were thinking about a spell and only half listening. Just like someone seeing a comedian to distract them from bad news, why they missed an important detail isn’t as important as the fact that an important detail might have been missed.

Many video games react when players idle for a few seconds. Dialog from a cut scene is repeated, the mission log flashes, light shines on a door or item. If you’ve ever felt directionless in a video game you might guess that the time to trigger a reminder is 10-30 seconds but it’s usually closer to 3-5. In person, 10 seconds is probably a more reasonable wait period. Players have different information to process than GMs, and although the onus to engage the players is on us, the thrust of the story is on the players. Giving them a silent ten count to process information eliminates the possibility that they are silently thinking and prevents the perception that you’re leading them by the nose.

As usual, my advice is to flavour these reminders with context and the player’s point of view. “As you sit there, contemplating your situation, you’re reminded of the desperation in the cook’s voice when she asked you to keep an eye out for her favourite ladle” is more engaging than “I said there’s a ladle among the loot. A ladle!”

Check In
Silence and inaction is not always a result of not listening or lack of understanding. It can be a situation I’ll call “waiting at the train station”. Railroading is commonly seen as the cardinal sin of GMing. The line between making players do what you want them to and expecting players to follow the plot hooks is finer than you might think, and there might be more factors as to why they might not be following the plot than you realize. Maybe moving on to the next adventure point makes the player feel they have to abandon a subplot or something they were hoping to accomplish that they haven’t even brought up yet.

Recently, my friend Will was GMing a Starfinder Society game and found his group surprisingly noncommittal when told to talk people out of dying (details kept vague to avoid spoilers and for comedic purposes, so you should be laughing because it’s funny why aren’t you laughing?). Effectively, Diplomacy checks would save lives. And yet no one wanted to roll. He made sure everyone understood the rules of the situation and asked what everyone was doing. Silence. He prodded and found out that the highest Diplomacy bonus in the party was +2, and that no one wanted to be responsible for the failure. He stressed that inaction was as bad as failure and finally got a player to make the roll.

Consequences
In the video game example, not doing anything means the game must wait for the player to act. Yes, I said earlier that players control the thrust of the action, but that begins and ends with their agency over their PC. If you tell the PCs that a flaming cart is barreling towards an important NPC and the player chooses to do nothing, that cart is going into that NPC.

However, inaction takes a flexible amount of time. Yes, if the PC continues to do nothing, either the NPC gets crushed or a third party intervenes and saves the hero a consequence of their action by doing the heroeing for them. But you can stretch that inaction out and drive home what they are allowing to happen. Most checks come with a threat of failure. Instead of going straight to consequence X for inaction, you can move the dial slightly closer to X to let the weight of X sink in.

A pig farmer’s prize swine steps in front of the cart en route to the NPC and is obliterated. Flames fly off, setting nearby foot stands on fire. The NPC’s grandchild shouts out a tear-swelled “Grandpa!” The NPC looks up at the cart, his eyes reflecting off a smear of pig blood, making eye contact with the inactive PC that screams “why aren’t you helping me?”

Read The Room
Finally, you might just be setting the wrong expectations for your players. We make a lot of assumptions that players will remember specific moments from past adventures, that they understand the game and campaign setting as well as we do, and that your players understand the information you present as you intend them to.

If you feel a dramatic moment has fallen flat, remind them in the form of a flashback. Connecting the dots does not come off dull or condescending if there’s a light show or explosion at every dot connection.

Understanding the game world or rules just takes recontextualizing. Remember the scene in Road Trip where Paulo Costanzo’s Rubin explains Greek Philosophy to Breckin Meyer’s Josh by way of an extended pro wrestling metaphor? Do that. Drawing on history, popular culture, common ground, or just knowing how they think. It’s like when I play Catch Phrase and I need my wife to guess “dog” I say “opposite of cat”.

Finally, how players understand the information is the trickiest of the above circumstances, and is a pitfall of the shared storytelling experience that is roleplaying. I remember one PFS scenario I played in where my faction mission asked me to talk to a certain character, we’ll call him Mr Jones. At the end of the scenario I’d never met Mr Jones, and I expressed my confusion to the GM. He said Mr Jones was right at the beginning, and that he gave me plenty of opportunities to talk to him. Confused, we walked through what happened. The scenario referred to the character by his full name, we’ll say John Jones, in the intro, then only as John throughout the scene he appeared in. But my faction mission only referred to him as Mr Jones. So to the GM, whose GM knowledge allowed him to understand the situation better than my player knowledge, I was failing to engage. To me, the GM was sitting there expectantly, and I wondered who he was waiting on.

The GM chose to move on, and I do not blame him for it. I would have done the same in his position. Having been in my position, though, I now know that if a player is not engaging when I expect them to, it’s worth taking a moment to explore it. As long as that exploration is not accusatory, because there are enough reasons why a player is not engaged that we as GMs shouldn’t take it personally.

Yet the better we are at our jobs, the less noticeable our work is. Our game is to put our players in the shoes of their characters, immerse them in the world we share, and treat every interaction with us as an interaction with the NPC, monster, inanimate object, or whatever stands before the PCs.

So why do we do it? Especially when it’s obvious that others don’t. Just look at how Pathfinder Society’s treated additional players. Scenarios used to be written for 4-5 PCs with rules for adjusting for more as thought that was the exception. Now they’re written for a full table and adjusted down to what the rulebook considers the standard number of players at a table.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but there are multiple reasons I GM, and have been interested in it since I RPGs were first explained to me.

Creative Expression

The GM in the opening example may not have been in the spotlight, but no one is without a competent spotlight operator. The actors in a play or movie have to work that much harder and more technically when it’s a one-hand show, a blackbox theatre, with no budget for special effects, lighting, or music. The less technical mind an actor must pay, the more they can focus on their performance. By taking the technical weight off their shoulders, you benefit from a more focused performance from your players.

Geeking Out

In a lot of ways, I approached it like I approach most of my hobbies. When I conclude that I like something, it’s rare my next step isn’t digging into how it works so I can approach it from multiple levels at once. I have often been accused of overthinking things, which usually baffles me because the time and effort between input of data and output of my thoughts is minimal. It makes me wonder what thinking is like for the kind of person who thinks I’m overthinking. Which I guess is just another example of my instinct to dissect every aspect of things that interest me, including other people’s brains.

The Whole Story

GMing is like getting to read the trivia page of the game I’m playing in real time. It’s seeing the game and understanding the story on a level that the players can’t. It’s like Pop-Up Pathfinder. And when the players make connections and see the game or the story in a way that only you could before, it’s exciting and validating. The challenge of having access to more information than the players is having that information compartmentalized into categories like PC Knowledge, Hints, and Mysteries. When you get to move a folder from the Mysteries folder in your mind to the PC Knowledge folder, that’s satisfying in a way very few other things are.

I like playing. I might even love it as much as I love GMing. However, I think of myself as a GM more than as a player because I think I am a more traditional player, but there are fewer traditional GMs, and fewer GMs in general.

I’m curious what motivates you, my fellow GM, to choose our side of the screen. Feel free to sound off in the comments below or on social media.

My patent-pending fitness program where players get bonuses to rolls for exercising aside, players aren’t expected to demonstrate feats of physical might, agility, or endurance to make Strength-, Dexterity, or Constitution-based checks, and yet there is an expectation that players can think like Intellectly-gifted adventurers. Characters so smart they learned to defy the laws of physics, or so smooth they stumbled upon the same power. Characters so wise a god has granted them power over life and death. I don’t care how many college degrees you have, player, until you can turn bat poop into explosions, you’re not as smart as even an average wizard.

To some groups, this is not an issue. The mechanics supported by ability scores are all that matter to them, and a character can be played as smart, wise, and charismatic as the player. However, my definition of peak roleplaying is when all of a character’s statistics factor into who they are and how they’re played. In every edition of D&D and Pathfinder, there is a lack of rules that support players playing characters who are more intellectual than they are.

Thus, Intellect Points, a new resource system to help players with mortal levels of intelligence, wisdom, and charisma simulate the relative genius intellect of the characters they play.

Intellect Points

Intellect Points are resource pools, similar to Hero Points, that come in three types: Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma. An Intellect Point can be spent to reverse the effect of a roleplaying choice related to the Intellect Point’s type, or to gain a hint for how a character of that Intellect capacity would approach a situation that has the player stumped. Intellect Points can only be used in situations that are divorced from game mechanics.

Using Intellect Points: A player can choose to spend an Intellect Point to re-evaluate a poorly thought out decision or rephrase a poorly worded sentence to better reflect their character’s intellect without suffering the consequences of their original decision or phrasing, as long as no roll was involved in the choice being reversed.

For example, if a player addresses a noble NPC by the wrong honourific, the player could argue that someone of their character’s Charisma (or Intelligence or Wisdom, it could also be argued) wouldn’t make that mistake. If the GM agrees, the player can spent an Intellect Point of the appropriate type to either have their character use the correct title or have the character correct themselves in a way that neutralizes any insult. If using the wrong title would result in a Diplomacy check or, worse, an Initiative roll, such consequences do not prevent a player from spending an Intellect Point. It is the character’s actions that must be divorced from game mechanics, not the consequences of their actions.  

Additionally, if a player is stumped for a course of actions to take, they can choose to spend an appropriate Intellect Point to gain a hint as to what someone of their character’s intellect would think to do in that situation.

Conversely, a player could not use an Intellect Point to reroll a failed Int-, Wis-, or Cha-based check or a Concentration check, as the character’s aptitude with the relevant ability score is already factored into that roll. Intellect Points can only be used when the character’s intellect is being tested in a way that the player can only use their own intellect to resolve.

Gaining Intellect Points: To gain Intellect Points, a character must first sleep for 8 hours, or rest for 8 hours if they do not sleep. A character gains a number of Intellect Points of each type equal to the associated ability score modifier. A character can have a maximum number of Intellect Points equal to their Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma ability modifiers combined.

If a character has an ability score penalty in any of the three Intellect ability scores, they choose which Intellect Points they gain of those they are entitled to. For example, a character with Int 18, Wis 8, and Cha 15 could receive up to 4 Intelligence Intellect Points and up to 2 Charisma Intellect Points. However, because of their -1 Wisdom modifier, they can only have 5 Intellect Points total. They must choose to have 4 Intelligence Points and 1 Charisma Intellect Point or 3 Intelligence Intellect Points and 2 Charisma Intellect Points.

Temporary ability score grant temporary Intellect Points of the appropriate type, and a temporary increase to a character’s maximum number of Intellect Points. These temporary Intellect Points are spent first.

Longtime readers know where I stand on awarding players mechanically for their roleplaying choices. I am against allowing players to circumvent their ability scores (usually Charisma) with engagement at the table, doubly so with rewarding them mechanically for it. This is different. This is a system that supports a player’s ability to roleplay aspects of their character that might be beyond their means. Similar to how how the magic rules allow an intellectual character to cast complex magic magic,  Intellect Points allow an intellectual character to outthink less intellectual characters. It also gives mechanical benefits to players who might want to play a smart fighter, cunning paladin, or other unusually intellectual version of a traditionally unintellectual class. If your stats say you’re the smartest person in the room, Intellect Points let you act like it.

The new dying system grinded the session to a halt. We didn’t even fully dive into the rules as we had healers handy with spells to deal with his conditions. Still, the combination of changes to a rule we knew very well, the granularity of the new system, and some breaks from expectation (specifically, that the dying condition and unconscious conditions must be dealt with separately) meant our noses were in our books.

Evidently our experience wasn’t exclusive as before the first part of the playtest was done, Jason Bulhman publicly announced that the dying rules would be updated soon. This Monday, a new update was indeed released, and it mostly centered on the new dying rules. The update addresses some of the concerns, but it’s still extremely granular. To prevent a similar slow down, and to keep track of which rules I remember are post-update, I’ve put together a couple of handy flowcharts.

So You’ve Lost Your Last Hit Point

Click to enlarge

Unlike in Pathfinder first edition, but consistent with the pre-update version of the second edition playtest, 0 hp is as low as your hp can go. Once you’ve reached 0 hp, you are unconscious and could be dying, possibly even quite badly. To figure out how badly you are dying, consult the above flow chart, starting with the Character drops to 0 hp square.

So You’re Dying

Click to enlarge

Dying is where it gets trickier. Death (and all tiered conditions) is still measured in 1, 2, 3, and 4, four being death. What’s more likely to trip up a session is determining the DC of the recovery save. This hasn’t changed much, if at all, from the pre-update rules, but as you can see they can be involved. Threats do not have a universal lethality equation, effects do. Even then, determining the lethality (ie, the DC to recover if these attacks reduce a character to 0 hp) of these effects sometimes relates back to the threat and the circumstance. The example being that if a wizard drops a character with a lethal melee attack they shouldn’t use their key ability (Intelligence) to determine how lethal their quarterstaff shot was. So step 1 of the Dying character flow chart is a flowchart of its own to determine the Fortitude save DC. Once that’s established, it’s a set number, even if the variables that went into calculating that DC change.

Two final notes:

1. I apologize for the wonky arrows on the above flow charts.
2. Fans of my GM like a PM series who are waiting for the third installment, I apologize. Hopefully it will be the subject of the next Behind The Screens.

Dramatic Pauses

A very simple technique is to allow short pauses at critical moments. For example: the party is fighting a battle against a powerful antipaladin. In a desperate attempt at victory, the ranger pulls a sleep arrow from their pack and fires it at the enemy. The hit lands. Now the antipaladin needs to make a relatively easy DC 11 Will save or fall asleep. Don’t just roll and tell them the result, let that pivotal moment hang in the air, creating tension at the table. Roll the die where no one else can see it, take a moment before addressing the table and savor every moment of the result. “The white arrow flies through the air… it pierces the evil knight’s chainmail just under his breastplate, bursting into a flash of energy… he yawns large… and… he FALLS ASLEEP!”

Once the result is given all that weight that you put behind the description, all the time you made the party wait for the outcome, will pay off by releasing the tension at the table. If you want to hear a master of this technique at work, then I recommend listening to at least a few episodes of the Glass Cannon Podcast. Troy Lavallee GMs the actual play campaign uses this technique to fill every moment with drama.

Full Descriptions

In a film, each shot is carefully planned out and composed to make sure that the audience receives just the right amount of information. Using this same strategy when describing elements of your game world will evoke a more exciting and immersive game. Don’t just state that the antipaladin swings, hits, and deals 16 points of damage. Instead, imagine you were watching this play out in a movie and take a moment to describe the attack: “With an overhead chop, the knight brings his greatsword down to cleave you in two. At the last minute, you manage to jump out of the way but not before his swing grazes your leg, slicing cleanly through your trousers. He brings his sword away wet with your blood.”

Not every single description needs to be that lengthy, but if you spend a little more time on the big moments and less time on the less important moments, you’ll help make the game more memorable to your players. Years ago I ran a PFS scenario at Who’s Yer Con in Indianapolis and we had a character death while the PCs faced off against the BBEG, an archer in a well defended position. They were having a hard time of approaching the tower the BBEG was hiding in without taking a bunch of damage and having to retreat and heal. Rather than give up, the witch decides that they’re going to run up to the base of the tower to get within 30 feet, then use the Sleep Hex to end the fight all at once. The BBEG made her save and fired a single arrow at the witch; the attack crit and the witch died in one shot. Interesting story? Maybe. But the description really made it a memorable moment for everyone at the table:

“You run up to the tower and stare at her right in the face, your eye glimmering with magic. As she reaches back to pull another arrow from her quiver, she hesitates for a moment as she yawns… but she manages to catch her breath and nocks the arrow. She aims right at you and releases the arrow. For a moment your life slows to a crawl; she watches the arrow as is speeds toward it’s target. Before the magical glint fades, the arrowhead pierces your eye. For a moment their is silence… then your body falls to the ground with a thud, lifeless.”

The rest of the table then had a somber feeling as the party retreated from the BBEG. They had lost the scenario. They had lost an ally. It was a somber moment. But this moment stayed in everyone’s memories. At the end of the convention, the player with the deceased witch approached me looking happy. He said that he had never had such a memorable character death before and even though he had to pay for a raise dead to keep playing that weekend, he repainted his mini to match the occasion. When he presented it, I saw that the mini he had used before now had one eye whitened out and a single dark scar across the socket. “She’s blind in that eye now, but she’s alive again and has vowed to hunt down that archer.” Now that character has an interesting backstory to share with every other adventurer she meets about the time she died and lost an eye.

Parallel Editing

The last technique I want to share only comes up occasionally, but it’s a more advanced form of Dramatic Pauses. Sometimes your PCs will want to split up, particularly during an investigation. When this happens I like to run for one PC for a short while until they find a critical clue or locate an NPC who is willing to share vital information. When this happens, I’ll tease the information but won’t give it to the player, instead moving on to one of the other players. This leaves them waiting on the edge of their seat for me to get back to them and tell them what they’ve discovered. A perfect scenario for this is Pathfinder Society #5–01: The Glass River Rescue. The PCs almost always split up to search for clues, and give huge opportunities for adding tension whenever they discover something. “Oleanna, a Perception of 24 you said? Ok, you search around and find a pile of discarded clothing you originally mistook as dirty rags. As you sift through the clothes you hear a ‘thunk’ of something heavy hitting the floor. Looking down… you see something quite interesting—Darius, you were in the kitchen, right?” Now while I’m running part of the investigation for Darius, Oleanna’s player is almost biting her fingernails waiting for it to be her turn again so she can find out what she discovered.

