How to Plan a Quest

After nearly 300 articles, I've realized that I've never given a full article to developing quests. I've written plenty about entire campaigns, including ideas you can use and methods to create campaigns based on player suggestions, and I've written about methods for planning moments in-game, but we've never delved into quests in particular. Campaigns are overarching and ideally include several connected quests--it's those quests that get us from point A to point B that have gone ignored. Well, it's time to rectify that; here's how to plan a quest, the most basic step for any GM. 

First off, what exactly is a quest? Quests are goals for the player characters that require some kind of effort to complete. Generally, quests have beginnings (the introduction of the quest where the players are given the opportunity or burden of doing something), middles (some manner of action or decision-making that eventually completes the quest), and endings (a resolution in which the players are given a fitting outcome for their effort--this is usually but not always a reward of some type). At its most basic level, the quest is what makes a tabletop game a tabletop game. When we play TTRPGs, we spend most of our time and energy working on quests (including personal quests). 

What makes a fun quest, or a memorable one, or a quest we'll want to tell people about? As always, this differs from person to person, but as a general rule, good quests keep the players in mind. As GMs, we want our quests to have beginnings that catch the interest of our players; we want middles that are engaging and exciting; we want endings that resolve the story of the quest and give the player characters what they deserve. Let's go through the steps of planning a quest with the players in mind. 

A quest can be developed from any point in the equation--you can start with a beginning or an ending or a middle or even just a loose idea. Personally, I tend to operate best starting with a loose idea and filling in the details from there, so my examples in this guide will follow that pattern, but know that you can start wherever you're inspired to start from. For the sake of this guide, we'll use as an example this loose idea: the player characters need to transport a religious figure from one city to another safely despite dangerous roads and threats against the religious figure. 

Since the idea already gives us a good idea of what the middle of the quest will be, let's start there. It's helpful to think about all the things that the player characters need to do in order to complete the quest. They'll need to get contracted in the first place, make contact with the religious figure, leave the settlement they're in, safely travel to the destination settlement (with lots of opportunities for ambushes, wild animal attacks, conversations with the religious figure and their entourage, and other excitement), and get the religious figure to where they want to go. 

We can then further choose details to fill in this outline: the head of the religious figure's church personally requested that this quest be carried out in order to spread the religious figure's specific style of wisdom; the religious figure's teachings are divisive and have kept other adventuring parties from agreeing to do the quest; the religious figure is treating a lackey poorly when the party arrives to meet them; the party receives judgmental looks from the townsfolk as they leave the settlement; there is an ambush by religious extremists on the road; the religious figure continues to treat their associates poorly as the journey continues; and some of the religious figure's entourage deserts once they arrive at the destination settlement. These details add complications and colorful elements to a basic outline that will increase the players' enjoyment of the quest as they play it. That's the main goal during the middle of a quest: giving the story ups and downs and details so that it's memorable and interesting.

We started with the loose idea of moving a religious figure from one city to another, and in two simple steps, we already have a fairly solid questline. You may be saying to yourself, "That sounds like pretty much everything. If the middle covers so much, why break the introduction and resolution into two more parts?" This is a good point, and the answer is that introductions and resolutions are especially delicate to handle. Let's get into those and how to handle these more intricate elements of quests. 

The beginning of a quest is delicate because you need to pique the interest of the player characters and the players so that they agree to take on the quest in the first place. This is a tabletop game, after all--you could be doing literally anything, so signing on to a quest means ignoring everything else, and that might take some convincing. There are a few tactics which are tried and true in this regard. A noteworthy payment often gets interest high, though I would argue that a big reward can ring a bit hollow on its own. You might offer advancement in a larger questline if you have one to work with, or try to come up with something that directly appeals to a player or player character (perhaps something related to a player's individual interests, or information on a lost loved one or a lead on a missing heirloom for a player character). You can also make the apparent difficulty of the quest a factor--a big payment for a seemingly easy job is a draw from players and player characters, while a small payment for a seemingly difficult job would give many players and player characters pause. Finding the hook that fits your quest best takes some thought. 

In the example of transporting the religious figure, I would opt for a combination of hook factors. For starters, it's going to be clear from the start that this religious figure is divisive if not outright unpleasant, and that means that some narrative weight will be bringing the players dramatic tension. To make up for that, I would offer a fairly sizable reward for completing the quest. To that end, I would promise a fair amount of funds as well as some manner of magical item. At the same time, I always try to keep individual players in mind as I GM, and I know that my usual group of players would all enjoy a chance to engage with religious hypocrites, so the nastiness of the religious figure can be turned into a positive rather than a negative. Obviously, this wouldn't work for every party, but I'll also say that I came up with the loose outline for this example quest based on what my usual players would enjoy. That said, we now have the promise of payment down. If we add some other details--the higher-up religious leader seeming to want to be temporarily rid of the religious figure the party is transporting, a promise that the destination settlement actually wants the religious figure there, and an assurance that the roads are clear and safe (making it an easier job, even though that won't really be true)--then we've got a pretty clear picture of how to start this quest. 

With the beginning planned, the ending is generally shaped already. We know what the quest's reward is supposed to be, and we know what happens when the religious figure arrives at the destination settlement--many of the religious figure's people desert, and the temple in the destination city pays in gold and a magic item. But this is not a very satisfying ending, and that's where the delicate nature of resolutions come in; in fact, this is why I say "resolution" rather than "ending." We need to give the players and player characters some kind of closure on this quest, and treasure is never closure. To give real closure, we'll need to factor in details that come up during the quest--how the player characters interact with the religious figure and what the players want the outcome of it all to be. But those elements of closure will need to be improvised when the time comes; we can't be sure of what will happen until it happens. However, we can make some educated guesses and plan accordingly. 

In the example of the religious figure, the ending will really hinge on the world surrounding the religious figure. The players will want to know what happens to the religious figure and with the people around them. As I noted above, the religious figure will be characterized as fairly unpleasant, and players love to see "bad" people get some kind of comeuppance, so we'll want to have some kind of downfall moment for the religious figure. Perhaps they learn that their leader (who paid to send them to the destination settlement) secretly disdains them, which would crush their spirit. A similar outcome might result from being abandoned by some or all of their entourage on arrival at the destination city. We might even employ a crafty move as the GM and have these crushing moments lead the religious figure to ask the party for validation, giving the player characters the opportunity to voice their disapproval. But the point is not just to punish the religious figure; we also want to suggest that they have a reckoning moment because of it. Maybe the religious figure becomes humble and starts their religious study over anew, and maybe they only have the seeds of doubt in themselves planted (this is an especially good option in a larger campaign where the religious figure can reappear later with real change). But in either case, the party has had some role in creating change in the direction they think is best, and that is more closure than treasure will ever be. 

Planning a quest is easy. Planning a quest that reaches your players on a fundamental level is a lot harder. That's why I stress the importance of trying to create quests with the players and player characters in mind. Once you're comfortable doing so, you can start to plan differently. I like to plan quests broadly with only minimal details (like you find in the guide above) and fill in new details as the party reaches that point in the story. This allows me to use momentum and callbacks from previous quests to enrich planned but unlaunched quests. A perfect example arose during my most recent campaign:

In my Of Gods and Dragons campaign, I took three experienced D&D players, gave them level 12 characters, and threw them into conflict with a mass of dragons and deities with no real indication of what the campaign as a whole was meant to look like; they only knew that they were to speak with Boccob, chief deity, and resolve a problem that affected all of existence. (I mention that these were advanced players because this kind of campaign premise would be a chaotic mess for beginner or even intermediate roleplayers--I was careful in administering such an ambitious idea.) Pretty quickly, the party aligned themselves with the charismatic outsider silver dragon, whose main argument was that balance should be restored because free will was impaired without it. The party decided that there was power in numbers, and they set about gathering the metallic dragons to create an alliance to restore free will, which of course proved more complicated than originally planned. 

How does this align with how I plan quests? Well, I wanted a freeform campaign with the feeling of a sandbox. I didn't determine that there was a proper order for anything, and any given god or dragon could hypothetically have been ignored, and the party still could have resolved the problem with Boccob. What I did instead was come up with a loose quest for each dragon and deity based on their personality and situation, and completing that quest would mean having that figure as an ally in the overall campaign. 