…And you can find out too by playing or running The Glass River Rescue with your local Pathfinder Society group.

I hope you picked up a few new GM techniques to try when you run your next game. Good luck and good rolling!

Common advice for GMs and players is to talk out their issues at the table before they become a problem. One of the reasons that’s harder to execute than advise is that bringing up an issue can be awkward, and hearing about an issue can make people defensive. However, formulating and scheduling feedback in a way that makes it expected to be given and received makes it easier on both ends. One such formula is a post mortem.

What is a Post Mortem?
A post mortem (from the Latin for after death) looks back on a specific, completed project and reports on what decisions were made, which of them worked, which didn’t, and what could be done differently next time.

Before you can determine what worked and what didn’t, you need to define what your goals are to know if they worked. For a business, the goal could be directly profiting, but it could also be cutting costs, gaining greater exposure, improved public standing, etc. The end goal will basically always be an increase in profits, but the steps to profitability are also important.

Likewise, it’s easy to say that everyone’s goal for playing Pathfinder or other RPGs is to have fun, but how fun is defined is so subjective that one person at the table having fun is not an indicator that everyone is. The original Lost In Space could be described as more fun than the recent Netflix reboot, but the new Lost In Space is more engaging, more meaningful, more relatable, etc. Right there are three goals more specific and descriptive than “fun”.

Setting Goals
Session zero has a reputation as being a good time for players to flesh out their characters -especially how their characters relate to one another- but it’s also a great time for us to establish what the players expect from us as GMs, and for us to clarify what the players expect from their characters.

Players and us GMs already set our goals and expectations when at the start of a new campaign. For us, it’s the campaign pitch. For example:

Pitch: We’re playing a classic high fantasy adventure, the one that started it all and establish Golarion and the Inner Sea Region, and made Pathfinder goblins the mascot creatures that they are!

Expectations: Players can make any characters of any class, but zanier concepts are less welcome. Lore will be important to the adventure but previous knowledge of the setting isn’t super important. Also, goblins!

A common reaction to Rise of the Runelords is “I wasn’t expecting so many giants…” That’s because to some, D&D 1st edition module Against The Giants is the prototypical classic high fantasy adventure. To others, it’s too specific to be classic. A post mortem would point this out, and while the adventure couldn’t be rewritten with a greater variety of enemies (because, again, a post mortem is written after the fact, it’s not playtest feedback), the writer might be more explicit in incorporating their inspirations in the pitch or re-evaluate their assumptions about what is universally agreed upon.

Player goals are likewise established by the characters they’re playing. Specifically, how they describe their characters.

Here are two different examples of how a player might describe a barbarian they are playing:

Barbarian pitch 1:
“She swings her massive sword with the greatest of ease, carrying it around both as the deadliest weapon in town, a trophy from her encounter with a frost giant, and a warning to anyone who thinks about crossing her.”

Barbarian pitch 2:
“Her hands are made for killing, not signing treaties, and she’s more comfortable with a sword that’s taller than she is than she is remembering which fork is for her salad. She has no problem letting her friends do the talking, throwing in the odd grunt of support when they do.”

Both versions mention her strength and massive sword, but one is all about what she can do and how awesome she is, whereas the other contrasts her strengths and weaknesses. The player who pitched version 1 probably has no plan for what the barbarian will do in a diplomatic setting, and therefore might check out or look for the first opportunity for violence in roleplaying scenes.

Conversely, the player who pitched version 2 knows that their barbarian is not equipped for social scenes and is prepared -maybe even excited- to play up her weakness in these areas. They don’t want to be catered to. Put another way, if a player rolls up Aquaman, maybe they’re telling you they want a lot of underwater combat, maybe they’re saying they know they’re not going to be effective most of the time but they want to excel on the off chance water plays into the plot.

Early on in session zero, discuss everyone’s expectations. If a player does want to play Aquaman and you have no intention of running water combat, make that clear and work out the clashing expectations. Try to get this done before players flesh out their characters so they can do so armed with appropriate expectations.

Once expectations are established, translate them into goals that define what everyone believes they need to have fun. Remember, a good project manager knows to write things down and confer with a good editor.

Reporting Schedule
Before you write your first post mortem, establish a reporting schedule. If you are running an adventure path, I recommend after the first act of the first volume, then after each volume. The reason for the first one is to evaluate how everyone’s concept played out. The difference between a character that’s played through volume 2 and volume 3 of an AP is not as big as the difference between a character that’s 100% in a player’s head and a character that’s seen a few encounters.

If your campaign isn’t an adventure path, approximate the AP structure. If your campaign’s structure doesn’t resemble an AP at all, you can use time instead of chapter breaks to schedule your post mortems, say after two sessions then every two months.

If someone finds the campaign suddenly off the mark, an emergency post mortem can be called. Establish the starting and ending points of the issue and report based on that timeframe.

For example, enthusiasm for our Hell’s Rebels game suddenly and totally dropped out near the end of book 3. Minor spoiler, book 3’s second act is made up entirely of a side quest buffet. From the session that we received the side quests to choose from, we called one out as outside of our skill set and that we’d rather deal with the consequences of failure than even attempt it. Once we’d completed the quests we felt comfortable attempting, we felt the campaign couldn’t continue until we attempted the quest we’d disqualified.

After four or five sessions of a checked out group dealing with greater resistance due to our lack of preparation (due to being checked out), we did have some entertaining encounters and accomplish the goal. And yet through it all, no one could care. Our GM eventually posted to our group’s Facebook group, effectively, “everyone OK?” which started a much-needed discussion about this otherwise engaged group suddenly wasn’t.

Writing a Post Mortem
A post mortem is best written formally, citing facts and dates as much as possible.

Some suggestions for best practice when writing your post mortem:

• Goals: Establish your goals early on;
• Assessment: Establish important facts, then determine if each worked towards or against your goals Start broad, then get specific;;
• Summary: Based on the above, write a paragraph summarizing your successes and failures, elaborating on the degrees of your successes and failures.
• Plan of Action: Based on your summary, reevaluate your goals and whether you should change course to better meet them or change your stated goals if they are not as in line with actual goals as you expected.

A post mortem is not to judge or air grievances. It is an opportunity to express concerns, evaluate their magnitude, and plot a course together. As GMs, we need to honestly evaluate any criticism and players need to trust us if we believe their concerns are a setup to accomplish our goals later on.

What takes longer: getting dressed for a special event or getting dressed for work? Obviously the special event, and not because of the greater volume of clothes worn. It’s the extra decisions that need to be made and the break from routine that take the extra time. This time can be reduced with an SOP.

What is an SOP?
Businesses use documents called SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) to save time by cutting down on decision making, and to avoid confusion by outlining the steps everyone performing a certain task must follow to ensure consistency. From making sure every McDonald’s hamburger has the same ingredients in the same order to making sure every sample of a new vaccine is identical to minimize variables in testing.*

I don’t know any Game Master who would turn their away a tool that saves time and avoids confusion.

Saving Time
To be clear, an SOP does not take agency away from players. It standardises common decisions that the players make in situations that they have total control.  It’s like they’re programing macros in Roll20; they’re codifying common behaviour.

Take marching order. Odds are as long as a party is made up of the same characters, they’ll have the same marching order. Character who can take a hit and has good Perception in the front, another character who can take a hit and is either fast or fights at range in the back, squishy in the middle. Despite your group probably coming to the same conclusion every time you ask for marching order, the decision making and verification process can still eat up valuable minutes at the table (equating to even more lost time when you factor in lost momentum). If the marching order commonly changes depending on the width of the corridor -say they form a staggered line to minimize vulnerability to area of effects- this becomes another Marching Order SOP (say the Wide March SOP).

Avoid Confusion
The following is an abridged exert of the famous Dungeons And Dragons sketch by improvisational comedy troupe The Dead Alewives off their comedy CD Take Down the Grand Master:

DM: There are seven ogres surrounding you.
Elf: How could they surround us? I had Mordenkainen’s Magical Watchdog cast.
DM: No, you didn’t.
Elf: I totally did! You asked me if I wanted any equipment before this adventure and I said No. But I need material components for all my spells. So I cast Mordenkainen’s Faithful Watchdog.
DM: But you never actually cast it.
Elf: I did though! I completely said when you asked me!
DM: No you didn’t! You didn’t actually SAY that you were casting the spell. So now there’s ogres. OK?!

The issue between the player and the GM in the sketch (and in the common real life situation this exchange is based on) is of conflicting assumptions. Maybe the elf player should have declared they were casting the spell, but if the character assumes it’s cast they’re not going to declare they do something they think is already done.

Continuing the marching order example, if the party gets ambushed in a 10 foot wide hallway by an invisible wizard casting lightning bolt, they don’t just have to insist that obviously they would be staggered, or argue that they’re always staggered. They have the paperwork to back them up. The GM doesn’t need to feel robbed of an optimal AoE or badgered by players arguing what they obviously would have done. The marching order SOP declares what they would have done. If the players ever don’t have an SOP for something they believe they would have done, it’s an indicator for what they will do next time. Time to write a new SOP!

Bot Me
Companies and industries have SOP standards (see the footnote for an anecdote on standardizing your SOPs), but there is no one way to write one.

Campaign SOPs are similar to the Bot Me concept that Hilary Moon Murphy mentions in the Getting Into the World of Play-By-Post at PaizoCon. In Play-By-Post, every action is met with downtime while the GM responds and then the player reacts to that response. So a situation where a player’s action moves the action forward very little -like the rogue opening a door that leads to a bare hallway with another door- can take days. A character’s BotMe page outlines what they do in recurring situations with minimal decision making for the sake of moving the game forward. HMM put together an excellent document explaining what a Bot Me is, why you would write one, and how it’s done.

For example, if every time the party needs a door opened they want the party rogue to search it for traps, disarm any traps they find, and unlock the door if it’s locked, the rogue player isn’t making any decisions and the rest of the party can’t do anything until the rogue acts, so the rogue might add the following to their BotMe page:

Doors
If we are ready to open a door, I search the for traps (Perception +10), disarm any traps I find (Disable Device +10), and unlock the door if it’s locked (Disable Device +10).

Bot Mes and SOPs are not mutually exclusive ideas. A BotMe is good for a character (and as HMM mentions in the seminar, they’re handy reference sheets for the player as well as other players). An SOPs is good for the whole party.

Here are some starting SOPs for any party:

• Marching Order: See example above.
• Opening Doors: Doors slow down play for multiple reasons. Each door requires three skill checks, two of which are Disable Device, so while it makes sense for the characters to want to check each door, it’s tedious for the players (especially since there is one player making all those checks. An opening doors SOP where the rogue player pre-designates three different d20s as the three skills that make up the one task, as well as the relative location of the other players in the party in case of traps and ambushes, speeds up a tedious task.
• Adventuring Gear: What are the players wearing and wielding when they aren’t preparing for something specific? Is the wizard’s crossbow always loaded and ready to shoot? Does the alchemist always have a bomb out? Does the encumbered bard drop his backpack every time Initiative is rolled?
• Non-Adventuring Gear: Are the characters always walking around in their armour and carrying their weapons?
• Loot: How is the identifying of magic items handled? Does everyone always pile everything they find together during quiet moments? Is it just assumed that anyone who can cast detect magic does so after encounters, that everyone else rolls for perception? Who holds onto the the gear no character plans on keeping in the meantime?

Answering these questions doesn’t just save time at the table and avoid confusion , it helps players remember and understand what their characters and the other members of the party can do. As HMM says in the Getting Into the World of Play-By-Post seminar, the person who references a character’s Bot Me page the most is that character’s player.  

*Quick story: Many podcast listeners probably already know that my wife, Tina, is a scientist, a chemist specifically. When she was pregnant but before she was on maternity leave, she couldn’t work in the lab so her company had her edit the SOPs, including the SOP on writing SOPs. I defined what an SOP in the opening paragraph because I couldn’t say if the term is used as regularly as it is around my house.

As you may or may not know or care, this past Saturday there was a special event on the WWE Network: NXT Takeover Chicago II. NXT is owned by WWE and is branded as their developmental show, where new talent can train for the pressures of live TV by being booked in front of intentionally smaller audiences. That said, many wrestling fans consider it the best wrestling WWE produces and even the best wrestling promotion in the world. Not just for the wrestling, but the also the quality of the writing. 

Consider the following sentence:

At NXT Takeover Chicago II, in a No Disqualification match in which both wrestlers -Tommaso Ciampa and Johnny Gargano- came to the ring armed with crutches and featured multiple weapons being used in and out of the ring, one of the moments that got the biggest crowd reaction was when Ciampa took the wedding ring off Gargano’s finger, spit on it, and threw it away.

Despite this being a violent wrestling match, the crowd responded to a visceral moment. I don’t know about you but I’ve never been hit by a crutch. My brain would have to substitute experiences and fabricate feelings for me to be grasp what that might be like. I have, however, thought I lost my wedding ring. That is not a fun feeling. Knowing that Ciampa inflicted that feeling on Gargano on purpose without even directly advancing towards his goal of winning the match makes me hate Ciampa furiously and immediately, immersing in a way that fiction thrives for.

Lesson #1: It’s important to remember that our job as GMs is not just to describe the fantastic of a scene in our fantasy roleplaying game but relate it to the everyday. After an encounter in which the wizard cast fireball, take a minute to remind them that they have bat guano under their fingernails and when they try to pick it out they just get it under another nail. When the fighter makes two attacks on an outsider for the first time, one hits and one misses, say they slice their foe heartily and true, but the otherworldly shade of blue blood that stains their blade catches them off-guard. By the time their weapon comes back around they’re contemplating the number of different creatures’ blood they’ve spilled. The moment of introspection falters their aim. As the cleric holds up their holy symbol to cast light, the emanation of their spell beams across the back of the symbol. For a moment, their god’s shadowy silhouette crosses the floor. The creeping rogue puts their weight on a creaky floor board. They grit their teeth as they slowly lift their foot and are somehow surprised that yes, it makes just as loud a noise stepping off of it as stepping on.

Back to our sentence to consider, here are a few additional facts that change its context:

1. Ciampa was an usher at Gargano’s wedding (in real life and in the storyline);
   
   
2. Ciampa and Gargano were tag team champions together;
   
   
3. On the night they lost their titles, Ciampa suffered a knee injury that kept him out of the ring for months. This was after Ciampa turned on Gargano;
   
   
4. Ciampa hit Gargano with a crutch during a title match, costing him the NXT championship;
   
   
5. In the weeks leading up to their match, Gargano’s wife tried to reconcile the former friends.

Now consider this again:

At NXT Takeover Chicago II, in a No Disqualification match in which both wrestlers -Tommaso Ciampa and Johnny Gargano- came to the ring armed with crutches and featured multiple weapons being used in and out of the ring, one of the moments that got the biggest crowd reaction was when Ciampa took the wedding ring off Gargano’s finger, spit on it, and threw it away.

The wedding ring and the crutches spots weren’t just independently powerful moment. When combined with the layers of backstory (way more than a wrestling storyline usually has) you can see why them starting the match wielding crutches and the act of stealing, spitting on, and throwing away a wedding ring had greater significance.

Lesson #2: In a lot of ways, callbacks are what separate a story from simply a series of events. This doesn’t just have to apply to the overarching plot. Stand-alone moments can become character defining traits with the right callback. The wizard smells guano in the air and immediately suspects another wizard is about. A creatures looks at the shades of bloodstains on the fighter’s sword and is suddenly willing to talk. When the cleric casts daylight, the silhouette of their holy symbol burns into the face of a vampire. The rogue has learned to spot when a floorboard will creak and strategically steps on one they know will only grown on the opposite side of a guard, causing a distraction.

Don’t underestimate the value of the mundane in a fantastic world. Ground a world of monsters and magic with reminders of the everyday inconveniences we can all relate to. And when you make the mundane memorable, take note and use it later to even greater effect.

PLAYER 1: A toast?
PLAYER 2: I’ll yes and to that and raise you a hug!

It is not until someone says “and scene” that the audience is now looking at performers and not performances, and it’s the introduction of a technical term that initiates the switch. Whereas in a roleplaying game, everyone at the table weaves between technical terms and speaking in-character. I am a homer for players speaking in-character but there are just some things that aren’t worth the linguistic acrobatics needed to avoid using technical terms.

PLAYER: I tighten my grip and lean into this attack, throwing caution to the wind in the name of felling this foe!
GM: You’re using Power Attack?
PLAYER: I am hoping what I lose in grace is made up for with the force of my blow, I wildly thrust my blade at my enemy.
GM: Kay. Power Attack.

Hm. Now that I’ve written it out, I kind of prefer the Player’s version of the description. Well, too late to change it! I can say that as long as the GM clearly understands the intent of the player’s flowery language, players should feel free to hand their GMs bouquets every turn.

Juggling acting and meta-terminology is an underappreciated aspect of an RPG, in a lot of ways the contributing factor to the fun atmosphere of this game we all know and love. It’s like when bilingual friends switch back and forth between the two languages they know in the name of expressing themselves in the most accurate and flavourful way they can.

As with most things, it’s important that these opposed forms of expression are balanced. Too much rules talk and Pathfinder’s less of a roleplaying game and more of a magical tactical simulator. Too much in-character talk and you’re just playing pretend. The rules are the command prompts that inform how the roleplaying scenes play out.

As GMs, we usually have more to balance than anyone else at the table. In this case, I argue that we have the advantage of being able to lean more into the in-character or in-world descriptions and that the game benefits from it. We are the computer into which our players input command prompt. Consider these two descriptions of the same situation:

EXAMPLE 1: Your attack deals 15 damage, or it would have if the skeleton didn’t have damage reduction!
EXAMPLE 2: Your blade scrapes the top and bottom of neighbouring ribs but you feel like a lot of the thrust of your blow is lost in the space between them.

Both convey the necessary information, but one does so evocatively. And unlike the earlier Power Attack example, we don’t have to be as clear about the statistical effects of what we’re describing because we are ultimately the only ones that need to know the particulars. Our job is to create the world that the players are interacting with, but also to convey a story in a way that gets the players to move the plot. If you find your players at a loss for where to take the plot, throw the world at them.

There are a couple of examples in the Hell’s Rebels campaign I recently played in of times when it was clear we weren’t following the path our GM (and the campaign) intended (and I alluded to in a previous column). The issue wasn’t that we didn’t know what he wanted us to do, it was that we didn’t know why our characters would do it. Minor spoilers for the Hell’s Rebels adventure path.

The first was about changing our base of operations. We’d been operating out of, effectively, a friend’s basement up till then. When we cleared out a dungeon, the GM asked if we were moving our operation there. We said no. Our friend’s basement had become home, and it had also proven to be a reliable spot in which to operate. There were theoretical advantages to the new base but we weighed those -in-character- against the advantages of staying and chose to stay.

The second was when we were given five suggested side quests that would advance our rebellion. We agreed with four of the suggestions but felt -in-character- that the fifth option was not one we were capable of completing (basically we had to blow something up, and none of us were strong casters or chemists) and that the consequences of failing to even attempt it were manageable (increased guards in the city, which was within reach of our sharp weapons and sharper tongues).

In both cases, our GM brought the options we had passed on back up multiple times, but always out of character.  “You could move to this larger, empty dungeon if you want.” “The only thing left to do if blow up that place.” Had these been handled in-character, we might have reacted differently. Had the friend whose basement we were staying expressed concern for their safety, we might have considered moving. Had the reinforcements started to trickle in and it was clear that we couldn’t handle them like we presumed, we might have reconsidered how we might blow up the place with our resources. Or we might not have reconsidered, that’s kind of the point of agency.

As GMs, we can’t command prompt the players. That’s railroading. However, the prompts the players give us don’t necessarily end when the command has been executed. Like turning on a faucet, the command might continue until the players prompt the faucet off or else they have to deal with the flood. It’s important to remember that it’s your job to let the players know when their ankles are wet and not just that they have the choice to turn the water off.

And scene!

To some players and groups the mere mention of GM PC causes them to hiss like cheesy vampires at sunlight and wooden crosses. Some are completely baffled by the concept, not quite sure what it means or how it works. My group, on the other hand, doesn’t really know RPGs any other way. Settle in, my name is Randal and I have a lot to say on the subject.

I cut my teeth on gaming with a small group of friends. The most we could ever gather for a given game was 5, and only if the stars aligned that one time a year when Stephen was home on vacation. Weekly, we only had 3 of us with the occasional 4th player once a month or so. We all wanted to play, none wanted to be a full time GM. When one story arc would wrap up, the next person would start in on whatever plot he had been concocting at the time. We didn’t generally like changing PCs that frequently, because when we did, we never reached a very high level for any one group. To battle this, we simply kept our PC in the game with the party as normal. I present to you, the three types of GM PCs that I have encountered most over the decades.

At this point, some of you might be wondering how fair it is for the players when the GM knows everything and therefore their PC will as well. They will know who and what to target, when and where to search for traps, etc. This type of GM PC is where you fall into Deus Ex Machina territory. While this can be a very simple and obvious concern at first glance, I would like to point out a few things to the contrary. First of all, if a GM were to do these things with their PC, they would be giving a free pass to the players through plots and encounters, and also giving themselves more spotlight by taking it away from players. “Wait, I thought you were going to try to argue that this isn’t a bad thing …” you might be wondering. My point is this, a GM is there to provide a story and plot for the players and challenges for them to solve through their characters. Using a GM PC in this way pretty much goes against the whole reason for GMing (at least for the majority of gamers) and I would bet money that a GM that does this is *already* doing this in games that they are running without a PC. Therefore, you either play under this GM already and won’t be affected, or you don’t play under a GM like this and also won’t be affected.

And now to overcorrect, I provide you with the Generic Cleric (aka Healbot™) GM PC. The players are looking for adventure and glory and that does not include worshipping a deity, adhering to daily tenets, and simply keeping the others alive during encounters so that they can have all the fun and earn all the fame. Once again, in a game that assumes access to a certain amount of healing, any party without a cleric is often penalized. This is where many faceless GM PCs are born, and how they fade into nothingness. Your party receives their first quest from the local church, and to help on that quest a cleric joins your ranks. He provides basic defensive support in combat, healing during and after combat, and restorations when needed. Due to GM fiat or perhaps the party making a deal with the clergy, the cleric continues to travel with the group. Many times he takes the attacks of opportunity from a baddie so that the wizard can run freely past, other times he simply channels positive to destroy weak undead so the party can focus on the boss. I have been guilty of this at least once.

Extremes aside, I personally feel that a GM PC is an invaluable tool to a small group. It certainly does require more work from the GM, no doubts there. But that extra work will be noticed by the players when they see a completely fleshed out PC that grows along with their own. They will see that you as a GM are invested in the game and the story, even in one offs or prewritten modules. (This last point is not a slam against prewritten modules, but an admittance that many GMs get a bit lazy and sloppy when running prewritten modules because they can simply read the content and color in the lines instead of writing and prepping.) One thing I try to do (but often just haven’t the time for these days) is to go through all the encounters planned for a given night and preroll any and all checks and noting the result in the margins or on my trusty notepad. Lately, I realized that when doing this, it is a very simple thing to roll a save against each spell or effect a baddie has available, and conversely have the baddies roll for saves against any of my PC’s effects. Also, as GM, you should have an idea of party battle tactics, so you can note which actions you might lean to given character motivations. This allows me to stay in GM role and move from one PC to my GM PC to the next PC more quickly, making it look as though my PC is acting in the moment instead of waffling or metagaming like many players do on their turn. It also gives the players the impression that you are still focusing on their characters over your own.

Some of my favorite aspects of GM PCs are as follows (ordered merely how I remembered them). First off, they will have the full set of XP ever allotted to a given group. If you track that with something like HeroLab, it takes very little effort to track all the XP under encounter names. When you run a group through multiple modules or you interject random plots into APs, you can quickly lose track of every single encounter a party has ever faced, and this provides a historical log that any given normal PC is likely to not have if they miss a game here and there. Secondly, after the players have decided on their characters, I get to look at new and interesting ways to build a non-standard PC to fill a niche missing by the party. No trapspringer? I might try an inquisitor or bard with archetypes to allow them to at least try, albeit at a lower capacity than a true rogue. No arcane magic? Try a funky bard archetype I have been dying to test out. Thirdly, and most important to me, is the ability to keep the characters grounded in the moment while providing them with information that the players have simply forgotten to write down (that the characters would not forget). What I call the Gentle Nudge. Roleplaying these conversations and encounters out can help you guide the party back on track, keep up the intensity of the situation, or simply lighten the mood … without ever letting players break character. “Oh yeah, I heard Barren say that his hat was in the next county over” or “The way I remember the legend, they were beset by flavor drakes.” Fourth, and a close runner up as my favorite, is the ability for the GM to recall stories of these games later in the 1st person, instead of simply vicariously. Saying “remember when we did …” is just so much more satisfying and inclusive than “remember when you did …”

I would like to close with a couple (ok, a bunch of) words of warning. If you think a GM PC is not for you or your game, then don’t. Everybody games in their own way and there is certainly no wrong way to game. Behind the Screens is here to help GMs expand their minds and skills for the betterment of their games and their players. Therefore, for that purpose, my first example *is* a wrong way to GM PC, and my second example really doesn’t provide the party with anything that a sack of wands can’t. Even when using a proper “gentle nudge” style GM PC, there are caveats that you should adhere to. Never make a PC that is better than other PCs in their primary field, let them shine. To this end, I always build suboptimal PCs that offer versatility and fun options, but never somebody that can solve every problem or out damage the fighter. When gathering information, feel free to have your PC do so on their own in case there is info the players *need* but are simply not getting it, but never have your character know everything the PCs fail to know, and even occasionally have your PC forget things when it makes for good story. While this is your PC and you can give it as much attention as you want … for the love of the gods make it a more streamlined concept. No summon monsters, eidolons, companions, leadership, familiars, or the like. All of those take away from player time by filling initiative with more of you on top of making the PC harder to play by simply adding option overload.

Thank you for allowing me to fill in for this week’s Behind the Screens!

The problem for these GMs is that they believe they know the path better than the players, that there are things players are supposed to do. I have no more firm belief as a GM and a player than that the only thing a player is supposed to do is play their character. If they are reacting to the world and the rolls of the dice in the way that makes the most sense to them, they are doing all that they are supposed to do. If, as a GM, your upcoming campaign’s plot has statements like “when the PCs” and not “if the PCs,” you are dangerously close to setting yourself up for a disappointment, or setting your players up for a railroad.

“Plot” is a wonderful word to describe a campaign’s story because its definitions include both of the following meanings:

• The events that transpired (ie the plot of a story)
• The events one hopes will transpire (ie a scheme)

GMs should know to use the first of the above definitions after a campaign concludes. Only then is the plot -by that definition- settled. The second of the above definitions better defines a GM’s story before and during the campaign. It is in progress, and the plot is simply what you, the GM, hope happens.

Here is a reminder of two of the game’s key terms to keep in mind when plotting to avoid the trapping of thinking in terms of the first of the above definitions of plot:

• Player Character: The main characters in the story, and the only characters that you have no control over. These are the player’s characters. You are the only one playing the game who is not categorized as a player.
• Non-Player Characters: The characters you control. Note how they are not Game Master Characters. The game is so about the players that every character in the game is defined by whether it is player controlled or not.

How, then, are you supposed to plot a campaign without insight into what the main characters of the story will attempt to do and if they will succeed? After all, you might think, authors talk about their characters surprising them, but they can force those characters to conform. The mistake there is thinking a GM plots like an author. A GM plots like a villain.

I Would have Gotten Away With it, Too…

Villains have motivations, which lead to goals. They either have the resources to accomplish those goals or know the resources they need to accomplish them and have shorter term goals of acquiring those resources. They also know that there will be resistance, but they don’t know what that resistance will be. They can research to narrow down what they’re likely to face, and plan based on that research and other expectations, but they can’t know all the variables.

Sound familiar?

Say an evil cult leader needs to sacrifice seven souls -one for each virtue- to appease the god of sin, thereby gaining evil power greater than any mortal has ever known. Cool idea, but why? What’s his motivation? Let’s say he wants to show the virtuous that their pompous (his words, not mine) denial of indulgence is pointless, that the sinners are the truly virtuous. Striking them down with the powers of the god of sin is the most literal translation of his motivation.

Now we have a villain with a goal and a motivation. That motivation is important because if the PCs manage to irreversibly prevent his ultimate goal early in the campaign, the campaign stills has a villain. That villain just needs to either change his goal in a way that still satisfies his motivation, or seek revenge on the PCs for ruining his plot. Either way, he’s reacting to the PCs’ actions. It’s like they’re the main characters of the story and their actions matter!

The best example of this type of campaign is the Scooby Doo formula. Rarely does the villain of an episode of Scooby Doo know who the Scooby Gang is. The villain’s connection to the main characters can be minimal or non-existent. What matters is that they have a plan. Usually the villain is a corrupt entrepreneur or industrialist using scare tactics to lower the value of property they want. They assume the people in their way will react fearfully, but one group of people instead faces the fear head-on. The villain adjusts their plans in reaction to this opposition, but one of them is exceptionally insightful, able to see through the ruse and determine the villain’s motivations and therefore identity.

What about when PCs fail? Or fail to act? What if the Scooby Gang fails to sense motive one day and accept that yep, that’s definitely the Ghost of Zen Tuo, they have to leave? This should not derail your campaign either. If you’re plotting like a villain, then you move to the next phase of your plot. Since this plot is grand enough to cover a whole campaign and not just a 22-minute episode, it should reach a point where it crosses the PC’s paths again.

Let’s say you plotted the god of sin campaign above like an author, and thought the PCs would interfere to prevent the first murder, thereby forcing the villain to kill a loved one as the only alternative, adding depth to their villainy, and also introducing the would-be murder victim as a campaign-long NPC. But the PCs failed to spot the cultist stalking that NPC, or are more interested in learning the backstory of a supposedly inconsequential NPC bard they met at the same time. A GM plotting like an author would be upset that their carefully planned plot was ruined by the main characters of the story having agency. Good thing we’re not that kind of GM. By plotting like a villain, we know that the murder took place as we planned despite an opportunity for the PCs to stop it. Now the PCs hear from the NPC they actually care about that the bard’s friend died. The PCs can investigate this murder they just heard about, attend the funeral with their bard friend, or move on. Will the other NPCs the PCs are likely to encounter also be rocked by a local murder? Yes. It isn’t railroading the PCs if big events have impact on the world around them. It’s organic and logical, and shows the PCs that this is important instead of telling them or just expecting them to know.

No battle plan survives contact with the enemy. By plotting your campaign like a villain, every time the PCs impact the certainty of your no plan of operations extends, it is a sign of their importance to the plot, that their actions matter. That’s the whole point of a roleplaying game campaign.

Parts of the movie take place inside a shared virtual reality. The first time we see someone log out of this world, she does so by removing her VR helmet. Shortly thereafter, there is a scene where our heroes are ambushed and outnumbered. They scramble to run away because if your avatar gets killed, there are in-game consequences. And as viewers, my wife and I both vocalized in the theatre “just take off your helmets!” Many (most, even) future action scenes could have been resolved by taking their helmet off. This is both a credit to the film for getting us so engaged that we learned through character actions how the world works and the film discrediting itself by not understanding how its own world works.

This illustrates the importance of internal consistency in a story, especially when dramatic tension and immersion hinge on a problem that has been demonstrated to have a simple solution. Every story sets up and follows rules, even if they aren’t as transparent as an in RPG. In a Fast And The Furious movie, The Rock make his cast explode by flexing and then go on a mission like there’s nothing wrong with it because in that world doctors don’t understand that the real cure for broken bones is gumption. Transplant that scene to The Avengers and it ruins the movie.

This isn’t about the Pathfinder rules system exclusively. You can play by all of the rules as written and still have consistency issues, and you can play fast and loose with the rules without consistency issues. Here are a few examples to flesh out how.

One True Ruler

The most basic example of consistency is the application of the rules. My players know that I am a stickler for handle animal skill checks to get animal companions to obey them. The common arguments against this are: It’s not realistic, an animal would defend itself (which is false. The first step of training an animal is called breaking it, and it’s convincing the animal to trust its master more than its instincts); It’s inconvenient (which it isn’t once you get used to it); It’s a lot of die rolls (which is true, but I will never understand anyone’s desire to not roll dice. I’ll get into this in a future article). My reasoning is provided for the benefit of the reason. What’s important at my table is that my players know I enforce this rule and build their characters accordingly. What I’m not a stickler for is the fly rules. Then one day I played a PFS scenario with a GM who was a stickler for fly rules. The next session of my Rise of the Runelords campaign, Jeff’s wizard flew. I casually remarked “Oh, yeah, you’re supposed to make a fly check.” But Jeff didn’t have any ranks in fly. Even if he did, it is so well known that Jeff rolls poorly, our group called rolling a 1 “Jeffing” and we all got novelty dice with Jeff in place of the 1.

Pictured: Jeff

Jeff had built a character that required minimal rolling. Because I never enforced needing to roll to fly, he built his character accordingly. Even if that is the rule, my choosing to suddenly enforce the rule was unfair to him. In retrospect, I should have announced my intention and either let him rebuild his character to meet my new expectations or wait until he gained a level to enforce them.

Dramatic Pause

I used to be fine putting story before mechanics. One memorable occasion, I had a villain flee the room. The party monk pursued, only to find him across an underwater river cutting the bridge between them.

“How?” the monk player asked. He compared the two character’s speeds and starting points, and the number of actions it would require to do everything I said this NPC did off-screen. And he was 100% right. I was denying this player access to his one of his class features because I wanted a villain to escape. I retroactively placed the NPC where the rules said he could be and left the monk with super human speed catch him, as he should have.