As it played out, speaking to each of the metallic dragons fell into a sort of pattern. Each of the metallic dragons had some problem that kept them divided and therefore weaker--the gold dragon was very polarized in thinking and had a hard time working together, the bronze dragon was too wrapped up in ordinary life to pay attention to larger affairs, the copper dragon had only had powers for a few days and was reeling from the sudden life change, and the silver dragon was so focused on being an outsider that she was afraid to even try working with the others. This basically meant that the party had to play therapist to the metallic dragons, trying to coax cooperation out of wildly powerful beings who were mired in their own affairs. So when the party finally got to the brass dragon, they were expecting another therapy session. 

To be honest, another therapy session was what I had planned. The brass dragon was debilitated by a depression that had lasted centuries. I thought it would be interesting to have the player characters figure out what was depressing her and help her to climb out of that pit. But as the session drew near, I started to realized that the quests were starting to feel very similar and that a depressive episode that lasted for hundreds of years (on an exceptionally resilient person, too) didn't make sense in the way that the other metallic dragons' isolations made sense. I did what made sense: I called an audible. 

I kept the basics the same. The brass dragon had been depressed for more than two centuries. The reason for it was losing her husband, who did not share her immortality as a dragon. But there was no amount of talking her through her grief that would help. To make that work, I decided that something else was at play--a curse. None other than the blue dragon, a devilish charmer with sadistic tendencies, had placed the curse on the brass dragon as the initial depression had been setting in centuries ago, and it had gone unnoticed for all that time. I had the brass dragon throw out a few suspicious remarks about a strange man clad in a blue suit who had appeared all that time ago, which set the party to investigating, and soon, they were on the trail of lifting the curse and setting the brass dragon back to her proper self. This change spiced up the campaign, kept the feel of the quests consistent while adding something new, and reminded the players that it wasn't all just therapy--there were chromatic dragons out there plotting the downfall of everything the party and their allies held dear. That is to say, I got to keep my loose quest idea, adjust some details to better serve that moment in the campaign, and gain some forward momentum at a critical time. To accomplish this, I kept my quest formula (meet the dragon, figure out what they need to overcome, and help them, gaining resolution and an ally), making small changes to increase detail and engagement in the process.

The quest is perhaps the most basic unit of a tabletop game. Someone requests help, the party helps, and there's resolution. A campaign is not a quest--it's several or even many quests put together. I think that for a long time, I had lost sight of quests in favor of campaigns; that's probably why there are so many campaign-related resources on this site, and I'm only now after a decade writing about quests. But quests are vital. A house built of broken lumber is hardly a house, and a campaign made of uninspiring and tedious quests is a poor excuse for a campaign. So when you plan for your games, try to keep the basics in mind: plan broadly at first, consider details that will appeal to the party and the players, and aim for resolution beyond treasure. From there, you can start to expand your skills to add twists and turns in the story that even you could not have seen coming when the quests and campaign were just ideas. But always remember that quests should be fun--that is, after all, the point of gaming.

That's all for now. Coming soon: a pirate D&D one-shot, how to modify D&D for a western setting, and a detective D&D one-shot. Until next time, happy gaming!

An Argument for Open-Ended Stories

For the years I have run this site, I have long argued for open-ended writing from GMs. I've argued that it prevents us from railroading, one of the cardinal sins of tabletop games. I've argued why it makes modules better than the traditional closed writing we see in that world. I've addressed how to keep going when players derail what you had hoped would happen--I regard it as inevitable and think we should be prepared. But here, I want to come at this from a different angle. Today, I want to address how an open-ended story provides something that all veteran GMs will recognize as important: open-ended stories are the perfect and sometimes only response to the natural chaos of players and characters. 

This is broadly true of all tabletop games, but let's use D&D as a simple example. In D&D, characters get alignments. If even one out of a whole party of adventurers has "chaotic" in their alignment, you will be likely to have to deal with some really surprising behavior. If multiple characters are chaotic, this effect compounds. And even if you have a party of all lawful characters, that doesn't mean that the players won't make an occasional choice that isn't pretty chaotic. In other ttrpgs, though we don't always quantify alignment, the same principle is true: players and their characters are going to make some unpredictable choices, and we need to be able to deal with that as GMs. 

Keeping stories open-ended is an easy solution to this. You can't derail a plan that doesn't exist, and your players won't be able to throw off your plans if you don't have plans. Already, I'm sure that some readers are alarmed at me casually mentioning not having plans. What I mean is less radical than that. I do prepare for sessions, but I don't write out any events. I only develop characters. 

What I mean by this is pretty simple, actually. At the beginning of a campaign and as we play, I generate NPCs. I work hard to develop realistic personalities, motivations, and relationships for these NPCs. Then, when the player's actions affect these NPCs, I know from their personalities how they would react and behave. This takes very little time or effort because I have worked to know these characters well enough to know how they think and feel. I can then easily improvise how those NPCs behave and carry on a scene with the players. 

This is not to say that the NPCs are just along for the ride. They have big agendas and take meaningful actions like the player characters do. In my most recent campaign, Of Gods and Dragons, the main NPCs were gods and dragons, all at least level 30, and their impact on the world was huge, for good and for bad. But I never sat down and decided "the red dragon accomplishes this goal while the god of the elves fails to accomplish this other goal." I might decide that "the red dragon tries to accomplish this goal while the god of the elves tries to accomplish this other goal," but I let the players decide the actual fate of things. That gives them agency, which most all players enjoy (if not all players), and it also makes the story about them. But that's not my focus here. Today, my focus is on why this method is important. And to do that, I want to tell a few stories about chaotic players and the games they played in. 

When I first started DMing, I was a college freshman with more ambition than skill. I also lacked a fundamental understanding of how the collaborative nature of tabletop games worked, and so I was guilty of a fair amount of railroading. I remember one of the games I was running had a player who was intensely curious about everything I described. He would interrogate every NPC and pore over every vaguely noteworthy object in the world. I should have taken this as a compliment--my player was fascinated by my world and wanted to connect to it. But I foolishly grew impatient and summoned up a mean little gnomish wizard NPC to threaten the group with death if they didn't get going on a questline soon. I cringe to think of it now, and I wish I could apologize to that player for my stupidity. 

What I didn't see at the time was that my player was deviating only mildly from what I expected. I wanted him to follow the plot I was laying down, and he was, but I wanted it done efficiently. It was a very rookie mistake to make. This may not sound very chaotic, and it honestly wasn't; his other actions tended towards chaos, like randomly deciding to seek the god of death as a level 1 character. But either way, I saw something that deviated from what I expected, and I punished it. This is the opposite of how it should be done, and I'm ashamed to have messed it up so badly. 

Shortly thereafter, I ran a campaign I describe here often. I had a long list of assassination contracts drawn up with the big twist at the end to be that one of the last contracts was the questgiver, and the final contracts would eliminate the royal family of the city. My players began to chafe under the questgiver's violent goals, and they turned against her about 10% of the way through the campaign. Instead, the party split upon finding the twist, and the game turned into a civil war in which the guard organization they were a part of either defended the royals or turned against them. 

By this point, I had learned not to railroad, but I also hadn't learned to anticipate player actions very well. So when the party split, I was totally confounded about how to proceed. I ended up just refereeing the civil war, which resolved in a tense battle between the party members and their allies. But the shock to my system was all I needed: I realized I couldn't assume much of anything about the players, and I resolved to spend the rest of my tabletop career writing more open-ended adventures that allowed my players to actually have freedom of choice. 

I will acknowledge that this isn't a "more freedom equals better experience" situation. For a while after the civil war campaign, I was a little too far the other direction. I ran campaigns designed in part by my players where I never guided my players away from anything they seemed interested in for a few years, one set in a lush and varied forest and another in a Wild West setting. I look back on both campaigns with general satisfaction but some disappointment. In the forest campaign, I was running four main quests at the same time--one for each player. In the Wild West setting, I was running a very loose antics campaign for my silliest friends. In both campaigns, I let my players wander to their hearts' content, but I never thought to keep the pace going as the DM. I learned from that mistake moving forward. 

Most recently, as mentioned above, I ran the Of Gods and Dragons campaign. I consider this campaign the high point of my work as a GM. I credit much of that success to finding just the right group of players and to finally getting the balance right as far as open-ended writing. The truth is, I've been GMing since I was eighteen; I'm thirty-six now, and that means half my life has been spent doing this. Whenever I have written events that occur, the result has been disappointing. My players and I always seem to feel that something has been lost, perhaps their agency, perhaps some of the fun, perhaps both. If I give only a world to explore, things are aimless. But if I script characters to populate the world and let the players fill in the events with their actions, things seem to go exceedingly well. 