From then on I paid more mind to the rules implications of story tropes. I lost a few old standbys (an NPC can’t give a desperate plea with his dying breath because he’s either unconscious and dying or conscious and stable), but I gained the true storytelling potential of tabletop RPGs. Dramatic tension occurs organically through who the characters are and what they can do instead of inorganically at the expense of it.

Accounting For Magic

Picture a castle.

[Pictured: A castle]

As a GM, you have a decision to make: keep the classic open topped Earth castle that’s way too easy to infiltrate in a setting with easy access to flight, or sacrifice visuals for logic? If you go from classic castles to logical castles mid-campaign, will the players be upset that their pile of fly scrolls is now only worth its weight in kindling?

Knowledge (Real World)

Pathfinder is a balance of simulating reality and storytelling tropes. It’s not a perfect balance. Drowning is extremely lethal because it simulates the real dangers of water fairly well. Meanwhile, falling damage does not. A 10th level paladin in heavy armour has a better chance of surviving a 100 foot fall onto solid ground than into water. This is compounded when scientific knowledge that became common knowledge over the last millennium is applied to magic. It can be fun when a player keeps decapitating a hydra until it’s heart can’t take all of the heads, once.

In a Marvel Super Heroes game, I had the PCs digitized so they could defeat a computerized villain. One of the players suggested making copies of the digital heroes, then quickly overwhelmed the villain with a force of thousands of digital clones. I let it go and the adventure ended very quickly. Looking back, there are a number of ways that I could have countered that tactic, but it would have been futile. That player knew computers better than I did. He could have countered any idea I came up with more quickly than I came up with it, even though the villain I controlled should have been much better at being a computer program than the hero he controlled. He wasn’t a problem player so this was a memorable moment, but it would have quickly been problematic if this behaviour continued. At some point, superseding game rules with science rules becomes exploitative of metaknowledge.

A consistent world is a world that players can understand. If your players can’t tell if you’re going to enforce a rule or throw the rules out for the sake of the story, they can’t fully immerse themselves in your game. Even if the game rules are not 100% consistent in some ways, how you GM them should be.

Adjudicating illusions is often a tricky affair, and I don’t see a new edition changing that. In many cases, the aftermath of an illusion-based encounter is often a bit of a lull, as players and GM alike sigh at yet another boring or frustrating illusion encounter. The two most common outcomes that I see are either the PCs immediately disbelieving and moving on with no effect or the PCs never knowing about the illusion and moving on without important information. The encounter in which the players know something is an illusion, but the PC continually fails a save is also a real downer. One of my pet peeves is when players metagame that something is an illusion and simply bypass the roleplay aspect of it. Irritating in all cases.

What I want to discuss are techniques I have found that bring new depth to my illusory encounters. These techniques vary from simply monitoring my pattern of describing scenes to using special handouts or miniatures. Just as a refresher, let’s grab a couple of key phrases from Paizo’s PRD that I keep in mind during my solutions.

“[With a figment spell] you cannot make a visual copy of something unless you know what it looks like (or copy another sense exactly unless you have experienced it).”
“A glamer spell changes a subject’s sensory qualities, making it look, feel, taste, smell, or sound like something else, or even seem to disappear.”
“Creatures encountering an illusion usually do not receive saving throws to recognize it as illusory until they study it carefully or interact with it in some fashion.”
“A failed saving throw indicates that a character fails to notice something is amiss.”

One way I combat illusion issues is to come up with different ways of describing the encounter. A change in tone or detail when describing something is often a clue that something is amiss, much in the same way that transitioning from a made up description to reading flavor text can sometimes be jarring. To solve this problem at my table, I will often plan out any illusions ahead of time, and write (or rewrite) flavor text to include them. This gives me a couple of options. First, when the players see me reading (or re-reading) they assume business as usual. Second, by looking at the NPC background and PCs skills I can incorporate their ability to detect something into the actual description. Does the NPC have a reason to know what a 15 ft. venus flytrap looks like? This beats describing something only to follow up with “anybody have scent or knowledge (nature)?” The third thing that this method provides is having now read, reread, and written a description. Three times the charm! I usually have enough information at this point to be able to describe the scene without needing to refer to the flavor text, which is another way to avoid any jarring changes in descriptions that lead to clues the PCs shouldn’t have. Optionally, providing written flavor text customized to the PCs will allow you to account for their abilities and skills without the obvious inclusion of saves and checks.

Wait, there are male lamia?

While describing things to players is a (the?) core job of the GM, you can’t always ensure that all your players are seeing the same thing as each other, nor as you are describing. To this end, I will often fall back to handouts or miniatures. Many GMs, myself included, will describe an encounter, read the flavor text for a creature, and then show the image from the bestiary entry. If you are in the habit of doing this, then you can provide some subtle clues about it being an illusion while still providing the information the PCs need to assume there is no illusion. Simply changing the color of the creature can work wonders. The PCs may just think it is a variation instead of immediately knowing that the NPC has never encountered the creature and is guessing at the color. Alternately, you can do some imagery magic to concoct a variant creature image for the same reason. If an NPC knows what a manticore is, but has never seen a lamia, then there is a good chance they might use the familiar creature to create an illusion of the unfamiliar creature. Whether you simply show the image on your monitor, print it out and pass it around the table, or message the image to your players … seeing an image is going to give them the sense that it is real. If you have their stats and want to preroll various checks (as in my previous example of tailoring flavor text) then you can also provide customized images to each player to give them subtle clues that something is amiss.

Toy Green Dragon w/Flame

While both of those examples have worked well for me, my personal favorite is the use of non-standard miniatures. One of my favorite encounters (of my 20 years of gaming) was a low-level (2nd I think) encounter with a cabal of kobold casters (I think it was a witch, sorcerer, bard, and cleric). The party had been sent to investigate “a dragon terrorizing the farmlands” while assuming that it was just the local kobold tribe. Encounter after encounter with kobolds scared of their dragon master convinced the PCs that they were in over their heads. When it finally came time for the encounter, I played it out as a dragon encounter would have … with some limitations based on the illusion and conjuration spells that the cabal had access to. Visual illusions of the creature, auditory illusions of the stomping and the roaring, conjurations of wind and force to move foliage and leave tracks, spells to invoke fear and emulate breath weapons. It took them all to create this fearsome enemy! Because these kobolds had never seen a dragon before, I chose to use a toy dragon from my random collection of toy figures. It is not uncommon for me (and many GMs) to simply grab a figure to use as a proxy. My players were very surprised when I dropped a huge-ish dragon on the table and said “this is what you see” … and immediately worried for their PCs lives. I was asked a number of questions, most of them I had expected: “it really is green?”, “that is really the fire breath?”, “that is the actual size?”, and more. Each time I fell back on “what you see is what you see” along with the other staples of a dragon encounter. The PCs had never seen a dragon before, the kobolds had never seen a dragon before, so it was very fun to see both sides scramble to gain the upper hand. Until they came into contact with the “dragon” or one of the spell effects used to simulate the dragon, the PCs only had the miniature to work with. One player realized that green can’t breath fire and asked for a knowledge check to confirm, at which point he was certain it was an illusion. He used this knowledge to send the ranger to look for the caster while trying to convince the others it wasn’t real.

Well, that’s all the time I have today to discuss illusions from behind the screen. Hopefully my insight and these ideas will help you enhance your illusory encounters in the future!

Board game traitor mechanics.

Even though cooperative play was found in some of the earliest video games, it wasn’t a popular mechanic until 2005’s Shadows Over Camelot. Even then, Shadows and other early cooperative games didn’t fully commit to the cooperation, instead introducing a traitor mechanic to make players hesitate about how much they could cooperate with their fellow players when ganging up on the game. This traitor grey zone in mostly-cooperative board games has a lot in common with a GM’s relationship with the players.

Although cooperative play helped set Dungeons & Dragons apart from the miniatures skirmish games from which it evolved, RPGs aren’t cooperative games in the same way as coop video games and board games. In those terms, an RPG like Pathfinder is somewhere between coop and one-vs-many, because the GM acts as the engine that the players are up against. It’s not fully cooperative because the GM controls every obstacle the PCs face, but it’s not a fully competitive relationship, because if the players lose, the GM loses as well and the campaign either ends or is never the same way again.

As the traitor in a cooperative game, your loyalties are also split between the team’s goal and your own. Like a GM, you are working with the loyal players while simultaneously manipulating events to go against them. Being a traitor is more subtle than GMing, of course; if the traitor is too obviously not a team player, you will be outed and usually that makes winning harder or impossible, whereas everyone knows that the GM is the one controlling the baddies. However, playing as a traitor is a great way to get into your own head and learn your tells.  

There are distinct experiences playing a cooperative game with a traitor mechanic:

1.    Playing the game never having been the traitor;
2.    Playing the game as the traitor for first time;
3.    Playing the game as not-the-traitor for the first time after having been the traitor.

For experience 1, you play the game without a care in the world. You’re a bit suspicious of everyone, but only a bit since anyone could be the traitor so why dwell on it? You might say and do things with as little subtlety as the rules allow to let everyone know you’re not the traitor.

Experience 2, then, when you are the traitor, every action you want to take is accompanied by the question “how did I do this when I wasn’t a traitor?” You analyze every decision but probably lacked the forward thinking to keep tabs on yourself when you were loyal to the benefit of yourself when you would be the traitor. You will never play the game the same way again.

The next time you play the game as a loyal player, experience 3, is layered with the knowledge that your allies could be your enemies the following game. You catalog your own behavior, and theirs as well, like Batman putting together dossiers on how to defeat each member of the Justice League in case any of them ever goes rogue. You definitely don’t want it to be too obvious that you aren’t the traitor because then it’s that much harder to be the traitor in the future.

Now when you play as a traitor your paranoia and reflection are replaced with cold, calculated wisdom. Everything you do has the double edge of seeming innocent and of advancing your goal.

This is the frame of mind you want to capture as a GM. Whenever you sense that you’ve shown your hand with a subtle or even non-verbal tell, remember it. Squash it. React to every Sense Motive check like the NPC could be the ultimate villain of the campaign but the party will never know. Every inch of every room has equal chance of being trapped if players are to believe your still, neutral eyes.

If you want to practice keeping a straight face while plotting your friends’ demise, here are a few cooperative games with traitor mechanics I’d recommend:

Shadows Over Camelot: This game does the traitor mechanic right in so many ways. First, rules like not being allowed to say specific numbers on cards and forcing everyone to take an evil action the end of their turn help the traitor stay hidden even if they are selfish. Second, a game can have no traitor but the players wouldn’t know. Some players will be paranoid when they don’t need to be and others will see the first sign of loyalty as reason enough to assume everyone is loyal. It gives the traitor psychology to watch for. Third, even though the traitor’s goals are diametrically opposed to the loyal players’ goal, there are enough good actions that advance both goals equally that the traitor player never feels lost for a productive action. Finally, accusing another knight of being a traitor is an action, and being wrong comes with a penalty. A loyal player needs to be confident or they hurt their team.

Battlestar Galactica – The Exodus Expansion: The base game of Battlestar Galactica is amazing and tense, with a strong possibility that there is a traitor right from the beginning of the game and a mathematical guarantee that half of the players are traitors starting halfway through the game. That self-consciousness of watching how you take loyal actions in this game because of how it will affect how you play a future game when you’re a traitor? You have to do that right from the beginning.

The Exodus Expansion specifically introduces Conflicted Loyalties. While the humans and Cylons have opposed win conditions, Conflicted Loyalties add secondary win conditions, like the humans have to win but with less than a certain Population. This experience is most like GMing in that you are working with the players up to a point, and working against them in a mix of subtle and overt ways.

Traitor Mechanic: The Traitor Mechanic Game: Not a joke (well, OK, a bit of a joke), in Traitor Mechanic: The Traitor Mechanic Game, you play as mechanics working together at a garage but one of you is trying to sabotage the business. This game makes the list because the traitor needs to betray early and only needs to successfully betray the group a couple of times to make it hard for the loyal mechanics to win, but it’s very hard to be subtle about a betrayal. It’s the fastest and cheapest cooperative game with a traitor mechanic that I know of.

GMs do use their player’s scrutiny to our advantage, of course. We’ve all “Are you sure?”ed a player about to do something dangerous or who was 1 shy of hitting a DC. We’re told to occasionally roll dice for no reason other than to keep players guessing. However, that’s a tradeoff for the times players have taken advantage of our little slips in ways that undermined our plans. If you don’t think the trade is worthwhile, you might find total neutrality in all situations more effectively throws players off than deliberate evil. Paranoia comes from when your environment and your gut feelings don’t mesh. Opening that door won’t fill the room with acid or surely the GM would be reacting in some way. Any way. Right?

Serving Only One Audience

This was the point I brought up in the thoughts on Pathfinder Second Edition episode; there are those who prefer setting-based material and those who prefer setting-neutral material. With multiple in-setting lines full of setting-specific rules, Pathfinder First Edition services both. The proposed fusion setting and rules in of Second Edition services one. In video games terms, this would be like if the Unreal Engine could only run Unreal. If the Campaign Setting line will continue (and I don’t believe it’s even been implied that it wouldn’t), why not keep one line that is compatible with it but could also be used to make Arkham City?

There is the argument that the rulebooks already have hints of the setting, which I believe is based on the gods and a bit of cosmology. If there are other examples, they are either in my blindspot or generic fantasy enough that I don’t think of them as Golarion content.

Obviously I agree that the gods are in there, but I don’t believe that they have to be. I’m not sure if Golarion’s gods made it into the Core Rulebook because there were named gods in the D&D 3.X Player’s Handbooks. My D&D 3.5 games took place in a homebrew setting that used the PH gods as essentially religion portfolios with names. Had the same rules been offered with no proper names, that’s how we would have played them.

As for the cosmology, I mentioned when we first discussed the upcoming Planar Adventures that I have minimal interest in the planes. This may have a greater impact on another player who loves a good cosmology, and someone with better knowledge of these rules could make a better argument than me as to whether these serial numbers could be filed off.

My mantra as a GM, and the theme of my advice to GMs, is “different people play for different reasons”. Even if everyone’s end goal is to have fun, fun is subjective. The best options serve as many players as possible, and I believe forcing the campaign setting on people who prefer setting neutral rules goes against that.

History Lesson

Setting is to rules as history is to math. There’s a lot of math in the Pathfinder rules and I enjoy that aspect of it. I didn’t do well in math class in high school but I’ve come to enjoy the bursts of mental math Pathfinder requires. However, I know some players who see the math requirements of the game as an impediment to fun. They’d rather roll their dice towards someone else who can do the math for them. It’s a part of the brain that fires differently for different people and for people it either doesn’t fire or they don’t enjoy how it fires.

That’s me with history. I enjoy history in broad strokes, but once it comes to memorization and minutia, I retain nothing and frankly do not enjoy feeling stupid as a result. I have read both the Pathfinder Chronicles: Campaign Setting and the Pathfinder Inner Sea Guide hardcovers and I can’t say I understood anything about Golarion until I started playing PFS and reading Pathfinder Tales.

I’ve come to enjoy Golarion, but when I started dabbling in Pathfinder and didn’t know Pathfinder Chronicles were campaign setting specific, I was perplexed by the “In Golarion” sections of the books I was picking up. If Golarion content was included in the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, it may have been enough to convince me to stick to D&D 3.5.

Cans and Cannots

Implied or generic lore is a fresh page in a colouring book. It’s the start of something evocative that leaves room for you to add what’s been evoked. It’s a collaboration between what’s on the page and what’s in your imagination. Maybe the person who drew the line art had an idea what colours would work best, maybe they only created it up to a point knowing that there was no one way it must be coloured.

Setting lore is paint by number. You can only make it your so much of your own. If that cape is a 3 and 3 is red, you either make it red or you make the decision to ignore the number that someone went out of their way to include.

To give a specific example, I outlined a half-orc cavalier for the War for the Crown adventure path (more on why will be revealed soon). I chose the ghost rider cavalier archetype and I thought of saying that the half-orc’s father was from the Flaming Skulls tribe as a node to Marvel’s Ghost Rider. However, even though the name of the tribe has little impact on how I will play my character, I decided it would be better to use an existing Taldan orc tribe for my backstory. There’s only one mention of Taldor in Orcs of Golarion and no mention of Orcs in Taldor: the First Empire. Now I am questioning if I am even allowed to make the character I would want to play, or if it’s inadvertently going to negatively impact the verisimilitude of someone at the table who knows why there cannot be half-orc cavaliers in Taldor.

“You can ignore what you want,” is a common retort that baffles me. I can understand ignoring options I don’t like in a rulebook but setting details are intertwined. Adding orcs to Taldor is not as simple as removing Leadership from a list of available feats. Maybe there’s a reason orcs aren’t in Taldor, and maybe that reasons is part of what makes Taldor amazing to someone. Making those changes impacts perceptions of the setting and everyone’s ability to use the setting as a shorthand for the world they share. That shared experience is the main purpose of playing in a published setting.

In the end, I am fine with setting-based options. I want them to continue to exist both for the odd time I use them but mainly because there are players who consider them important. I just dislike that making them the default mean what’s important to me can’t exist, even though there is an option that would work for everyone.

Shortly before the recent Pathfinder Second Edition announcement, I sold my 3.5 D&D sourcebooks. I researched their current value and got what I felt was a fair price. It was less than 50% of their cost, but I guess the resale rules in the Core Rulebook are just another way that Pathfinder is fantasy. Now my shelf slot that was dedicated to books not used in at least five years is open for new items that are more in line with my current specs.

They served me well

If you are one of the many Pathfinder enthusiasts looking at their First Edition shelves and wondering if you should do the same, this was my thought process that lead me, once a flag-bearing 3.5 loyalist to see what the best price I could get for that flag. Selling my 3.5 books was the right decision for me that I put off for the wrong reasons, a combination of nostalgia and guilt.

It’s pretty obvious that I love a own property on Memory Lane. If you took away every piece of clothing I own that features pop culture references of the 80s and 90s, you would need to make several trips. However, even as a connoisseur of the finest nostalgia has to offer, I also know that not all nostalgia is created equal. My status as a GI Joe fan is well known and even my GI Joe collection gets the occasional purge when I realize a segment of it sees more time in storage than on display.

The guilt I felt about selling the books is more complicated. I will forever be grateful to the talented people behind D&D 3.5 for taking a game that awakened me in high school and refined it into what I thought was the last RPG I would ever need. I didn’t just think it, I declared it, and any Internet fame I have started with that declaration. Even though I’ve taken back that declaration through my words and actions since then, the last nail in a coffin is the hardest.

Now, just because I dropped some collection bulk, that doesn’t mean there can’t be a reason to keep a well curated collection. There’s just a fine line between collecting and hoarding, defined by two factors: intent and enjoyment.

A collection has a personality, parameters, a purpose. Taking my GI Joe collection as an example again, even if most of my figures are sitting on the same shelf in the same pose for years, that’s all it takes to make me happy. That happiness is worth the upkeep of dusting and making sure there’s room in whatever house I have for them. Picturing how my Joes will be displayed when I visit a house we’re considering buying is an exciting part of the process. It’s exciting. And that excitement is a personal experience. It’s not one I still felt about my D&D 3.5 books but do still feel about my Pathfinder First Edition books. Will that change for me? Maybe. Will it change for you? Maybe. As long as you remain honest with yourself about how much enjoyment your collection provides you you will know whether you have a collection or a horde.

“Anyone know of any scenarios that feature an autistic NPC? I have a deep and meaningful craving. #ActuallyAutistic”
I value this question as much as a GM as I do a former teacher* at a school for students with Autism.

As a GM, I value any opportunity to use real world elements to improve my game and to engage my players in unexpected ways. Furthermore, I love a memorable NPC. Quirky, funny NPCs flow from me like water over Niagara. If I need a villain that strikes an uncomfortable chord, I am weirdly tapped into that part of my brain. But an NPC weakness of mine is dramatically memorable. If an NPC needs to be taken seriously, I fall on tropes and cliches, which serve their purposes but do not stand out in a crowd. Introducing an important NPC with Autism not only presents the party with an unconventional challenge, it can inform you as a GM of the kinds of reactions someone with Autism receives from neurotypical people, and give your players a little insight into how to connect with someone primarily through empathy.

Bear in mind when using a developmental disability** as inspiration, or any characteristic that is not reflective of who you are, it’s important to approach  it from an informed position. Your goal should be representation, not appropriation or stereotyping. Don’t feel too confident that you know what you’re doing just because you’ve seen Big Bang Theory or Sherlock -both of which do present behaviour that can be displayed by people with Autism, but behaviour that is overrepresented when compared to the variety of ways Autism manifests behaviourally.

Fortunately for GMs looking to represent Autism in their games, Cassidy provided some ideas:

For me, it’s a matter of introducing enough autistic characters so all sorts of autistic traits can be displayed.

An NPC whose special interests revolve around the weather, who flaps when they get excited while talking about a big storm on the way.

An NPC that goes nonverbal when under stress and tends to bounce their leg a lot.

An NPC who tends to repeat things that the players say and has a gear built into their staff in such a way that they can easily fiddle with it with their thumb.

An NPC who takes everything the players say very literally and demands they explain what they mean concisely so as to minimize confusion.

An NPC who has a completely useless special interest in terms of the adventure but hoo boy will they like the player characters more if they indulge them in it. Heck, make it something that can easily lend itself to puns or little fun facts that the GM can give.

An NPC that doesn’t like to be touched at all, who is sensitive about the fact that they tend to come across as rude and blunt at times.

An NPC who doesn’t really get personal space and wants to give everyone they become friendly with a hug.

An NPC who needs the society’s help navigating a noble dinner because oh gosh they can’t stomach food with weird textures and are nervous about their visual and verbal tics.

Any of these sorts of things could be mixed or matched, there’s a sea of options.

The one thing I would recommend against if anyone is writing an autistic character is the typical white human male. It’s actually a huge problem in the autistic community that autistic women and POC often go undiagnosed because of the pervading idea that autism is a boy’s disorder, a white disorder. Most representation in media these days is the highly stereotyped white male super-genius who is a huge jerk, so that is a no-go.

I’d like to thank Cassidy Allison for allowing me to share her posts and offering to help with this article. If you have any questions you’d like me to pass along to her, let me know using the usual channels (comments, Facebook, and our Discord channel, primarily).

*I rarely talk about my time as a teacher because, briefly, it was the worst years of my life. I don’t mind talking about it, but people assume teachers enjoy what they do, especially special needs teachers, and I don’t like that assumption being made, nor do I like the negativity required to drive home the point that no, I hated it. But in case anyone has heard me mention hating my time as a teacher, there is an important caveat: it was not because of my students. I enjoyed my students and feel more enlightened having worked with them. I hated the hours, the faculty politics, out of touch government mandates, and the impostor syndrome. I did not have special training with Autism, only experience with my cousins. Autism is described as a spectrum for a reason, and that experience only mildly informed my position. The futures and presents of my students deserved more than my on-the-job training, and there were legitimate safety concerns.

**Terminology is ever evolving and terms like “disability” and “handicap” are falling out of favour. In fact, when I was teaching there was a push within the staff against saying we taught Autistic students, instead phrasing it as students with Autism so as to not put the diagnosis before the person (although Cassidy tells me that “while most people prefer ‘person with a disability’, Autistics generally prefer ‘autistic person'”). Unfortunately, even if the issues with a term are obvious, without a consensus on a preferred term, it’s hard to communicate an idea clearly without using the soon-to-be-outdated term. In the case of disability, it’s especially out of place with regards to Autism. Savantism, for one, is a manifestation of Autism that is in many ways more uberability than disability. Likewise, the recall ability and problem solving skill sometimes displayed by people with Autism eclipses the abilities of neurotypical people. I had a student with perfect memory, able to convincingly remember moments from early infancy. Another student could draw trains from scratch using PowerPoint (yes, the slide show program) better than I ever could with Photoshop.

I was surprised that my parents bought my oldest daughter, Scarlett, her first Lego set for her third birthday, and even more surprised that Scarlett was enthusiastic to get it. This weekend, I put the set together with her and got my third surprise: I wanted to GM this set.

This isn’t a toy review, rest assured. While I liked the colours and designs (with minimal pre-made pieces, a pet peeve of Lego purists that I totally get), it was the story told through the play features that caught my attention as a GM. Before looking at the instructions, I picked through some of the parts, admiring the design of the Lego book but finding it strangely empty. There were studs inside, though, so I assumed there was a piece that goes along with it. When I came across a blue piece that was the right size and had a symbol matching the cover of the book, I naturally assumed the pieces went together.

I was therefore confused when I opened the instructions and was not told to put what was obviously the pages of the book into the book.

Where the pages ended up is why this set is inspiring.

In addition to Emily Jones and her Eagle, the set comes with a cave (and a disk-launching bat plane thing that the winged cat in the set rides, but that’s not relevant here). As seen on the cover, there is a treasure chest in the cave. What’s not immediately obvious is that the treasure chest sits on a rotating piece and can be moved without being removed. In its starting position, the page piece is hidden under the treasure chest, in a recess on a piece without studs.

What’s interesting about this set (possibly Lego sets in general, I haven’t bought much Lego in years other than minifigs and a desk calendar) is that there is obviously a story, but it doesn’t spell that story out. It gives you the pieces of the story and leaves you to build it yourself. Maybe that’s Lego cleverly tying their world building in with how their toys are played with, maybe it saves them having to pay copywriters.

Whatever the case, leaving blanks for me to fill in inspired me in the following ways:

1. Locks and keys
   Puzzles ultimately come down to finding the key for the lock. These don’t have to be literal, however. Imagine finding pageless books with ornate designs on the cover at the start of a dungeon, then coming across pages with the same symbols in the iconography throughout the dungeon. Which symbol indicates which book. Collecting all of a book’s pages turns it into a scroll with the spell necessary to bypass certain obstacles.
2. Spread the Wealth
   The above scenario is a complex variation of a pretty common lock/key puzzle (finding the magic item that grants the ability to bypass an obstacle), but it lets more characters participate in bypassing the obstacle. If it’s a Perception or Knowledge (arcana) to notice the symbols, then the high Perception characters in the party get to participate, plus there’s less weight on the party having someone with a more specialized skill (OK, Knowledge (arcana) is still pretty common, but it’s not Perception common), or on the success of the roll for that one skill. Change it from symbols to each book being written in a different language and Linguistics is added to the mix. Or have a tiny illustration depicting the stages of a famous figure’s journey and you can make it a Knowledge (History) check, giving someone else in the party a chance to participate and giving more information about whoever (in character) made this puzzle. Have a second puzzle on the pages only visible with darkvision. There are countless ways to turn a class feature into the key that unlocks the puzzle.
3. Escape Rooming
   In the idea I outlined, the pages of the book were both a lock and a key. That’s something you find in escape rooms (I love a good escape room), like if there’s a combination lock with four integers, sometimes solving one puzzle gets you all four integers, sometimes you need to solve a puzzle for each integer, only to unlock a new puzzle. Hiding the real treasure under the treasure chest instead of literally anything else drove home how escape roomy this set feels.
4. Giving Them What They Think They Want
   Have you ever (or had a player) open a locked door or get past a tough creature only to find a dead end? Conventional wisdom says it couldn’t possibly be a real dead end, and so you (or they) search harder. Imagine if that dead end had a treasure, but that treasure was a decoy to sate the idea that there must be treasure here. I wouldn’t use this trick for something that the adventure needs to progress (if the players need a knife, I wouldn’t hide the only knife in the dungeon under 10 000 spoons), I would save this trick for the kind of treasure that needs a special kind of hiding place: a phylactery, kryptonite, etc. An optional shortcut that the players need to earn.
5. Filling in the Blanks
   The difference between a trap and a puzzle (at least in Pathfinder) is that one is tightly tied to mechanics, the other takes thought. I am in the “if players don’t need to do backflips at the table to pass acrobatics checks, they shouldn’t have to be charming at the table to pass diplomacy checks” camp, but I do admit that it’s rewarding as a player to use my own wit to solve a puzzle or figure out a plot. In the case of this Lego set, had they not added the same symbol to the book and the pages, I wouldn’t have made the connection. Because they did, the pages wasn’t just a piece of Lego in a strange place, it was a clue to mystery, and I felt pretty good solving it.
6. Fitting the Pieces Together
   The designers of this set could have just had the treasure chest sitting on some studs that when removed reveal the pages. Instead, they deliberately included a piece that can be pivoted. Furthermore, the page could have been on studs to hold it in place. Again, they deliberately made a choice to include a piece without studs to put the pages on. Why this is important is that the Emily Clarke minifig can turn the treasure chest and pick up the pages. As a GM, it’s important to remember to build your encounters with both the players in mind and the characters. Don’t just write the DC of the perception check required to find that there is more to the chest than first appears. Understand what the characters find when the player makes the Perception check. Don’t just say they find a page, have them find the hinges and let the characters turn the chest and find the pages. Little moments that flesh out the world are opportunities for immersion.

Inspiration is all around us. I put together a Lego set that made me want to GM a dungeon with a layered mystery involving empty books and secret pages. Who knows where we as GMs will find inspiration next.

*Lego was criticized for separating its lines into genders. At the time, they were most heavily criticized because the boys lines were about fulfilling power fantasies and the one girls line was about running restaurants and hanging out with friends. Since then, they’ve branched the girls line out to include their Disney Princess and DC Super Hero Girls licenses and this fantasy line, ie a better variety of reasons to buy-in. It may still be mystifying that Lego marketing felt the need for two separate minifig body types, but if that’s what it takes to get mainstream pastel coloured pieces and to get my parents to buy their granddaughter a Lego set, it’s a step in the right direction.

After killing a monster that ambushed us in a room with cavernous cracks in the walls and furnished by a note-covered desk, Am declared “now you’re free to look through the desk.”
We asked if the package was on the desk. “No, it’s covered in papers, they look like notes,” she said.
“Is the package in the desk?” we asked. “No, there’s just notes.” she said.
“Are the notes the package?” we asked. “No…” she said.
“Is the bartender still there?” we asked. “Um… yes?” she said.
And then the frustration set in.

We were a few pages into a PFS scenario (which shall go unnamed for spoiler reasons). The quest-giving scene at the beginning was simple: Get a package. It turns out the package was so insignificant from the scenario’s point of view that it was not even referred to as a package in the description of the room it was found in, a room which didn’t include read aloud text. Pulling the package was supposed to open the door to the room with the desk. Am missed that detail and had the bartender NPC open the door to the room with the desk.

This wasn’t a matter of a player or two being confused or distracted; all of the players were engaged and independently came to the same conclusion: ignore the desk in favour of the package. Why aren’t they taking my obvious hints to search the desk, Am wondered. Why would we, we all individually wondered back. At this point the GM perspective of the adventure and the player perspective of the adventure looked impassably different.

Between Am’s experience as a first time GM, and a recent situation in our Hell’s Rebels campaign, I realized that GMs could use some help shifting their perspective to see the adventure as the players see it. If you are GMing a scenario and the players are all focused on one thing and you don’t know why, this flow chart to see where the GM and player perspective diverged and how you can resolve it:

Click to enlarge

Clarifications:

Are the players talking about something in-game, and speaking in-character?
There’s a major difference between players so engrossed in their characters that they can’t justify breaking character to appease a GM’s frustration and players who are so involved in their own lives they can’t get engrossed in their characters.

Is this something you brought up in-world?
Are the players caught up with something you introduced that wasn’t meant to be significant, like if you have the quest-giver NPC drink an exotic wine to reinforce that they are from a faraway land, only for the PCs to want to know more about this exotic wine instead of the quest the exotic wine drinker has for them? Or did you mention something innocuous that happens to catch their attention because of real world or campaign knowledge you didn’t bring up, like if a Chelish noble has a gnome slave and the PCs, knowing that halflings are the more common slave, are more interested in the fact that the slave is a gnome instead of the fact that the slave is a slave.

Are they talking about something important to them?
I don’t understand how long some people can talk about the weather and traffic when they could be gaming, and I don’t have a flowchart to help me understand.

Is it important to the plot?
Remember, you know what will be important, your players know what’s interesting. Ideally, those two are the same. Ideally.

Is it important to one or more of the characters?
Not in a “I had to be a jerk, it’s in character” sense (a situation I consider more fallacy than reality, and will go into in the future), but in a “from the PC’s POV” sense. If Aquaman’s in your party and an NPC is wearing sharkskin boots, expect that fish fetishizing to get called out.

Is it a serious conversation?
Some conversations can wait. In the grand scheme of things, that Infinity War speculation conversation can happen any time between now and April 25th. Some can’t, like an important family matter or even just pressing plans.

Is there something more important to the plot?
It’s common for PCs to come across seeds of the campaign plot while dealing with the current session’s plot and it will look bigger and therefore more important. How do you convey that the lesser threat is the more immediate threat? 

Is the more important something time sensitive?
Events happening according to a timeline instead of waiting for PC actions to trigger unrelated events is not just important, it’s logical!

Now that you know the issue, what do you do?

They’re Distracted
If it really comes down to it and the players are dwelling on something out of character, snap them out of it. My group’s codeword for “shut up” is “It’s game time”. That’s the GM’s way of saying they don’t need a few more minutes, get ready to get into character. If the players are Bruce Wayne at a Wayne Enterprises function, “It’s game time” is the bat signal.

Give It Time
One of the greatest strengths of a roleplaying game as a storytelling form is the ability for the audience to tell you what to focus on, because the characters are the audience. My group looks back more fondly on the moments that happened organically. Player-driven scenes or moments outside of convention brought on by a lucky or unlucky roll. They absolutely had fun with the plots and combats, but they cared more about their chats with Renaldo the housekeeper than defeating an earthbred god of chaos.

If time is of the essence -the bridge is on fire, the dragon has the princess, the ruthless terrorist organization has the three elements that fuel the weather dominator- that’s a different story. But if the PCs are engaged in your campaign or your world or their characters, that’s the goal. The plot can wait.