So I suppose in the end that by an open-ended story, I don't just mean that some details are not filled in, but also that the players must be given the ability to fill in what the GM does not. And most players enjoy filling those details in, so the opportunity to do so is very important. I think that if there is a true challenge that defined my experience in growing as a GM, it's been finding the right balance of how much to ask the players to contribute. At first, I didn't see the importance of it. Then, I underestimated it. Then, I overestimated it. It was only with the striking the balance that things felt truly right. 

How do you strike the balance to create open-ended stories that suit your style? I suggest trying the character-driven model I described above--having detailed characters' intentions be the driving force that meets your player characters, not events that were decided in advance--and seeing what works and doesn't. It will take some practice and calibration to get just right. But there's also a chance that that method just doesn't suit your personal style, in which case you should think about the following:

• What can you do to offer part of a story--a beginning--to your players?
• How can you influence the world aside from directly controlling the world around the players? Can you use characters or worldbuilding to influence the players?
• What can you do, without deciding anything for the players, to advance a story?

Thinking about these things will get you going in the right direction. Remember: the ultimate goal is to give your players a good time, and that can mean learning to do things in a new way. I like to remind myself that there are several players at the table who will benefit from and enjoy playing an open-ended game, and rising to that challenge serves more than my own enjoyment. Besides, the satisfaction I have after managing to do something difficult that benefits my players (my friends) is greater than what I would experience if I just lazily manipulated events to tell my own story instead of my players'. 

So in the end, an open-ended story is something that benefits your players immensely. I would argue that an underwhelming story idea that is open-ended enough to really let the players tell a part of the story themselves is usually a bigger hit than a beautiful tale narrated to players who aren't really doing much. It's all about finding the way you can provide the open-ended story that fits your style. And I believe that since keeping the players' experiences in mind in this way can be very simple, any GM can do it if they work at it. 

I'll say from my own experiences as a player, when I'm given the ability to have real control of my character and be a part of the story we're telling as a group, that's when I'm having the best time. I've tried to reflect on that as a GM--how could I give my favorite experiences as a player to my own players? That's really the heart of what send me on the journey I described above, and I hope your own journey serves you well too. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: an expansion to the Paladin class, a guide to the planes, and the role of setting in tabletop games. Until next time, happy gaming!

Reflections on the Campaign of a Lifetime

A few days ago, I DMed the finale session for Of Gods and Dragons, my most recent campaign. It came three months after finishing three months of epilogues for all three player characters (Brokk, Aurora, and Lethanin), which themselves came after a year of playing. It had all begun with me loredumping about the fabric of reality and the barrier between the gods and everyone else, and my players stuck with me and changed my world in every way imaginable. It was, without exception, the most rewarding experience I've ever had with tabletop games, and I want to reflect on the things that went well to (1) better understand how to replicate that success in the future and (2) pass on that success to readers. So let's get started with how Of Gods and Dragons ended up such a successful campaign. 

One thing I think was crucial was my selection of players. What you need and want from a player is an important thing in gaming, and I made my choices carefully. I picked my two closest friends who have been playing D&D with me for nearly a decade now; I also picked my wife, a long-time gamer who I trusted to pick up our roleplaying style. Taken together, I had my favorite people, who all also happened to be veteran tabletop game players who knew me and my style well. The result was haunting--I threw some roleplaying prompts at my players, and they were immediately working in game. I found the balance I was looking for.

I want to drill down on this balance. Part of it was mechanical. Brokk could handle any combat challenge well. Aurora could do anything with magic she could imagine. Lethanin could address any abstract problem with ease. All of them could speak with people well (depending on the person). Brokk was reserved but bold; Aurora was outspoken and wild; Lethanin was quiet and unpredictable. Brokk connected to people through quiet action. Aurora related to people with big energy and passion. Lethanin connected to people through observation and understanding. As a group, there was very little they could not do, and this was by design. I know Brokk's player to prefer quiet, simple action. I know Aurora's player--my wife--to tend towards big gestures and bigger energy. I know Lethanin's player to stand back and speak when certain. This has always been channeled by the characters I've seen them play. I wanted to give them the advantage of a cohesive team, and it seems to have worked. 

For years, I've been developing a new style of prep notes. Rather than script a few actions, I determine what the people involved want, usually going into what these NPCs are like to better understand their motives. In moments of improvisation, this has served me well in the past. But I wanted to expand this and run a whole campaign with this model. So I developed my main NPCs--my gods and especially my dragons--as much as I could and began the campaign with "all of these people want different things." Some of them wanted to cause chaos and destruction, others wanted to expand their power, and some wanted to defend reality from incursions by the gods. So with notes on what each dragon and god felt about the situation, I started the campaign. 

It worked. The beginning was a little rocky and will need refined, but I think in this case, jumping right to the action wasn't a bad thing. But it would be foolish to look at the campaign and resolve that a rocky beginning discounts a campaign that otherwise worked smoothly from start to finish. When the party met Jarvia or Niela or Hriskin, I had notes on how those dragons thought and behaved and what obstacles faced them, and the scenes were easy. I don't necessarily think that doing notes this way is the solution for everybody, but I do think that finding the method that feels natural to you is always going to be valuable. 

Another big element of the success of this campaign is that I did not try it as a beginner. I could not have managed this campaign as a beginner. My campaigns before were either set in a city or in a sandbox, and just setting a party loose on my whole world was something I had never done (and was nervous about). But years of running games and years of writing homebrew material for this site paid off, and I was able to make my world seem rich and varied. It was an especial surprise that as the player characters visited cities to improve them, I was able to offer details that made them all distinct from one another. This is something I couldn't have done as a beginner, and I'm glad I tried it now. 

Another thing that worked because I have experience is relying so much on one style of play. There was occasional combat (reminding the party of their power or killing another dragon) and occasional hijinks (little silly moments along the way), but the bulk of this campaign was roleplaying and storytelling. Aurora told the tale of her transformation from willing Dalton to Fae dragon; Brokk told the story of his leaving behind a dark past for a soft future; Lethanin told the tale of a man who refused to become anything but what he wanted. Together, they told the story of a group of strangers-become-friends who save the world and assume power to improve it. The heart of this campaign was the choices the players made to define their characters and the world, and without their consent and skill and my experience with the roleplaying/storytelling style, it could have been a disaster. 

Perhaps my favorite element of the campaign is also one that will vex me as a DM moving forward. In the course of the campaign, the party and other dragons brought poverty-alleviating measures and new opportunities to cities across my world. Over time, this increased the quality of life considerably. Out of love and moral duty, my players spent dozens of hours in epilogues improving my world, and it was magical to see. My troubled industrial city became a thriving metropolis. My port city plagues by crime became a booming trade town. Aurora's health potions spread far and wide at cheap prices, making average health considerably higher. Evanoch was no longer a place where struggle was an assumed part of life--it was a place where life was easy and comfortable. 

And that's what will vex me. My favorite things to pose as enemies in tabletop games are negative societal forces: greed, apathy, fascism. With a world as good and pure as the players left it, it will deeply pain me to insert one of these things into the beautiful world they've made. So I've come to a decision. 

If I am able to come up with an idea that serves the world my players made without tarnishing it, I will return to Evanoch. But my players gave me the campaign of a lifetime, and I want to leave it in the perfect state they left it for me, at least for now. We'll call this a hiatus, likely with some dabbling in non-DMing and other systems. For now, I couldn't be happier with this campaign on every level. I hope that all of you can one day experience the same satisfaction.

[Edit: Months later, I revisted this idea upon learning one of my players didn't regard this as his favorite tabletop experience.]

That's all for now. Coming soon: an argument for open-ended stories, an expansion to the Paladin class, and a guide to the planes. Until next time, happy gaming!

Of Gods and Dragons Finale + Epilogue

There was no proper "last time" for this session. In lengthy epilogues, Brokk, Aurora, and Lethanin worked in their own ways to improve the world and build a legacy. Brokk spread wellbeing, built up Ringsdale, and became a steward of life and death as a Cleric of Nerull. Aurora took in apprentices, spread health through her alchemy company, and built relationships that inspired and held together the dragons. Lethanin created opportunities for art to flourish, improved the city of Torga, and maintained the mystique of the dragons. This is a massive simplification--these three characters changed Evanoch in almost every way while inviting the other dragons and the world around them to do the same. It was only after a full century of their fighting to make the world a better place that fate brought them forcefully together again. 