Show, Don’t Tell
Sometimes the plot can’t wait, whether the PCs know that or not. That’s when you need to use the world to remind them why they need to do what needs to be done. If the bridge is burning, have a terrified NPC tearfully explain all of the ways their lives are worse without that bridge. If the dragon has the princess, find the quickest way to work in the eating schedule of a dragon. Is there a royal advisor worried they only have a few weeks, maybe less? Are there rumours around the city that this dragon has been gradually kidnapping more important figures every few weeks? 

The follow up to this is that if the PCs choose not to bite a hook or choose the easier but less moral of two options, let them (agency!) but show them the consequences. If they don’t save the princess, the kingdom loses faith in them and won’t trust them with further tasks until they fix their ruined reputations. If they locked a door to get away from an incoming threat, leaving an NPC on the other side, have the echoes of the threat reaching the trapped NPC echo through the dungeon.

An RPG isn’t a one-versus-many game or a cooperative game. An RPG is a story told by one third-person nigh omniscient narrator, several first person subjective narrators, and a controllable chaotic element. The goal is to weave these elements together to tell a story with one another, not at the expense of one another. Sometimes, that means stopping to make sure everyone is on the same page, and then going with the flow.

What might not be obvious is that I am not objecting to players or GMs rolling to-hit and damage dice together. I have said about how the seconds theoretically gained from one set of die rolls instead of two individual die rolls are lost to the “Oh man, I missed? But I rolled max damage!” outbursts in my experience, but that’s more rant than argument. If I am GMing a table where a player prefers that method, I won’t stop them. However, if a GM asks me to roll to-hit and damage dice together, I will calmly but directly say “I will if you insist but please don’t insist. I promise not to take longer turns than any other player.”

In the above picture, you see how I set my dice up at the gaming table as soon as I sit down. I do this quickly and unconsciously, and can carry on complex conversations or roleplay in character while I am doing it. This is the evolution of over a decade of maintaining a contained and orderly area for my dice on a table where space is a premium.

You might have noticed there is one purple d20 (non-Paizo variety) that is a different colour from the other dice in the set. This is extremely important. I tend to play warriors, so I am used to having multiple attacks in a turn. Regardless of the character I am playing, when I have to roll more than one of the same dice, the darker the die, the higher the bonus. For if I have three attacks with +15/+10/+5 to my attacks, the dark purple d20 gets +15 and the white d20 gets +5. Like when I set my dice up, this has become instinctive to me.

I am faster with my instincts than I am with my thoughts. If a GM insists I roll my dice any way other than what I am comfortable with, they are asking me to think instead of operate on instincts. That means they are getting slower turns from me to the detriment of everyone at the table.

A non-gaming examples for broader context:
Tina and I had an argument about the laundry. There were two baskets of clean clothes on the kitchen table, one full to overflowing, one half full. I decided to bring them upstairs. But first, I though, I would level out the uneven baskets. Or so I thought! The top layer of the overflowing basket was particularly long items to be hung, which she’d tucked under the middle layer for stability. I only discovered this by effectively unfolding the upper half of the overflowing basket. When Tina saw what I was doing, she immediately told me to stop, asking Abigail “why does Daddy do these things?” Abigail is 5 months old and can, at best, babble so I suspect the comment was intended for me. So why did I do it? Because I didn’t give Tina the benefit of the doubt that there was indeed logic behind what seemed illogical to me. We were both slightly worse off because of it.

My objection isn’t to making players to roll their damage dice with their to-hit dice isn’t about how anyone rolls dice, it’s about making players do something for minimal potential reward at best. I’ve said in the past that my most important aspect of a roleplaying game is immersion. GMs should do everything in their power to make players comfortable at the table so they can forget that they are at a table. If a player is breaking the rules or hogging the spotlight, step in, absolutely. But nitpicking the minutia of how a player rolls their dice just makes a player more aware of their dice and less immersed with what those dice are there for.

Tautological statements aside, it’s an established parttern that as a game system grows, so too does the amount of supplementary material available. At what point is that considered bloat? And at what point does it become too much? When do new rules start to feel like options for the sake of options? Are new rules always the best rules? After what point is a system too bloated?

First, however, we should acknowledge the necessity of regular content releases. RPG companies rely on the sales of their products to keep the lights on, to pay their employees, and to continue to create. But RPG products aren’t consumable goods. Most people who buy a Core Rule Book will never need to buy another one. Likewise, a single group will never need more one Adventure Path or Adventure Modules. Eventually, sales of of the most current product will have saturated its audience. Once the sales stop the lights go out.

But it goes the other way too. If an RPG company releases too many different products or releases product too quickly, they will surpass their audience’s ability to consume it. Sales of the excess products drops off and it becomes too expensive to produce. The net result is the same. No sales, no lights.

So I’ve always found it so very odd that players tend to get ruffled about both sides of the spectrum. It’s either complaints that there’s not enough new material or complaints that there’s too much. There’s no pleasing everyone but in the case of content, financial responsibility (i.e. the drive to keep the lights on) is certainly a factor to be considered.

From a player’s perspective, new rules fall into two groups. Rules-for-you and rules-not-for-you. Seems simple enough. Self-explanatory even. The rules-for-you are things like options for characters you have or factions you belong to. Rules-not-for-you are literally everything else. It amazes me how often people tend to equate the latter set of rules with “garbage or trash”. But that’s a different discussion. Ultimately, the release of rules-not-for-you shouldn’t affect players at all.

GM’s, by necessity, have more rules to juggle than players and ergo I think have more of a leg to stand on when it comes to the bloat discussion. New material means new stuff for a GM to absorb. New rules need to be internalized if the GM has any hopes of running a smooth game without the disruptions caused by constantly looking up one rule or another. In homebrews, GMs can of course opt not to include new rules in their games. But it’s a trickier proposition if their group runs through an Adventure Path that has an integrated sub-system.

I suppose it’s that I have trouble seeing a wealth of rules and options as a bad thing. So long as GM’s trust their players not to abuse permissive loop holes and remain comfortable with the amount of material within their games, everything’s good. I certainly can’t fault a game company for continuing to produce product to stay in business. Nor do I expect GMs to adopt rules or options that they can’t handle. Ultimately, the “problem” of bloat is self-correcting. If there’s too much material out there, GMs and player will stop buying, and companies will adjust their output to match or produce material that their audience is interested in.

That’s it for this week’s ramblings. If you’ve had issues with rules bloat, I’d love to hear about it in the comments section below!

I’ll be back again on December 7th with some more musings about organizing groups and play incentives.

Cheers!
Anthony

Usually, players jump at the chance to get more involved in the narrative. After all, it’s a chance to revel in the spotlight. But what do you do if you’ve got a party full of Wandering Wallflowers? Players content to contribute in the moment but, for whatever reason, loath to offer up any more information about their characters. One or two mysterious strangers is a bit of a tired trope, but no more so than the half-orc barbarian or the halfling rogue. But a party full of enigmatic wanderers gets old really fast.

One of the ways I tend to incentivize my players into getting involved in the initial narrative is to offer mechanical rewards. Of course, this being the start of the campaign, it’s not usually very much. 500gp starting wealth for any player who gives me 500 words of backstory. Nothing outrageous or restrictive. But it’s enough to encourage some extra detail in their backstories that maybe would not have come out otherwise.

I’ll read over these submissions (usually through a private email thread) and use them as a starting point for a discussion with that player about their character and what directions they want their own personal narrative to develop. Later on, I’ll often refer to these archived threads for a plot hook to pique a particular player’s interest. Or to potentially seed or foreshadow an upcoming event using hints from my players’ pasts. I’ve come to value these records as a trove of ideas that my players helped curate.

Furthermore, as the narrative continues, groups will often reach what I’ve come to think of as “bookends” or “season finales”. These would be natural conclusions within an overarching narrative where the PCs might pause and reflect on all the heroic things they’ve done. These events tend to happen after a climactic encounter or boss battle. If you’re running an Adventure Path, these are most often occur at the end of a book.

These points provide a natural opportunity for players to step back and assess where their characters are in their own personal narrative arcs. If I find that I’ve run through the most interesting tidbits from my players’ initial mini-essays, this is a great time to let them help me replenish that well. Again, I’m looking for some more prose that describes their characters transitioning from where they were to where they are now. If they give me another 500 words, they get a bonus trait. For 1000 words, they can have a feat. Mechanically, these are fairly insignificant bonus in the long run. But ask someone like Alex what he might do with a couple of extra feats on his way from levels 1 to 20 and he’ll positively salivate at the prospect.

How have you incentivized your players for more backstory? Do you find that helping your players along with crafting the collective narrative is helpful to your own storytelling? Let me know in the comments section below!

But our community has been plagued by bad actors since its very inception, as a reflection of the inequalities in our society. Over a year ago, we had a similar occurrence wherein a brave woman came forward with her experiences within the gaming community. The shocking part of those stories were that those experiences weren’t outstanding by any means. Those experiences were  the norm for most women in gaming. I wrote an article in response then, in part to spread awareness, in part to lend support. It pains me to say that little has changed in the months since. And I’m ashamed to say that, the powerful and privileged of our community, haven’t done enough to protect the vulnerable and the marginalized.

Yes, there have been crusaders and champions in the cause. Whistleblowers and activists who fearlessly call out the bad actors they find. But they are too few. Always, it seems, there are those who would defend the bad actors among us. Those that shout down accusations, or else deny them entirely. Those who would point to past glories as if they some how made up for present atrocities. The struggle is real.

But more common by far than those of either group are those who are aware of the problem and do nothing. Those who, rightly, believe that gaming should be a safe and inclusive space for everyone, but yet stay silent when a victim comes forward. Who do nothing when confronted with hate speech. Who turn a blind eye to the harassment and abuse that might be happening within their local communities. Those who call themselves allies yet do little – if anything at all – to help the vulnerable around them feel safe.

I’ve begun to think of these half-hearted attempts at activism as the real-world version of Aid Another.

In Pathfinder, Aid Another occupies an odd little corner of design space. It’s a Standard Action that allows one character help an ally with a specific task. Mechanically, this amounts to the aiding player making a trivial dice roll and adding a small bonus to their ally’s next attempt at aforementioned task. From the perspective of game-theory, the Aid Another action represents an opportunity cost for the aiding player. A small and temporary bonus for an ally in exchange for a once-per-round resource that might otherwise have been spent doing something else.

Realistically every mechanical choice made in an RPG, from character options to combat, is an opportunity cost. But Aid Another is an apt metaphor because it’s an action that costs little and risks nothing. All for a minor effect that lasts a fleeting moment. It’s fine if your fellow party member needs a leg up every now and then. You can Aid Another to guarantee a success here or there. But if all you’re doing is Aid Another, that’s not very heroic is it? And just as a RPG towns suffer from the apathy of fair-weather heroes or impotent NPCs, this problem we face suffers from the impermanence of transient allies.

Being an ally of vulnerable or marginalized individuals isn’t a feather in your cap, or a badge on your chest, or a pin on your messenger bag. It’s more than a Facebook filter, or a bumper sticker, or a flag, or a ribbon. It’s not a status or a title. It’s a mission. It’s a goal. It’s an ongoing struggle. You don’t just become an ally by agreeing with the idea of equality or by sitting passively by while injustices occur within your community.

• Allies listen. When a person comes forward with a story of having been harassed. Listen to them. They are telling you about a traumatic experience. Believe them. Withhold from judgement or dismissal. If you are learning about this person’s story, they are taking a risk telling you. Acknowledge that bravery. Listen.
• Allies learn. It can be hard for a person who isn’t part of a vulnerable or marginalized group to understand what it’s like. To be unwelcome. To be outnumbered. To be in a place where your worldview isn’t the majority. Take the opportunity to step out of your comfort zone. Enter a space where you aren’t the majority. Be mindful of what that feels like.
• Allies fight. Part of what being a good ally is to confront bad behavior when you see it. The nature of that confrontation and your response to it is up to your judgement of the situation. But it can be as simple as calling out a peer for using a slur. Speaking up when a friend objectifies a woman at the table. If you’re a member of the majority, you have a particular power that comes with the position to criticize your peers for their poor behavior. Use that power for good. And call out poor behavior when you see it.
• Allies grow. Perhaps most important of all. Realize that you’re not a perfect ally. Because you’re human. And humans are fallible. You will make mistakes. I know I have. But being a good ally means that you accept your failings and grow from them. If someone calls you out for a misstep or error, resist the urge to immediately go on the defensive. Accept what they’re saying. Reflect on it. Have a conversation on how you might improve. Grow.

Harassment and abuse within our community is a systematic problem that stems from the biases in our society. That’s not going to be fixed overnight. But the first steps towards addressing it can happen here and now. It starts with people being more than what they are. It starts with people doing more than they have been.

It starts with people learning that there’s more to do in this fight than simply Aid Another.

Back at the dawn of the Dungeons & Dragons, a set of polyhedral dice could be a difficult commodity to come by. And those that were available are a far cry from the sundry assortment available today. Some of the earliest sets of D&D had dice with unmarked facings that required players to mark their own numbers in with crayon. There’s even a document case of a “dice shortage” wherein boxes of D&D were shipped with cardboard chits to be used in place of dice along with a voucher for the purchase of dice at a later date.

Today, dice are stocked at every game store and are usually siting next to other such incidental items like candy and soda. Go to any geek-related convention and you’ll see dice vendors aplenty. Companies like Chessex make their livelihood offering dice in all sorts of varieties. You can even get customized dice designs so you can use your 3D polyhedrons as yet another form of self-expression.

Sometime between the birth of RPGs in late 70’s and now, the popularity of dice exploded. Manufacturers, so used to producing the venerable D6, suddenly realized how lucrative it was to produce other, less common, multi-sided dice to meet gamer demand. The reality is that demand drives the market. And if demand soars, supply will eventually be driven to meet it. How does this relate to toy soldiers, you might ask? Just as with dice, we’re experiencing an explosion in the popularity of miniatures

Time was that when your group wanted accurate 3D representations for their PCs and Monsters on their tables they’d need to track down one of the handful of metal miniature producers in the world or else sculpt and cast it themselves. Forget customization or likeness to your PC. You were lucky if you even had miniatures. Though then, as now, the game doesn’t require any sort of tabletop representation miniatures were ever in high demand.

So what’s a gaming group to do, especially one that’s just beginning to acquire peripheral materials? Have no fear! There are plenty of options, the only challenge is to find one that suits your budget and hobby skills. Below I list an assortment of options and a few specific examples and some thoughts on the pros and cons.

Paper Pawns
Expense Rating: 1/5
Hobby Skill Required: 0/5

These things are essentially just pictures printed on a hard card stock or cardboard backing. They’ll have instructions for folding so they stand upright or some with a plastic base to stand on. There are PDF files from various suppliers – or you can even design your own – and print out as many little pawns as you’d like. Alternatively, RPG companies like Paizo sell official Pawns that are tied into their adventures. Paper pawns certainly do the job on the cheap. But they suffer from that which plagues all paper products. They’re not very durable. Folds, dents, and moisture can ruin them. And storage can become tricky if your collection grows (honestly – this is a problem for all miniatures). But if you’re on a budget and just need some quick tokens for 3D representation, pawns are an easy solution.

Prepainted Plastic
Expense Rating: 3/5
Hobby Skill Required: 0/5

The next step up from pawns in terms of ready-to-playability. These are typically single-pose plastic miniatures that come prepainted and ready to play. WizKids has lately become known for the mass production of quality plastic miniatures for both Paizo and Wizards of the Coast. The old D&D Miniatures line was also a dated if popular example that has been recently revitalized with 5E. Just like paper pawns, prepainted plastic miniatures come ready to use out of the box. They’re usually made of a soft plastic polymer which makes them prone to bending but will rarely break. Paint jobs can vary by the range or even by lot with the occasional misplaced detail. Prepainted plastics tend to be quite a bit more expensive than most other options for miniatures although that can vary on the secondary market. The main reason for this is that most of these miniatures are sold using blind-box packaging and the consumer doesn’t necessarily know what they’re getting until after they open the box. Add to this that the packaging for these products usually uses a rarity scale and the result is quite a bit of money can be spent in order to complete a collection.

Unpainted Monopose
Expense Rating: 2/5 to 3/5
Hobby Skill Required: 0/5 to 2/5

Unpainted mono- or single-pose miniatures are the middle ground for players in terms of cost and hobbying skill. For those who want something more representative than paper pawns but lack either the skill or desire to paint, these can be an easy and affordable alternative to the prepainted plastics. This is also the realm where we start to see a bit of material diversity in the product. Miniatures in this broad category can be found in hard polystyrene, softer resins, or various metal alloys. Prices can fluctuate from company to company and costs heavily depend on materials and availability. It’s not unheard of for a miniature to cost half again as much as it sticker price due to the vagaries of international shipping. That being said, there are a number of suppliers of affordable unpainted singles. Reaper Miniatures is probably among the most notable. And Fantasy Flight Games has recently thrown its hat into the ring with products like Imperial Assault. There are also numerous but less well-known companies like Titan Forge or Ninja Division (formerly Soda Pop Miniatures) whose Kickstarters have attracted a lot of attention because of their impressive but affordable miniature lines.

Unpainted Multi-Part
Expense Rating: 3/5 to 4/5
Hobby Skill Required: 4/5

This is where things start to get serious in terms of DIY peripherals. Miniatures in this category come unassembled and unpainted. Open a box and you get a flat plastic sprue with a bunch of bits and a set of instructions. The very definition of build your own toy soldiers. For some – especially among the old guard, this is the only way to have miniatures. You get your hobby knife and your plastic glue and your paints and brushes and go to town. Days (or maybe weeks) later you’ve got some painted miniatures for your game table. Citadel Miniatures (from Games Workshop) are probably the most common products in this category. Although companies like Mantis Games or Privateer Press also have dedicated followings. A number of  smaller third party companies have begun to crop up mostly in support of the wargames produced by the aforementioned companies though the side effect of this has meant that it’s become a bit easier for RPGamers to find semi-customizable miniatures for cheaper.

Custom Designs
Expense Rating: 5/5
Hobby Skill Required: 0/5 to 2/5

Fully customizable miniatures are a recent addition to the scene. Hero Forge became the first mass market purveyor of customizable miniatures back in 2014. For a price, you can build your (N)PC using their browser-based design app. You can literally build your miniature from the group up and have it customized in nearly every way you can imagine. You can paint it if you wish, or use it as is. Either way, this emergent technology can pave the way for new and exciting options for miniature enthusiasts.

Do you have a favorite miniature product or company? How much to miniatures play a factor in the enjoyment of your games? Let me know in the comments section below!

The PCs are tasked with acquiring a particular item from a heavily guarded camp. You’ve set up a stealth mission. They sneak in, acquire the macguffin, and make their escape with no one the wiser. Instead, the PCs charge into the camp, kill everything in sight, and casually sift through the rubble for the item in question.

No?

How about roleplaying encounter where the PCs need to persuade or coerce some information out of an wily vizier? With a bit of investigation, the PCs could uncover a bit of intrigue from the vizier’s past that would give them leverage in their dealings with the NPC. Instead, the PCs murder the vizier immediately, reanimate the corpse and make it talk.

Still no?

Well how about a sandbox campaign wherein players commandeer a ship and can roam the high sees in search of adventure and mystery? Instead, the PCs decide to sail from town to town looting, pillaging, and causing mayhem.

Huh… well if you’re still not familiar with anything of these situations, consider yourself fortunate that you run games for a group of well-rounded players. The term “Murderhobo” typifies the type of PC that wanders from place to place, slaying monsters/villains/NPCs and taking their stuff. The term also suggests a detachment or lack of involvement in the setting on the part of the PCs.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of action in any adventure. There are a whole host of classic adventures written to be almost entirely dungeon delves with barely a thin veil of subplot or background holding things together.  Even in more complex adventures, combat encounters can make up a significant portion of many games. They can be tense and exciting. They can tickle the tactical itch. And they can allow your players the satisfaction of vanquishing a wicked villain or saving innocents from mortal peril.

But all combat all the time? Turning your finely crafted encounters into just another boss raid? What does one GM do against the “Kill ’em all and let Pharasma sort ’em out” mentality? Does the “loot ‘n scoot” so prevalent in Diablo-esque games belong at the table?

The answer, as with anything, is it depends on your group. But from this GM’s perspective, if all your players want to do is kill stuff, level up, and cash out it seems like Pathfinder isn’t the best system to fulfill that desire.

There’s nothing wrong with players being keen for some swords & sorcery. But the rise of murderhoboing in the situations like those that were outlined above are a classic case of mismatched expectations. The GM wants to tell a carefully crafted narrative. The players want to be Big Damn Heroes (or Villains). They want to be Bruce Willis in the 5th Element! Or Milla Jovovich in the 5th Element! Or Chris Tucker in the 5th Element! PCs in Fantasy RPGs tend towards larger-than-life action heroes. And what’s more, players know the story is about them and will tend to act accordingly.

As a GMs, we tend to want to run nuanced worlds with danger and mystery. We want a setting that feels like a living, breathing world. A setting that reacts to stimuli – which means that for the PCs, actions have consequences. We want the PCs to respect the setting at least as much as we do. And along with that respect should come at least a bit of fear.

In my experience, it’s this disconnect that tends to spawn Murderhoboing type behavior. The GM wants to enforce the deadliness of their world, which leads to players feeling punished for their choices, which in turn leave players hostile and more willing to harm things before they get hurt themselves.

The best way to address this disconnect, whether you’re trying to head off the problem or struggling to rein in active Murderhobos, is to have a frank out-of-character discussion about expectations. What are the goals that the PCs (both Players and Characters) want to accomplish. How can you, as the GM, focus the narrative to highlight those goals. How tough do players want their combat encounters to be? What kind of roleplaying immersion do people look forward to? Finding a balance between player and GM expectation is going to be the key.

Have trouble dealing with Murderhobos in your games? What steps have you taken to address the issue? Let me know in the comments section below!

“Where are we, again?”

“Wait… What’s going on?”

“Remind me… Who are we fighting?”

or perhaps worst of all…

“… Huh?”

Questions like these can derail a gaming session and take all the wind out of a GM’s sails. All the work that you put into getting the party to this point, all the effort you put into crafting this encounter. And someone’s not paying attention. Of course, it’s easy to feel slighted and frustrated at your players in this situation. This can be especially true if you expected a particular reaction from a big plot reveal and instead you get confusion. Or worse, boredom.

In reality, the truth is that you probably lost your players somewhere before this. The reasons for wander attention spans, players zoning out, or just not being engaged in your story can be myriad. But let’s focus one particular reason this is likely to happen and what you, as a GM, can do about it.

All for One? Or One for All?

The most common reason that I’ve seen for my players tuning out is when one person gets an inordinate amount of spotlight during a single scene. This, too, can happen for any number of reasons. But when the spotlight focuses on any one player for too long, the attention of other people at your table can start to drift. Rotating spotlight is an important part of making sure that all players at your table are engaged but the key there is actually keep the spotlight moving.

Similarly, having a specific narrative that focuses on only one player alienate players who aren’t being focused on and sap their attention spans. Players usually require a vested interest to hook themselves into a particular plot line. When the story is about them, it’s easy to keep them interested. But when the story is about someone else, often players will need some support in crafting a reason to care.

This extends to mechanical challenges as well. There’s nothing wrong with an adventure with specific skill challenges or DCs that can only be met by a particular skill set. But if those challenges drag on for too long, players can become bored. It’s not so much that the specific challenges might not be interesting. It’s that if a challenge, encounter, or roleplay moves too far outside a player’s wheelhouse, the chance for their attention to drift increases. Players don’t like waiting extended periods of time to do something. They don’t like waiting for their turn. When they wait too long, out come the phones, up come the internet browsers. Remember that people like playing games. Rarely do they like watching other people play games.

So what do we do about this?

The most direct solution is integrated encounter design. Put the focus of overcoming challenges on teamwork rather than making it about individual achievement. Because, “We did the thing!” is always going to be more memorable a statement than “I did the thing…”

Is your encounter primarily a roleplay where the Faces do most or all of the talking? Interject some bits of intrigue or asides that happen in the background that your other players can notice or part-take in. You could even use this opportunity to add some humor to an otherwise tense or dramatic scene. The party’s bard is trying to convince a local lord to send soldiers to aid a beleaguered caravan. The thief, sees something shiny poking out from the curtain behind the lord’s chair. Do shenanigans ensue? Probably…

Similarly, if an encounter is combat heavy but the party’s bruisers can probably manage it, you can insert things for the other players to do. Say the party is exploring vermin-infested sewer. The fighter and paladin can manage to hold by the gribblies pouring out of the outflow pipe. But the other players need to figure out a way to block it soon or else everyone will be overrun.

The bottom line is to keep everyone involved. Rotate the spotlight and don’t get hung up on the small stuff. Definitely try and avoid encounter or challenges that a single player could solve on their own. Or avoid things that could be easily solved with a single die roll. Does the Wizard have a +10 bonus to Knowledge (History)? Don’t make him roll for that DC12. He just knows. Keep the pace of the game going and focus on making it about overcoming challenges together

How do you keep your games on track? How do you keep your group focused? Let me know in the comments section below!

Tens of thousands of attendees travel from all over the world and decent upon the fabled city of Indianapolis for a four-day revel of games, games, and more games.

Soon, the Know Direction feed will be filled with news and updates directly from the showroom floor.

But I thought I would take this opportunity to remember all those who aren’t able to make the journey this year. Some of us couldn’t get off work and are stuck in Boston…

Roll some dice for the rest of us!

I can’t share any pictures from the show because I’m not there. But instead, have a picture of Diamond City, the stalwart green sentinel of the north. The chance of Super Mutant attack today is low.

The first thing of note is that a company whose revenue comes from the sale of products (either physical or intellectual) *needs* to have regular releases to survive. This is especially true of companies in niche markets where attracting new customers as a new source or revenue is difficult and/or time consuming. Without a constant and reliable source of revenue, a company will close down. This is a fact. So if you’re ever wondering why a gaming company releases books month after month. It’s to keep the lights on. Sometimes I wonder how many people realize that most companies are in a near constant state of continually having to throw down tracks in front of the proverbial train. Revenue from sales of this month’s product will be used to pay for next month’s product. And so on.

It baffles me why people get angry or upset when books get released month after month. Continued regular release is a strong indication of the parent company’s belief in their product. It’s direct support. Whether it’s 3.5/Pathfinder, 5E D&D, Shadow Run, Dark Heresy, for whatever reason, players seem to have a tendency to gravitate towards the most recent edition of their game of choice. Perhaps it’s from the desire to be part of a living game. Maybe it’s just being part of the “in” crowd. Or maybe it’s simply because everyone else is doing that too and its easiest to find other people to play with you. But regardless, the most recent edition is the one with direct support. Without those continued releases, most game systems shrivel and starve.

“But the rules bloat!” some will say. “There are too many options. Too many feats. Too many spells. Too many ways that I can express the fantastic representation of my inner id!”

Which again makes me scratch my head. Too… much? It would be one thing if players were somehow forced to play with *all* the rules. Or if a klaxon were to sound each and every time a GM failed to implement a rule – any rule at all – properly. It would be another thing if  the core rules somehow changed over time such that they became meaningless without the direct and constant implementation of newer material. But none of these are the case. New rules give you more options. Which, by their very nature, are voluntary additions to your game. No one is forcing a group to adopt every bit of material published. And any GM or group is free to allow or disallow whatever they want from their table.

Furthermore, bloat is a self-correcting problem – if indeed it is a problem at all. When a company publishes a thing that their customers don’t want, those customers tend to indicate their lack of desire very clearing through the direction action of not buying that thing. That a company continues to release products regularly means that the market (i.e. players) are interested in the releases and are buying them. So that a particular splatbook doesn’t catch your attention isn’t a sign of “rules bloat” of the system as a whole, it’s just that you, an individual, aren’t interested.

It’s okay not to like things. And it’s okay to be disappointed when a new release doesn’t cover a particular race/class combo that you were hoping for. Or a new feat tree that would allow you to unlock those other class features. Or whatever. But it’s generally a good practice to try and not to rain on anyone’s parade. I certainly get discouraged too when the release schedule shifts away from options that don’t carry any of my interest. But I do my best not to yuck someone else’s yum.

How do you feel about constant monthly releases? What things are you most excited about, in terms of gaming, coming up in the next few months? Let me know in the comments section below!

It should come as little surprise to the followers of this blog that I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for miniature wargaming. There’s something about pushing painted toy soldiers around a table that simulates full-scale conflicts… It draws me into that narrative, that world. It’s cinematic and captivating. But, as any dedicated hobby hero will tell you, reaching the level of complete and fully-painted army takes a lot of time and effort. While the act of assembling and painting miniatures is enjoyable in its own right, it’s still a labor intensive chore when compared to the main event – actually getting to play with the toy soldiers. Seeing them on a table, squared off against an opposing force and acting out a warzone in miniature. I’ve actually got a whole hobby pledge where I’m trying to fully paint at least 1 miniature a day for the entire year. Because fully-painted armies are awesome.

It’s a similar deal with preparing for an RPG. As a GM, you’ve got a preconceived notion of how your game is going to run. If you wrote the adventure, you’ve got an idea – a story arc or particular series of events – that you want to see brought to life. You’ve got an adventure to run and a tale to tell. If you’re running a published adventure, you’re still following a narrative but you’ve likely put your own twist on it. Gathered the appropriate components, committed encounters to memory, massaged out the details to fit your group.

Let’s make no bones about it. That’s all work. It might be enjoyable work but it’s all work necessary for you to run your game. Some GMs might prep more or less than others. But for a truly immersive experience, I find that I have the most success when I dot my i’s and cross my t’s. That kind of work isn’t always easy. It can be hard to buckle down and do the work beforehand when so easy to just do the bare minimum required and coast along. So I thought I might jot down a few ideas to help keep you motivated to put in the prep work so that you can get the most out of your gaming sessions.

Identify Tasks and Timelines

Figure out what needs to be done and when it needs to be done by. Make a list. Create an outline. Order your tasks by what’s most urgent. Further divide the most urgent tasks by how easy they are to complete. Take on the easiest and just get it done. It might be looking up a spell list so you can finish statting up that NPC caster. Or it might be looking up that one weird rule interaction from last session. Or finding that miniature to represent the Big Bad for the boss fight next session. Get the small stuff out of the way so you can continue planning for the road ahead.

Set a Schedule – and Keep It!

Organizational skills are a key part of maintaining an efficient workflow. In this case, it means less time spent wondering what should be done and more time just doing it. One of the primary tasks in this regard is simply setting aside time in your busy life to actually do the work you need to do. Maybe evenings from 7-8pm are good for you. So every evening you set aside an hour to work on monsters, or write an encounter, or outline a story arc. Also, just as importantly, keep to that schedule. If you can’t set something daily, maybe make it ever couple of days. Or maybe once a week if you’re super busy. Adjust your hobby-work schedule as you see fit, but make sure you’re consistent. It’s like exercise, it only works if you do it!

Hold Yourself Accountable

The only one who can keep you on task is you. When the hobby-work starts feeling like work-work remind yourself why you’re doing all of it. Do it for your game, do it for your players, but ultimately do it for yourself. The effort you put into your game will end up paying off tenfold. But again, only if you actually go and do it.

Remember that painting pledge I mentioned at the beginning of the article? To hold myself accountable, I’ve kept track of the number of models I’ve painted each month. I even included a models bought just to keep myself honest. Overall, if I paint at least 1 model a day *and* paint more models than I’ve bought, I’ll have chipped at least a little bit into my backlog.

The days past in the graph is basically just a visual reference for achievement. So long as the blue bar is taller and the green bar shorter than the red bar, I’m doing well.

So that’s it for today. There’s probably a broader post about hobby organization and time management buried somewhere in the jumble of my backlog. But this is what was on the surface. How do you organize your time? Is there anything you wish you’d done more to prepare for your games? Let me know in the comments section below!

Recall from our previous article that Tsintuvael has a moderate elliptical orbit, one that takes it from one edge of its circumstellar habitable zone to the other within a single complete rotation and has a similar distance from its star as real-world Earth. This, combined with an axial rotation perpendicular to the plane of its orbit this means that Tsintuvael has two, very long seasons. When near its star, average temperatures on the surface are might higher than when Tsintuvael is at the farthest point of its orbital journey.

So that gives us a theme to play with. Warmth and cold. Light and dark. Life and death. Duality, the opposite and opposed is a common fantasy trope. So there’s a lot here to choose from. But the one that’s been resonating with me over the last couple weeks has been that of the Fairy Courts. In English, Irish, and Scottish folklore, one of the more common classifications of fey creatures has been into two categories, the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Etymology for seelie and unseelie in the English language draws roots back to works meaning happy, lucky, or blessed (and the inverse – unhappy, unfortunate, or cursed for unseelie). Likewise, these two types of fairies would be charming and whimsical or morose and wicked.

Pathfinder’s campaign setting has largely done away with the traditional Seelie and Unseelie Courts, replacing them with Eldest of the First World. But the idea has been incorporated into adventures since the earliest days of Dungeons & Dragons.

But I’m not interested in having an entire planet of fey creatures so much as I want to explore the idea of how a planetary society might be shaped around the shifting pattern of its stellar obit. Because the planet alternates between close proximity and vast distance from its star, so too does the climate fluctuate, both environmentally and politically.

When Tsintuvael is closest to its star, temperatures across the surface rise to near intolerable levels. Along the equatorial belt, water can boil if left in in direct sunlight and the resulting humidity can be suffocating. The most habitable zones on the planet are the poles, where the star’s heat and light is more scattered. At the furthest point of Tsintuvael’s orbit, these regions swap with the equator becoming more much more habitable and the poles becoming deathly cold. Imagine cities springing up to endure these two extremes. A city within the equatorial zone developing some sort of shadow field generator to block out large portions of light to maintain tolerable temperatures during the “summer” season. Similarly, cities along the polar regions with vast underground geothermal generators to melt ice and heat water during the long “winters”

The people living in these cities could come to think of themselves peoples of light and dark. Of cold or warmth. Of life or death.