Niela was responsible for bringing everyone together. A group of concerned citizens had approached her in her position as Councilwoman of Mishara who was publicly known as a dragon; they wanted to know precisely what the agenda of the dragons was. To them, the dragons seemed benevolent and consistently reliable and even heroic, but no one had ever questioned what the dragons meant to do. They wanted assurances, and so Niela called everyone together for the purpose of naming a purpose. It was agreed that the next day, they would all convene at Niela and Brokk's observatory home and have a potluck dinner, a small party to celebrate their gains over the last century and communicate what they stood for. 

The party convened the following evening. Aurora and Lethanin arrived to find Brokk and Niela feverishly hosting all the dragons but Xavier, and they slipped into the party easily. While the dragons had very occasionally come together for emergencies over the last hundred years, and communication between dragons was common, the gathering still felt of some special importance that they didn't ordinarily feel when meeting. It was partly the genuineness of the celebration and partly the lightness of the task at hand, but everyone was quite as ease. 

Xavier arrived. Their face was anxious, unsure of how they would be perceived at their first full dragon meeting. But Aurora rushed them and wrapped them in a hug, and all the dragons Xavier had financed cried out in joy to see them, and the rest offered warm smiles and welcomes them in. All the dragons ate and drank--Lethanin doted over people eating his fish cakes and roasted mushrooms while eavesdropping on conversations to offer a witty remark and skitter away, Aurora brought out elaborate puzzle boxes for Sempra and Viren and laid out on the serving table a grand display of chateau briand and brussels sprouts, and Brokk anxiously swept from person trying to be a warm host while frequently slipping away to help Niela. 

Aurora found Hriskin alone at a window, staring sadly out into the night sky. Aurora approached Hriskin and thanked her for her part in Aurora's choice to become a Paladin. Aurora had had struggles and doubts about her life before meeting the dragons, she had enjoyed being a Paladin, even with only her Paladin powers to help her. Hriskin noted that she could see Aurora's continuing uncertainty and reminded her that a Paladin's powers come from a promise, and a promise is about future behavior, not the past; so long as she did right in the future, that was all that could be asked. They shared a hug, and Hriskin admitted that it was the anniversary of her late husband's death, hence her sadness, but Aurora had reminded her of the point of it all--to keep fighting. 

Meanwhile, Lethanin and Aurix talked about the technological measure and manipulation of sound. The conversation was very chaotic, as Aurix was entirely discussing technology and Lethanin was entirely discussing sound, and it grew more chaotic still when Wing caught ear of their conversation and began entirely discussing how to invent something which would create the effects Aurix was describing. At the same time, Brokk and Jarvia chatted a bit before Brokk went to check on Niela again, prompting her to ask if he wanted to switch jobs and take care of cooking while she hosted. Brokk eagerly agreed to do so, and he headed into the kitchen while Niela went out to greet the guests. Aurora went into the kitchen to check on a side dish and began a game of elf-orc chess with Brokk, and they played between steps on their dishes. 

It was then that Niela called everyone together. It was time, she said, to open the discussion about their purpose that night. It was a simple task. What did they want? How did they mean to get it? What could people expect? At the very least, what rules do the dragons live by?

There was a brief moment's silence before Brokk spoke. "To help," he said simply. The dragons were for a moment again silent. Brokk had summed it up, and no one disagreed. But after a time, Aurora said, "Whatever you do to the least of these, you do unto yourself." She spoke passionately and at length the need for dragons to be courageous in the face of corruption and responsible in the care they are obligated to take. Xavier said they meant to help people, mostly through "making life easier." Niela smiled slightly and said she meant to make a gentler world with more opportunity. Rupert held out a full wine glass as though in a toast and cried, "To be a shelter in the storm," before throwing back the glass to applause. The last few dragons stewed in silence for a while before Lethanin said people can be worried about dragon power, but they also know to be worried about government power, and Lethanin knew from working in government that it was awful--to him, giving others the opportunity to do good and let them be self-sufficient is the best thing. Hriskin said her goal was to protect those in need and spread mercy. 

At the mention of mercy, Aurora was struck. She was surrounded by the most powerful people in the world who had shaped it at their will. They had destroyed Pelor's Mercy because they felt it appropriate. Was that too much power? She began to spiral, and the others tried to reason with her. Brokk argued that minimizing collateral was often the point in the situations that they handled as dragons--questions of what's best are common and made without massive doubt regularly, and this should be no different. Aurora's mind went further into the darkness. Rupert stood and placed a hand on Aurora's shoulder. "Thank you for making me turn my life around and do good." Xavier stood and placed a hand on Aurora's other shoulder. "Thank you for saving me." Hriskin was already on her way to stand behind Aurora. "Thank you for giving me my life back." Aurora seemed more aware, less despondent, and the dragons pushed further. Brokk rattled off the achievements of the dragons--the cities transformed, the lives saved and changed, the dangers long forgotten. Niela reminded everyone that the dragons are trusted--her election had proven that, and she believed every person they helped made a difference. She was, as Councilwoman, making an effort to show that everyone will be cared for. Jarvia chimed in her, stating that her addition would be making the world a better place regardless of identity. All eyes turned to Wing, who looked quietly down at her hands. "To make a better world for the future," she said quietly. 

Before anyone could question Wing's change in demeanor, Brokk, Aurora, and Lethanin were suddenly teleported away to Boccob's realm, standing right before the massive deity. Plucked from their peaceful dinner with friends and returned to the being who had made them feel as though all of existence was meaningless, they were both defeated and enraged. Aurora cast a spell to strengthen Brokk, who pounded futilely away at Boccob's toe with his staggering might while Lethanin just chuckle resignedly and shook his head, casting the same strengthening spell on his drink. Overcome, Brokk smashed at Boccob's toe for fifteen minutes before giving up and asking what they were there for. Boccob began by acknowledging their right to be upset and then let them know they would be moving into a museum where they could be cared for and, if they allowed it, observed. Aurora cursed Boccob out fiercely and at length, and Brokk and Lethanin voiced sharp disappointment in Boccob; none answered the deity's question and requested to be returned to the party. Boccob apologized again and granted them this. Back at the observatory, where Boccob had returned the group at the same time they'd taken them, Niela quickly ascertained that something was amiss was Brokk and asked what was the matter; Brokk revealed to the group that Boccob had summoned them and would be moving them to a museum. The dragons were shocked and amused to hear that Brokk had attacked Boccob.

A moment later, Wing began to softly cry. When questioned, she said the time had come for a difficult conversation. She had she had seen a century of the dragons improving the world. They had fought hard and created new ideas and led the way into a better future--and all the while, she had quietly run her guild meetings. The truth, Wing said, is that she'd lost her passion for heroics a long time ago. With her children avenged by Thomas's death, she mostly wanted to live a quiet life. And that meant the loss of potential that a more active dragon could add. She wanted to retire from dragonhood, turning her title over to someone new and letting herself live a simple life and one day return to her children. 

Brokk was immediately entirely supportive. He believed that Wing knew herself best and that what she was saying made sense; she had his blessing, and he would miss her presence every day (she teased him that she had a few hundred years of bugging him left). Aurora was effusively affectionate, talking about Wing's role in the events of a century before and how warmly she felt about the bronze dragon and thanking Wing for her help. The other dragons offered thanks and warm wishes, telling stories of Wing's cleverness, willingness to help, and kindness. 

Wing said she'd come prepared with a candidate which the dragons would vote on to join them; she'd done her best to find an unobjectionable and valuable opportunity. As Wing summoned the candidate, Brokk assured her that they had full faith in Wing's ability to pick someone. Wing's spell completed, and before them stood a humble halfling woman in long white robes with long light brown hair. She smiled and greeted everyone, introducing herself as Daisy. Wing said that Daisy would never sing her own praises, but she had taken down a corrupt healthcare system in Vestry, opened free clinics across the world, and negotiated an end to several possible conflicts. The dragons, upon seeing how perfect a candidate Daisy was (and knowing that Daisy is my player character from my last campaign as a player), gave Daisy something of a hard time, playing on the fact that she didn't fully know they were all dragons or why she was there. Eventually, Brokk called the room to focus and let Daisy ask questions; she quickly ascertained that they were dragons and they meant to offer her dragonhood, something she had further questions about (what was their goal? their rules? what powers are granted?). In the end, Daisy asked for time to think about what she'd learned, which the group happily granted, returning to the party.