And so I leave us with a writing prompt for next time. Two habitable zones to detail in the future. First we have Domitus, the nation of Light in Shadow whose capital city of E’Lux shines bright along the central planes. And the Contra-Sinestran Combine, a loose affiliation of cities nestled deep within the polar mountain ranges.

How do you like the direction of Tsintuvael so far? Let me know in the comments section below.

In my last Starfinder musings, I talk a bit about how a GM can keep up with a narrative that crosses the vast expanses of space and time. The main thrust is that because we are telling a story about the PCs, the narrative follows the them. It matters less where things are happening so long as those events are engaging your players. While I stand by that advice, I wanted to also address that challenge with a different approach – by creating an interesting backdrop for adventures in a galactic/sci-fi setting. In essence, I am literally world-building.

I’ve been kicking an idea around in my head for a little while, a planet with an elliptical orbit, that is to say a planet whose path around a star takes them closer or farther from that star depending upon the point in that journey. So instead of travelling around its star in a circular fashion, it’s path is more of a squished-circle.

Planets with elliptical orbits are nothing new in fantasy. Pathfinder’s own Triaxus for example, follows an extreme elliptical orbit that causes drastic changes in climate. It’s been theorized that Game of Throne’s own world might follow an extreme elliptical orbit, which would account for its incredibly long seasons. In reality, our own Earth also follows a slight elliptical orbit, with our distance from the sun being anywhere from 91 to 94 million miles depending on the time of year.

As a quick aside, the first great lesson of world-building is that nothing is new and chances are someone somewhere has an idea that’s similar to yours but better developed. And is a published work. And has tens of millions of fans world wide…

But that doesn’t mean your idea isn’t a good one. And if you can somehow make it your own you can run with it and have a great time.

The nature of planetary orbits and rotations are fascinating. To use Earth as an example again, we occupy a very narrow ring around the sun called the circumstellar habitable zone within which the perfect conditions for liquid water for our biosphere exist as we know it. Further, the whole reason we have seasons on Earth is because of our axial tilt, that 23.5 degree angle relative to the our plane of orbit as we travel the sun. Even our method of timekeeping is directly related to the Earth’s relationship to the sun.

In my opinion, all this astronomic geekery is part and parcel with sci-fi. It informs the creation of your setting and dresses it. It’s taking our understanding of our universe and expanding on it in fantastic ways. So this planet we’re crafting will have a moderate elliptical orbit. Specifically an elliptical orbit that takes our planet from one edge of the circumstellar habitable zone to the other within a single complete rotation. I also don’t really want to futz with calendars all that much at this point so let’s say that our planet’s average distance from its parent star is somewhere near the same as Earth’s.

Unlike Earth, however, I want our planet to have a rotational axis perpendicular to the plane of its orbit. Which is to say that its the plane of its rotation is the same as its orbital rotation. This would mean that the planet would have no regional seasons since the same parts of the sphere would be closest to its star. The warmest parts of the planet would still be the region centered on the equatorial line and the coldest parts would be the poles.

BUT! We’ve established that our planet has an elliptical orbit, which would mean it would experience variations in climate as a whole world, instead of regionally. This wouldn’t change the extreme temperature zones, i.e. the equatorial zones would be warmest and the poles would be coldest but the average temperatures in these regions would go up or down based on the point of the planet’s orbit – and therefore its proximity to its star.

I think that’s enough for now. We’ve covered broad strokes of how the planet travels through the celestial realm and what affects that might have on its climate, which of course will inform how cultures develop on our world. For now, I’ll let the ideas of how I want to proceed percolate. But Starfinder is equal parts Science-Fantasy as it is Science-Fiction. There’s magic up in them there stars. So I think it’ll be important to tie in those elements as well. Next time, I’ll touch upon a few of those themes to flesh out what our world will become. For now I’ll just leave it with a name: Tsintuvael (sin-TOO-VAY-ell)…

What do you think of the return of Prep With Me articles? What else would you like to see from these? Let me know in the comments section below!

You can find that article here. In it, I go into some experiences from my past games along with some examples of why being a nefarious and cheaty GM can actually help the development of your game. I wanted to expand a bit more on one specific method for nudging along your narrative. That method being fudging dice.

Most RPGs, for better or worse, rely on weighted random number generation to determine outcomes. And sometimes, that means that stupid stuff can happen.

Specifically, I wanted to touch upon some of the factors that might influence your decision as a GM to fudge a die roll.

• Does a character need a win?
  • Has it been a while since a character accomplished something  they’re supposed to be good at? When was the last time the trap-finding rogue successfully disarmed a trap? The last time the wizard knew the thing he was supposed to know? The fighter spectacularly took down an enemy? If it’s been a while since the PCs felt heroic and the dice continue to punish them, maybe it’s time to give them a hand.
• Does a player need a win?
  • Some days RPGs are for storytelling, some days they’re about escapism. Does a player need an escape today? Would it help them out to feel particularly heroic?
• Does a villain need a win?
  • Some encounters have more weight than others. If you’ve been building up to this encounter for weeks and you can’t seem to roll above a 5, everyone will feel better about taking this villain seriously if they’re a credible threat. Yes. PCs love a good villain to hate.
• Is this a bad time in the story to kill a character?
  • Character deaths carry the most weight in the first and final acts of a story. But even then only when it’s meaningful. Tragic victim? Heroic martyr? Random character deaths can feel empty, hollow, and meaningless.
• Is this a bad time in the session to kill a character?
  • Dying an hour into a scheduled four hour session means a player has just enough time to feel like they wasted an evening and not enough time to make a new character and introduce it into the session.
• To make the math easy
  • Is it just easier to say the monster hits than to slow the game down to see if they have a +3 attack bonus or just a +2? If the party wizard casts his amazing save-or-suck spell do you really need to look up whether the generic goons have a +3 Will save or only a +2?

There are lots of reasons a GM can fudge numbers. But the important thing is to remember to always use your power for good and always in the players’ best interest. Tell your story, empower your players, forge that narrative. And don’t sweat the small dice along the way.

How often do you fudge dice rolls? Is there ever a situation were you’d never fudge? Let us know in the comments section below!

Personal limits and keeping everyone comfortable at the game table has been a topic of late both on the site and in the industry, with Horror Adventures in particular discussing how to run a campaign of terror without terrorizing your players. Some of the advice includes surveying your players and presenting trigger warnings, but as illustrated in our review of that book, when Alex confessed having acrophobia and feeling insulted that it is considered a madness. Knowing your own limits takes greater self-awareness than you might realize. Likewise, before a GM can list the trigger warnings in their adventure, they need an idea of what might trigger their players. Going back to Alex, I was surprised to hear about his fear of heights. It’s not unheard of, I just wasn’t aware of it. If my adventure portrayed an acrophobic NPC in a stigmatic way, and Alex was in my group and I wasn’t yet aware of his phobia, I probably wouldn’t think to include that NPC in my trigger warnings.

Let’s say that despite your best efforts, you’ve introduced an element that makes a player uncomfortable enough that they’d prefer it not be included in your campaign. Once this happens, you as the GM and the player in question have a contrast of interests to work out. It’s fair to not want planning to go to waste, and to be disappointed by the lost potential of an idea that excited you. That doesn’t give you the right to dismiss the player’s objection, of course. Surely part of why you were excited was to see your players interact with your idea, and that did not include ruining anyone’s night every session. But you are right to be bummed.

There are three tactics to take in this situation: Wait and See, Retcon Details, and Abandon Hook. It’s advised that you at least invite the offended player into the decision making process as to what tactic you wish to employ.

Wait and See
This requires the least compromise on your part and the most compromise on the part of the player. You ask that the player trust that you understand their objection and are taking it seriously, and that you will organically address the objection in-game. If, for example, you are running an NPC who is vocally prejudice in a way that the player relates to and that ruins the escapism they’re seeking, you can confide in them that they will have a chance to take out their frustration on the offending NPC in a few sessions.

Trust is the operative word in using this tactic, and it’s not hard to find examples of that trust feeling taken for granted. For over a year now, Marvel’s been telling Captain America fans (and Marvel fans in general, given how central the character is to their universe) to see where Nick Spencer is going with his Hydra Cap storyline. However, they escalated the storyline beyond the tolerance level of a good portion of the objecting fans, and the negative reaction got to the point that Marvel doubled down on the wait and see tactic by giving out explicit details.

Only consider this tactic if you as the GM feel particularly strong about the choice you’ve made, and you believe you can adequately mitigate your player’s discomfort in the long run and every step along the way. Otherwise, find a way to compromise, because this tactic is less about compromise and more about choosing the hill you’d die on.

Retcon Details
Let’s be honest, no one remembers every detail of one session by the next (or at any two points of the same session, really). Even if every player and the GM in a group of five makes it to every session of a campaign, which details each person remembers means everyone has a unique version of the events that transpire. If what your player specifically objects to isn’t a load-bearing detail, it will not be missed. And if someone does remember it and questions it, put a lampshade on it.

A longform campaign shares a lot in common with book series, shared comic universes, and professional wrestling. Anyone whose read Wolverine’s first appearance knows he was originally portrayed as the most polite Canadian stereotype you can imagine.  If you’re familiar with Wolverine as the best there is at what he does, and what he does isn’t very nice, you’ll scoff at dialogue like “I’ll just keep moving, if you please, because moving is the thing I do best” coming from his mouth. Batman killed the villain at the end of his first appearance. Kramer on Seinfeld had plots involving both baths and showers through the series even though he said that a bath is “disgusting. I’m sitting there in a tepid pool of my own filth” in one episode but “I take baths” in answer to Elaine asking “Do you go in the shower?”

It would be nice if these contradictions didn’t happen, sure, but then we wouldn’t have Batman and Wolverine as we know them. If people can change everything about how Wolverine is written just because, then the most continuity-obsessed player can accept that a detail is a bit different for the sake of everyone’s enjoyment at the table.

Abandon Hook
When all else fails, leave it aside. Have it resolved off screen or have the consequences turn out to be less dire than anticipated. A campaign is the story of the PC heroes responding to GM threats. Any threat can fluctuate in importance. I’m not advocating for the illusion of choice (I believe the only way player have weight is if they actually matter), but the world is in the GM’s control.

The perfect example of this is when WWE “killed off” Vince McMahon, the most important NPC on the show. One Raw ended with his limo exploding. The next live Raw opened with him addressing the crowd. In between, WWE wrestler Eddie Guerrero died in real life. They went the sensitive route (the WWE went the sensitive route!) and cancelled the murder mystery plotline they had. If the WWE can be sensitive to people’s feelings and change their million dollar plans, a GM can find a way to do the same for their group of friends.

Players aren’t the only factors that can take your game completely off the rails. Because the best laid plans of dice and men often go awry. Specifically the dice part. Pathfinder, after all, is a game that uses a random number generator to determine the outcome of skill-based and opposed actions. The simple maths of comparing a randomly generator number (after modifiers) to a target number means that it’s fairly straight forward to analyze how “good” or “bad” a character might be at a given task, especially of those target numbers (Difficulty Classes) are known before hand.

So to mitigate the chances of failure, players will often attempt to acquire positive bonuses that are associated with the target numbers of the checks that they want their characters to be good at. This is more commonly known as optimizing. The morality of PC optimization is a huge grey area and a topic for another time. Today’s article is about dealing with randomly generated outcomes.

Bad dice can happen to even the best of us. But auto-hits and auto-fails exist in the game, even the highest AC, attack bonuses, or Saves can’t protect characters from all the negative consequences of adventuring. But what’s a few HPs or temporary status effects between friends? What’s a hero without a rakishly good-looking scar across her cheek? So much of Pathfinder so heavily revolves around the mitigation of bad luck that we can sometimes forget how the the effects of that randomness can sometimes be disruptive.

How often have your players gone on a tangent and side-tracked an adventure because they wanted to pursue something that was incidental to the plot that you were trying develop? How disruptive was that to the overall flow of your narrative? In most cases it’s probably fine because at least your players are doing that which interests them. It might even turn into a fun little side plot. But what if that plot digression was caused by a bad roll of the dice? A PC is critically struck by an Ogre with an ogre-hook and his HP drops way past negative Constitution. A natural 1 is rolled against a save-or-die spell and the PC is reduced to a pile of ash. A PC fails a crucial skill check and the party is unable to progress along that line of investigation. Sometimes bad luck happens. And as a GM you’ll have to decided how to handle it in a way that’s best for your players and your game.

Once, years ago, my Wizard tossed out a Prismatic Spray that hit all of the evil giants in a room. It also happened to tag our party’s Paladin-Monk who was in the middle of dispensing holy justice. Paladin-Monk saving throws being what they are, the player was entirely okay with me including his character in the effect of the spell. The spell successfully neutralized only some of the giants, but unfortunately our Paladin-Monk rolled a natural 1 on his save and was banished to a random plane of existence. Without any way of knowing where the Paladin-Monk was, he was effectively removed from the encounter.

What? What!? It’s not my fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. If anything it was the dice’s fault.

This wasn’t a hero’s sacrifice to save the world. This wasn’t a last noble gasp against the campaign’s evil tyrant. This was an unfortunate case of friendly fire that doomed a fellow party member in the least glorious of ways. A bit more random number generation determined that our Paladin-Monk had been transported to the Plane of Negative Energy and wasn’t quite likely to survive for very long. But our GM was able to roll with it and improvise so that we were able to effect a rescue by calling in some favors from some very powerful entities.

The point is, bad dice at the table can sometimes catch you and your players wrong-footed. As the GM, it’s important that you keep your players from becoming discouraged at the results. Try and spin negative outcomes to the players’ benefit. And remember it can be okay to fudge a result or two if you’re rolling behind the screens.

When was the last time your game was surprised by random chance? Were you and your players been able to adapt? Let me know in the comments section below!

This week I thought I might present a bit of an introspective offering. There’s an oft repeated axiom out there that goes a little bit like this, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

I remember being a kid – maybe nine or ten – sitting across the breakfast table from my father. I don’t quite recall exactly how we got onto the topic of careers. But he said, “Do something you love and you’ll never have to do work.”

It’s a great sentiment. But not something particularly meaningful to my ten-year-old mentality. I loved playing games and going on fantastic adventures. I didn’t want to sit in school and learn about grammar or mathematics.

But as I grew up, I clung to those words. Even as I went to school and chose a career I never stopped looking for opportunities to “do what I loved”. I found game systems that I liked and introduced them to friends so I’d have people to play with. I came up with my own adventures and wrote my own games. Late nights writing in a beat up Meade notebook became the norm with dozens of NPC character sheets packed into the folder pockets. I’d dream of the day that I’d get paid to do this thing that I loved to do. Of a day when the thing I’d chosen to do for a hobby would be able to support my lifestyle. That I could create things that I loved and get paid for it. That I could be paid to play.

And then that day came and someone paid me to create something. And I learned real quick that work, even on things that are fun, was not play

There are lots of gamers out there who are enamored with the idea of getting paid to play. That grand ideal of being able to support yourself doing the thing you love to do. And it’s a worthwhile goal to strive for. But that dream dissolved quickly under the reality that creating works for other people is shockingly different than creating works for your own amusement.

The cold reality is that once you start doing something you love in order to support yourself (or your hobby) you’re more likely to love what it is you do a little less than you did. Worse, when the thing that you love to do starts to require the wants and needs of others it has a tendency to become – by nature – much less of a thing that you want to do and more of a thing someone else wants you to do.

When writing enemy NPCs and encounters for my own games, I could tailor them to the strengths and weaknesses of my PCs. When running the encounters I’d had designed I could improvise if my players were having too hard or too easy a time of it. When imagining up scenarios or cruel traps I could spring on my players. That was play. But when trying to come up with multiple successive encounters following a coherent narrative that also had to appropriately scaled for PCs between levels 7 and 11? That was work.

This is not to say that writing for others (and getting paid for it!) wasn’t fun. It was loads of fun. The challenge of writing to specifications I would otherwise have contrived of, the excitement of putting my work out into the world, the entire experience was awesome. But it was certainly work.

One of the wonderful things about having a hobby – whatever that hobby might be – is that it’s the opposite of work. It’s the activity that you can engage in during your leisure time. It’s the activity that allows you to unpack and decompress the stresses of your work day. A large part of that has to do with the fact that no part of your hobby activity is actually a requirement. You can do as much or as little of your hobby as you want. And if you find you don’t like what you’re doing you can go and do another thing. But if you start adding requirements to that hobby. If you impose design parameters and deadlines, suddenly that carefree activity starts to resemble that day job you’re trying to hobby-escape from.

I’ve noted this applying, albeit to a lesser extent, to the responsibilities associated with GMing. From all the little tasks like organizing, hosting, preparing games to actually running scenarios or designing encounters. When expectations – both your players and your own – begin to weigh down on you it can be easy to lose sight of what was so enjoyable about running your game(s). The pressure to create can start to feel like a burden and that defeats the purpose of the game to begin with.

The point is, that you can still love the work that you do. You can take gratification in the adventures you create and the stories that you tell. But it’s going to feel like work. And there are times when it’s going to be hard to do. And there are times when you just can’t stand to look at another stat block or read-aloud text. And those are the times when it can pay off to take a step back and find something that can let you unpack and relax so you can reengage again.