Brokk noticed that Xavier, the fellow halfling of the group, had taken to questioning Daisy about halfling customs and neighborhoods, so Brokk led Xavier away from her towards another group to spare Daisy. Daisy was simply watching the dragons with a cautious gaze. Meanwhile, Niela got Jarvia and sent her to Daisy, sitting down across from her. The two sat and talked very quietly for several minutes, Daisy growing calmer with each sentence. Eventually, the two rose, both smiling, and headed to the fireplace, where Aurora was tending the hearth. Lethanin, meanwhile, magicallly floated around the room launching comments and quips at conversations in passing. 

At this point, Niela was alerted to someone in the vicinity of a dragon stone. She quickly conveyed to the group that a swamp in the south of Evanoch had a dragon stone which someone was approaching. Brokk deferred to Xavier, as it was more or less the green dragon's territory, but Xavier said the group's decision would be their decision. The group debated methods of dealing with the figure, and Aurix eventually suggested just bringing him somewhere else and questioning him. This prompted some argument, but eventually, Brokk took action and opened a portal to the swamp and stepped through.

Brokk appeared just behind a man dressed in tattered rags, not enough clothes for the cold weather. He struggled along, his feet sinking deeply into the muck with each step, colossal effort to keep going. Brokk glanced behind them and saw miles of tracked muck. He made a sound, and the man before him clumsily spun to face him. Brokk asked his purpose there, and the man, who said him name was Amund, said he had read a book that said control over life and death lay in the stone, and his daughter had died, and he had to bring her back. The two spoke for a while before Brokk guided Amund back to Talon Gorge, half a continent away, to the man's daughter's grave. It was modest but made with love, though the headstone was flimsy and planted wrong, and when Brokk tried to gauge her lifeline, he found it to be a perfect circle--she had died in her proper time. Brokk cast Suggestion, explained the system of lifelines and that hers was complete, and commanded Amund to forgive himself and carry his daughter Bridget with him. Amund was still troubled, but he said he could now try to carry on, even if he felt awful for feeling that way. He asked for privacy, and Brokk returned to the observatory. 

While Brokk was gone, Jarvia invited Lethanin to play a duet together. Lethanin led with a muted but growing and hopeful melody on the violin, which Jarvia matched with a squirmy but constant drum line. Lethanin pushed on with a playful yet inspirational melody and magically dimming the lights in the room, and Jarvia shifted her sporadic beat to a more mathematical and structured one, sparks flying from her drum strikes. Finally, Lethanin headed into the end of the song with a massive crescendo, bringing the lights back on full force at once, with Jarvia playing faster and faster and then suddenly stopping with Lethanin's playing. The dragons cheered just as Brokk returned. 

Brokk explained that Amund had wanted to bring his dead daughter back to life, but that she had died at the right time, and nothing could really be done. Brokk had persuaded Amund to move on, but had otherwise left the man to pick up the pieces. Some of the dragons voiced concern over this--they should help Amund, argued Hriskin and Rupert and Wing and Aurora. Brokk suggested a new headstone, and the others suggested ways to help Amund and his family recover. 

Brokk suggested that he, Lethanin, Aurora, Niela, and Wing show Daisy the telescope. The group came along, and Niela showed off a few constellations before Brokk got to his real business. He had seen a cautiousness in the way Daisy looked them--had she seen trouble? Daisy chuckled at the fact it was obvious on her and admitted that she'd been a criminal for the first few decades of her life. Jarvia had seen it on her too and spoken to her about it. She was ashamed of what she'd done, and it was the reason she had become a Cleric of Ehlonna and done so much good--she wanted to try to make up for her mistakes. The group asked her, point blank, if she wanted to join the dragons. Hesitantly, Daisy cited fears of corruption, which were cut off by all five dragons present. "Join the club," said Lethanin, a reminder that all of them had grappled with their power. Brokk told Daisy that if it was an issue, they would interview Daisy's wife Candace as another dragon so that they would be together forever, his hand gripping Niela's. This overjoyed Daisy, but before she could say anything, Niela rushed them back to the main house with an announcement.

New Dalton had properly fallen, she said. The people of New Dalton who remained had issued a declaration of independence from the government and were establishing small townships within city limits that ran themselves. The news sparked celebration from all, and it seemed that the last bastion of hatred and fascism in Evanoch had basically fallen. On the wave of good news, Daisy was asked once more if she wanted to become a dragon. She consented, asking to be made the white dragon in honor of her holy colors with her wife Candace becoming the plant dragon as an alchemist. After some consideration, all was agreed to, and Daisy became the new white dragon to replace Wing. 

And that's where the campaign ends. We began with three kidnappings: Thomas took Brokk, Aurora, and Lethanin in a desperate gamble to seize power from the gods. We end with something very different: the maintenance of a new order the party created. The bulk of this campaign was bringing together disunited dragons and eliminating those who could never cooperate. The epilogues were about leveraging that power to make the world a better place and establishing the new order. It is fitting that the finale be the maintenance of that order, the ushering out of the old and in of the new to keep the dragons effective. I never thought going into this campaign that it would end with my party's characters being the caretakers of my world. 

I will say very little out of game about this session. It was simple to prepare for: a list of things for the dragons to discuss and quickly act on. We actually only got to about five of eight of my ideas but had to eliminate some for time. It had been about six months between sessions where we were all together (three months of epilogues, three months of scheduling issues), and we were a little rusty, so I did try to throw some things at each player that is more of less their specialty. And most of all, I threw Daisy at the group because I wanted them to have a counterpoint to Amund: Daisy is unsure is she wants power but is unambiguously good, Amund is sure he wants power but is ambiguous in his morality. I expected them to mess with Daisy a bit and tease me as a DM. They begged her to become a dragon, and they went out of their way to include her wife in that, and I find that incredibly sweet. I love my players. 

I have become somewhat famous (or infamous, perhaps) for my end-of-campaign epilogues. I take every character who mattered at all and spell out what happens to them after the campaign. See also my epilogue for my Mystery Campaign for how this would normally work. But of course, this is not a normal campaign, and a normal epilogue won't work. The gods and dragons who make up the bulk of this story will likely still be doing their things in another hundred or three hundred or eight hundred years. As such, I'm not spelling out an ending for them. I'm describing the next chapters of their lives and their legacies. That said, let's do the epilogue for Of Gods and Dragons. 

The City of Talon Gorge: The council continued good governance, aided by Jarvia's input about freedoms and rights as well as Aurora's health potions. As the world around it flourished, the largely trade city of Talon Gorge flourished with it. The city became a bastion of comfortable, affordable living where anyone could be themselves. Its council, one of the oldest existing councils, became a model for governments adopting new council organizations.

ABC the Fae: ABC watched over Aurora, tickled by the Fae dragon's chaotic approach to good. She watched too for the next wild hero who might carry the sparking light of the Fae. She did not pick one right away, content with Aurora's conduct, and besides--a Fae can be picky.

Rhodes, aka Fharlanghn: The road never ends for him. The party's time on the roads was but a few short steps in the scheme of things, and most of all, he was just glad you all got where you were going. After all, you walked the right path. 

Lenix, formerly Xelin, the refugee from Brokk's backstory: Lenix took up with captain Xurk's crew and became a trusted member of the team before replacing Xurk when the orc grew too old for the seas. For well over fifty years, Lenix has saved refugees from bad situations and spread his poetry at ports across the world. 

Lethanin's Cultural Exchange program: The frequency of encountering multicultural art across Evanoch made more people willing to engage with it over time, and soon even traditionalist cultures were teaching the arts of other cultures widely. Eventually, a journalist tried to learn who began this program, but they reported that they couldn't find anyone who knew anything.

Wing: Wing transmuted her dragonhood back into the stone and resumed her normal life with a new gusto. She set out to create new opportunities for unheard of inventors to enter their community and began a funding project for inventions that could create public good. This kicked off a long period in which Vestry inventors competed to help the public as much as possible, leading to advances that spread across Evanoch. Wing spent her final years talking to and advising her dragon friends, creating a legacy at the inventor's guild, and volunteering with children. 

The Refugees of Pelor's Mercy: After being helped to Vestry, many stayed and brought a willingness to work hard for their community to the city. Others moved on, some to smaller cities nearby, and others to Talon Gorge and Ringsdale, to start over where things were not so full. These people carried with them a new lease on life, having believed they would live out their days laboring for an evil regime and die at the hands of their guards. These people became community organizers, healers, volunteers in the fields of their expertise. They never forgot what the dragons did for them.

The City of Finiel: Finiel had always been stratified--the very wealthy patronized the very poor artists and refugees who made up the city. Rupert created a support system that allowed these artists and refugees to live decent lives, which allowed them to thrive. As Evanoch prospered as a whole, and the arts became a focus, Finiel became an ever-more crucial city in the global conversation.

The Linilles, the pro-elf group from Brokk's epilogue: After being shamed and destroyed by Brokk and the cultural progress of Evanoch at large and Mishara in particular, the Linille family returned to politics with a different intention. Ylin Linille, a now-accomplished astronomer, donated a large amount of money to the creation of the Linille Foundation, a public education program meant to encourage cooperation and acceptance. 

Obad-Hai: Obad-Hai exists in the balance of neutrality, and helping the party get to Boccob shattered that neutrality. Obad-Hai became ever more insular, rarely speaking to other gods and becoming hyper-fixated on the maintenance of Evanoch. Nature across Evanoch flourished as a result, bringing record crop yields as well as safer weather conditions. Meteorologists, puzzled, could not explain the perfect conditions for such natural flourishing.

Aurora's Adventuring Parties (Rita et al): Those who were taken in as adventuring allies by Aurora and witnessed her terrifying might or dragonhood either spent several jobs paranoid they were being had or chalked it all up to bad alcohol. 

Aurix: Aurix was initially crestfallen that Wing was retiring and withdrew for a few weeks, but ultimately came out of hiding and spent more time than usual with Wing and the other dragons. In particular, Aurix tried to spend time with Daisy to see if Aurix could be friends with his friend's replacement. They found they had a shared passion for principled good and a shared policy on never dabbling in wrong, and Aurix was soon back to his old self, only more cheerful and social than ever. 

Heather and Tricia, Aurora's mother and her partner: Heather constantly described herself as living the perfect life. She built a successful business, found a family, saw her business become massive and help countless people, and had the time to enjoy early retirement. She and Tricia set a goal to visit every town of over a hundred people before they die (drunkenly at first, then seriously after sobering up) and pursued the task in earnest, treating travel as a profession and offering input on the business whenever needed. Above all, she made time whenever Aurora asked (or when Heather suspected Aurora needed time but wasn't asking), and she made being a mom her every first choice. 

Ollie, aka Olidammara: Ollie saw the rift sealed and investigated a few other last-ditch efforts to throw a wrench in the works. Finding none, she set to speaking with the other gods about possibilities, but found that each and every god was furious with her for making and botching first contact, and all with no agenda. This prompted a massive supernatural debate that ended with Ollie more or less ostracized from the god community, and her only goal became gaining an ally. 

Councilman Tru'usk: On his 129th birthday, Councilman Tru'usk died midsentence at a council meeting. Before the meeting was adjourned, the day was declared Tru'usk Day. His house was transformed into a museum, and it was discovered in the process that he had three separate hidden spaces and a massive chest of adventuring gear hidden away. 

The City of Underhar: After a century of Aurora's efforts with her friend David, Underhar had made progress, changing election laws and starting to lean away from aristocracy. The stubbornly insular city continued to resist influences that would make the city more progressive until eventually Underhar's government crumbled and was replaced by a council, and slow progress was able to be made even if an opposing party of traditionalists remained.

Larson, Lethanin's father: Larson suffered something of a late midlife crisis and went on a long solo adventure into the depths of the Liggen Forest. When he returned, he was grizzled, famished, and exhausted, but there was a light in his eyes. He retired to bed while recovering and devoted all of his time to spending as much time with his wife, his sons, and his granddaughter as they would let him. His affection was at first clumsy, but he grew into it.

Xavier: Xavier decided that the best thing they could do in their position was figure out a new way to make money that wasn't exploitative so that it could be poured into more social programs. They came up with the idea of a city-wide lottery where a percentage was kept by the organizer, organized a weekly drawing, and began saving the money. Finally, after asking for volunteers, Xavier sent Hriskin to Kruush to establish as much of a system as the people there wanted and Daisy and Candace to New Dalton to work with the new government (in disguise, of course). Xavier never seemed to run out of steam.

The Complete Works of Montgomery Ward: This very cool not silly place became the most popular tavern of all time ever in any tabletop game ever because it's cool and not silly. Thank you.

Cori, aka Corellon Larethian: The elven goddess saw that the rift had been sealed and knew that a new age had begun. She, with her partner and allies, had quietly delivered mortals to Boccob, and that demonstrated that she (and her partner and allies) had power over the other deities. Cori chose to rest, as there was no reason to use her power yet.

Tra, Brokk's grandson: As Tra grew, the seriousness that marked him as a child was tempered; when he paid attention to you, he was serious, but he was otherwise joyful and playful. He did well in school but said he enjoyed spiritual and mundane matters more--the walk to find a good offering, and the smell of the smoke when it's burned. Brokk found that even as a young man, Tra was a pillar in his community, always known as someone who would offer help without question.

The City of Curagon: Only Xavier could have made an organized solution work in a city that despised organization, but it did work. Curagon became the best place to recover from illness, the best place to experience true nature, and the best place to see real community, and outcroppings around the city popped up as the first real immigration to "the halfling city" properly began. Curagon, at the center of the continent on a universally connected map, thrived in trade, and the city prospered as it never had.

Grigor, the stable lad: After enough sad-looking boys bought mare piss and later came back as happy-looking girls, Grigor started a mare piss stand selling "Sad Boy Happy Girl Juice."

Rupert: After finding his footing as a caretaker for the needy, Rupert was finally jarred loose of his hyper-focus on his system of Finiel shelters. After long turning Xavier down for help, Rupert came to the halfling with an ambitious plan to place a comprehensive shelter in every city in Evanoch, New Dalton included. Xavier happily agreed, and Rupert openly flew as a dragon from shelter construction site to shelter construction site, reminding the public that he was working on the project. It was a massive success, and want became a rare thing in Evanoch's biggest cities.

Tasselman, the academic who proposed the world was round, and Nelly, the academic opposed to having necromancy taught in school: After establishing an alternative academy, Tasselman pursued the outer reaches of knowledge, compiling the largest collection of information on the planes, the fabric of reality, forbidden deities, and forbidden arts. Meanwhile, Nelly fastidiously created a complete and comprehensive approach to established knowledge which became the standard model for many new academies. Together, Lethanin's schools contained essentially all obtainable knowledge.

Yondalla: Denied by the party before meeting Boccob and denied by Aurora when choosing a patron, Yondalla retreated to lick her wounds and reconsider. By all accounts, what the dragons had done was good, and her opposition to it before she fully understood it troubled her. She ultimately decided to be slow to action and reevaluate some of her fellow deities. 

Sempra, Brokk's sister Tanarukk: For a long time, she persisted in her life by the seaside in her cottage. It was all she needs, she said. She began suddenly to pay visits to Brokk, and to take long walks. She was hopeful, and she had ideas about the future. A week later, she was found dead in her bed. She had tripped and broken a few bones in her leg, it seemed, and was nearly a thousand years old, but had managed to drag herself to a place of rest. Her face was peaceful, and on the table in the room she was found in was a small sheet of paper that said "I love them. And I forgive them." 

The City of Ringsdale: Formerly a rugged industrial city, Brokk and Xavier's efforts turned it into a livable place for anyone. The newly installed council of Ringsdale made use of the fact they had a progressive supermajority and passed a number of resolutions to make Ringsdale far less stratified by income and create new public works projects, and these carried the city well into the future. (In a hundred years, the idea that Ringsdale was first peopled by factories will be ridiculous.)

Phil, Aurora's competitor who spread word of poison: Phil was ashamed by what he learned from Aurora--he hadn't meant to hurt anyone so much as have a chance. But it was clear that he had failed, so he packed up his family and moved to Ringsdale to enlist in the new vocational program and try his hand at something he was less prone to hurt someone with.

Vick, aka Vecna: Lethanin stymied Vecna's efforts to learn the Song, and Vecna turned right back to planning. Vecna was in fact planning on launching an offensive on the barrier around when the dragon party happened, but they couldn't make it happen due to lack of support from the other gods as well as the strength of Wee Jas's magic protection of the barrier. Vecna's new goal became to find some valuable and persuadable young person to work with.

Dodira, Lethanin's mother: For a long time, Dodira was more concerned with baby Bobby and then baby Pexi than she was with Lethanin. When they did have their times together, they both made effort and acknowledged implicitly that it was done somewhat blindly--that they would never really be on the same page, and that was okay. Dodira become an old woman gracefully and with acceptance, and this eases the rough edges of their relationship as she accepted herself and Lethanin more completely.

Mishara: Culturally free of the narcissism that restrained it and politically free from a government that restrained it, Mishara blossomed. With councilpeople like Niela, who were committed, intelligent, and practical, a great deal of social ills specific to Mishara were cured in a short matter of time. At first, change was hard given the long lifetimes and memories of elves, but the obvious benefits of the new policies spoke for themselves.

Viren and Prue, Brokk's son and daughter-in-law: Having risen to the top of the historical research and spiritual fields before retiring for time with his family, Viren stirred once again and began the practice of traditional craft, largely armorsmithing and especially toolmaking. Unsurprisingly, he rose to the top of this craft too. In his winter years, he would present Brokk with a duplicate of his old battleaxe but with the blade blunted. "For the Peacebringer," Viren said. Prue always chased the success of her husband, finding it in a law career that helped define humanoid rights.

Hriskin: Hriskin made herself a vessel of good. If Xavier had money and a plan and needed someone to make it all happen? Hriskin was there. If someone heard a stray rumor about something dangerous to look into? Hriskin was there. If a dragon, friend, or stranger needed something? She was there. In time, she learned to step back and care for herself again, but she always heard the call to do more, no matter how many times she had done right that day.

David, Aurora's friend: David had overseen nearly one hundred years fighting for civil rights in Underhar. He requested, upon the change in voting rights success, exactly one week's vacation before insisting on returning to begin the next project: a change in leadership to a council. That was accomplished in the space of a decade, and David's team continued to fight, sometimes for property rights for the poor and sometimes for the freedom of temples to exist freely. Inspired by Aurora, he fought on.

Craig, the mind-controlled man in Chance in Aurora's epilogue: After coming to his senses, he checked himself in at a free clinic, complaining of hallucinations and delusions. It was a few weeks before new of the mind control devices reached Craig, much to his relief. He moved to a small island where he was the only person.

Wee Jas: The Queen Witch took her victory back home and, after a winning bacchanalia, began work on protections for the barrier (for the inevitable assaults from other deities, including those she suspected would come rom Vecna). After great consideration, she concluded that what had happened with the barrier was a freak occurrence that she couldn't learn anything from. Then, she declared another bacchanalia to mark the occasion.

Harriet and Priscilla, the Daltoner refugee smugglers Lethanin worked with: Working with Lethanin and Lethanin-approved people changed their business model entirely. They went from offering uncomfortable passage hidden in a cart for hours to a nearby town to offering effortless passage walking a few steps to anywhere in the glamorous presence of a dragon. With Lethanin's help, their small operation became a trusted way to get to safety for many, allowing them to help more people.

The City of Kruush: The only major city to truly resist industrialization looked much the same as it did after the finale, as it looked after the campaign, as it looked before. There were more places to get help instead of asking your neighbors if one needed it. No one moved into Kruush with something that disrespected the way of life there. It was Kruush as it always was, but life was easier and safer and a little more connected, and that was the dream that orcs have always dreamed.

Aurora's artworks: Aurora's art, left on street corners with simple arrangements, spawned a copycat. Someone, somewhere, was leaving paintings the same way. It was generally in the northwest, but then another style of painting popped up in the southwest--another copycat, and then another. It was all deeply personal, confessional, painful work--like Aurora's. It was everywhere, and it was all beautiful. 

Magoth: Magoth was spurned by Brokk and toyed with by Lethanin. He disavowed himself of the happenings of the surface for a century. He went into a chamber of pure flame and screamed in a thousand different tongues. He then entered what cosmic historians would later call the "great not doing anything for a while" period.

The Pear Pit: After Hannah's passing, ownership of the bar was simply willed "to Drumchapel." In the coming weeks, the people of town took on responsibilities, some of them cleaning, some of them unloading barrels, some of them serving. Before long, it was a fully functional tavern that kept the bookcases and reading spaces from Hannah's day. In time, patio spaces and a firepit were added outside to accommodate the growth of Drumchapel, and it was the undeniable center of town.

Gruumsh: Gruumsh's return to the god's realm was an arrival of a champion. Nearly every god was listening to every conversation the gods had with Brokk, Lethanin, and Aurora--they knew that it was ultimately Gruumsh who won the mortals over. Of all the gods, Gruumsh could claim domain over people, and he had counseled for the restriction of his own power. It was the assuming of a throne, and one taken mercifully. 

Devin, Aurora's apprentice: Devin continued with their idea to use magic to develop self-sustaining systems to help people--magically powered mills, well pumps, and more. Devin's main struggle was getting their products in front of people. Aurora made a connection, and Xavier financed Devin's work, allowing the apprentice to help thousands of people with their efforts.

The City of Vestry: Vestry, before the dragon council, was the glittering gem of the world scientifically and politically. After the dragon council, Vestry was no long special amongst cities as it had been, only another progressive city with efforts to help the needy. Efforts were made to fix that. Poverty was virtually eliminated. Food surplus was achieved enough to to allow for new trade. Within decades, Vestry was once again at the forefront of progress, even if it now had competition.

Andi, Aurora's apprentice: Andi continued with her abstract approach to adventuring. She made use of glyphs in creative ways to solve problems, collect treasure, defeat monsters, and save captives. Eventually, she saved the right person and became something of a celebrity mercenary who could single-handedly save a noble from a dungeon. She used this to great success, donating her payments after covering expenses.

Daisy: Daisy took to being a dragon as though meant to. She kept managing and working at the free clinics and moonlighted as a negotiator, but she was off helping people in need whenever she could. She forged strong relationships with the other dragons, especially Hriskin (whose merciful approach was shared), Xavier (whose dissident halfling past was shared), and Niela (whose practicality and warmth were shared). Daisy and her wife Candace (the newly inducted Plant dragon) adventure together, bringing gentle justice to people.

Moira, aka Moradin: Content that Brokk and the others were at the reins of the world, Moradin turned her eyes to her people. For so many years, dwarves had lost their way, thinking her a strict bearded man when she was a gentle-hearted woman. She tried again to reach them, breathing life into her community. The dwarves remembered the spirit of the old ways. They embraced change and brought new government, and Moira was pleased.

Zamira, Captain of the Edmund Fitzgerald: Zamira sailed on, a few legal shipping vessels and a few privateer ships. Business, especially with the Mortar and Pestle shipments on board, was good. For once, things were simple--Zamira just had to keep the crews going, and the money would come in. One check-in with Aurora, Zamira asked what it was all about. "Good," replied Aurora. The next morning, Zamira offered a ship to have the dragons command at their will, maintained by her. This ship was dubbed "the Dragon of the Sea." Zamira spent the rest of her days captaining ships and contributing money to Aurora's campaigns for good.

Jarvia: No longer afraid to assert herself in the public space of Talon Gorge, Jarvia took on a new life. She performed in taverns and on street corners. She talked politics in coffee houses and sometimes had to be asked to keep her voice down. She attended city council meetings religiously. She had come to consider herself a guardian of her community, but not through tooth and claw. She was using her eyes and ears and make sure they had what they needed, and no one was more vigilant than Jarvia.

Davenport, the man causing a scene in the Pear Pit: After being set right by Brokk, Davenport reformed. He set out to prove himself as a member of town, lending a hand here and being polite there. He was one of the key figures at the new Pear Pit, willing to work for a while to help others. Though given many opportunities to show a sour face, Davenport never did, either inspired by or terrified of Brokk.

The City of Torga: With the help of Lethanin and Xavier, Torga became a more livable place. There were comfortable public spaces, affordable food and housing, and public support for representative government, which would come to pass shortly after the finale's events. While Torga lacked the glamor of other cities, it had the most prestigious learning centers in the world, it was the shipping center of the world, and it had one of the best qualities of life in the known world. Torga did not give up on going further, but they are also proud of the achievement of getting this far.

Sempra, Brokk's daughter and Helena, her partner: Sempra and Helena refused to settle down. To them, a name on a road sign was a place to make better. The tail of Sempra's youth and her middle years--over a century--were spent this way. Sempra and Helena became professionals--what was wrong with a town? What was the best solution? How do we make that happen? And where's the next town? In their late years, they slowed, then finally retired--Helena did puzzles, and Sempra read cheesy romance novels.

Ehlonna: The goddess of protection of the forest took in Aurora, trusting her to do good in her name. What Ehlonna found was the most puzzling thing--a startlingly mortal person turned solidly immortal whose heart knew better than her mind that love was all that mattered. For many years, Ehlonna watched Aurora closely, trying to predict the unpredictable. In time, she came to simply trust Aurora, and that trust has yet to be misplaced.

The City of New Dalton: Much was said about the destruction of New Dalton and of the smoke that still rose from it. Comparatively less was said about how those fires were for cooking food and about the people still living there. In the revolution, the hungry, frustrated soldiers did not side with the government. The old order was ousted, a new council was established of those who fought to help New Daltoners, and the process of rebuilding was begun. New Dalton was in rubble, but New Daltoners saw that as easy access to bricks to build something new.

Boblanin (Bobby) and Pexedrine (Pexi), Lethanin's brother and niece: Boblanin explained his new life plan to Lethanin--make enough money to be comfortable with his "serious" career while having an artist's life in his free time, playing drums as often as he is able. Bobby managed to get into a band called "Hexagon Paradise" which succeeded after a while, and he ended up able to quit and focus on the band. Pexi accompanied her father and Lethanin as much as possible during their jam sessions and performances, trying to learn about becoming a bard. At 19, Pexi was inducted into a bard's college in Finiel and soon after graduated as a "multi-instrumentalist," going on to have an incredible career as a magical soloist. 

Estyl, the woman who wrote to Brokk about Nastoran: Estyl went to Mishara guards for some help with what Brokk had admitted to but found wartime law was different, and Brokk could not be prosecuted. She returned to her home and stewed before drinking six draughts of sleeping potion. She was found with no note eight days later.

Boccob: True to his word, Boccob conveyed Izar to a museum, where it is installed. He cautioned the museum curator that the people of the world were eager to avoid being spoken to and suggested just leaving them alone. Boccob ultimately decided that he allowed the feeling that he was less talented than his mother and felt inadequate to prevent him from doing more for Izar. He brooded over this feeling but neglected to do anything meaningful about it, and it bothered him for the rest of his life. 

Drumchapel: To the people of Drumchapel before immigration started, the city did not so much change as grow. The docks grew longer, and the houses stretched further, and the Pear Pit was busier, but it hadn't lost its small town charm. People still walked in the pear groves and breathed the sea air like they always did, and when Brokk found himself back there again, it was always strange that a world that had changed so much still had a place like Drumchapel that was always the same. 

Niela: Niela turning her life to good and parenting changed everything about her. She was, at her children and grandchildren's bidding as much as her own desire, at every major and minor occasion with them (almost always with Brokk, too). She became less the watcher of life and more the sentinel of it--through government, she was making Mishara better; through her actions as a dragon, she was making Evanoch better; and through her actions as a parent, she was making her family's lives better. Where before, Niela had been alone, she now shared everything she loved. She had been set free, and it was clear from her eyes (to Brokk, anyway) that Niela was grateful every day for the change.

Lethanin: Lethanin never allowed himself to be the stuff of legends. To the masses, he was the strange gnome who one time played a strange song. To the people he worked through, he was a shifting, mysterious figure who refused to be anything at all. To his family, he was sometimes smoke and mirrors, nothing substantial until suddenly he was for a moment. To the dragons, he was the one who made it all work even if none of them understood how or why. Lethanin defied definition because he simply didn't want to be defined. That never changed. He never became the face of the dragons or a world famous musician although he could have been either. Instead, Lethanin became the person who saw a moment of despair and had, in fact, been there all along with exactly what was needed. And so when the dragons were confounded, Lethanin would step in. Whenever something defied definition, so too did Lethanin, and he would decide it. 

Lethanin established small institutions, often counter-culture in nature--coffee houses, art shops, music venues. He fostered community in these places, introduced conversations about what's good and how to do it. Torga's culture took a sharp turn. Everywhere, there were rebellious people being aggressively good and kind. It caught on elsewhere once it was established in Torga. It wasn't an organizational preaching of good--it was people doing good. The Sound Dragon's legacy is still in formation, people only knowing vague rumors.

Brokk: Brokk never set out to be a legend. He came to the dragons as a man who was simply along for the ride who wanted to do it right, and he never deviated from that. No matter how much responsibility he had or what the stakes were, Brokk kept focused on what was right. He was, to most people, just a friendly person who had helped them (or not even that much sometimes). To those who knew him, he was a towering figure who always seemed to know what was right and was willing to fight for it. Brokk was unconcerned with what people thought of him because he knew that his actions were the only thing that really mattered. 

Brokk had found a life that worked for him, and he stuck with it. Part of his time was spent tending life and death, part of his time was with his family, and part was spent tending to dragon issues. This was adjusted here and there, especially as his family continued to grow. Great-great-great-great-grandchildren would be a part of Brokk and Niela's lives, and they got to become the mythical ancestors who never age (and never run out of treats). Brokk maintained a presence in Ringsdale to keep it going in the right direction and built a shrine to Nerull in a quiet location for private observances. The Red Dragon's legacy today is a respectful fear--people know not to cross the Red Dragon, but they also know they can call on him for help.

Aurora: Aurora delighted in becoming a legend. She could see what reality was and what it wasn't and how to make one the other, and she could do it with a whim's effort. And yet somehow, her great strength was never her magical ability. It was her ability to unlock something in people, to bring out greatness in them. Aurora never tired of talking about why we must do our very best, she never gave up on anyone or anything, and she always did what she said she would. The legacy Aurora created for herself will be long remembered as benevolent.

Aurora will not tire. The adventures will continue. The work across Evanoch will continue. The time with Jarvia and family will continue. Aurora remembers on some level what it is to live an empty life, and she is unwilling to less than enjoy her full life. Aurora had the confidence to become the face of the dragons, armed with the knowledge that what she believed to be right truly was right. She had armed herself with glyphs and an understanding of how to use them, and she could bend the world to her will; the fact that she only ever used this in the name of doing good is a marker of who she truly is. The Pastel Dragon, as she is called, is known as a wildly passionate defender of what is right, and just as wrongdoers flee from her, those in need flock to her.

Beyond:

After years of progress, Aurora calls all the dragons together for a summit. At the summit, it's admitted that major cities--the Big Ten in the global conversation--have fundamentally no serious problems. Poverty and homelessness barely exist. Crime has been falling for decades. The big cities are a good place to live. Someone asks what they do, and without hesitation, Aurora raises a hand. "Well, the smaller cities need help." Brokk smiles. "My daughter's been working on that!" The group begins discussing plans, a way to bring easy, prosperous life to even more people. Evanoch is in good hands.

What Does Perfect GMing Look Like?

When I finish GMing a session, I get a really buzzy energy and lots of self-doubt. When I game with close friends who I trust, I will often reach out and ask for feedback. "Did this moment seem forced?" "Was I harsh with such-and-such other player?" "How did you as a player experience this moment?" It's motivated partly out of doubt--I feel unsure of whether my performance was what I wanted it to be--and partly out of a bigger drive: the drive to be perfect. 

Many experts including psychologists and sociologists as well as astute observers have often claimed that the pursuit of perfect is unhealthy. Let's cut this off early: pursuing perfection as a realistic goal is in fact unhealthy. It will drive you crazy and make your performance worse. Let's consider something more realistic and less unhealthy: considering how to improve so that we get better (also known as approaching perfection). So in this article, when I talk about considering what would be perfect, we have to start from the foundation that I mean intellectually analyzing a hypothetical ideal to learn from it without trying to be perfect. 

So what does perfect GMing look like? Two distinct truths become evident immediately. One is that we all have different opinions on what would be ideal. Someone could be the most talented combat GM in the world and still be non-ideal for hardcore roleplayers (and vice versa). But at the same time, a lot of the opinions we would hear would have a lot of overlap--there would be certain things that most (if not virtually all) people would generally agree upon. 

I have aligned three sets of three general nebulae around which most players experience their games, and working to improve at these collected nine skills can help any GM in their pursuit of improvement. The first set of three skills are simple to consider: they are the game's past, present, and future. I'm talking about worldbuilding, improvisation, and planning, respectively. Then, the second set is about the kind of direction and information the GM gives in-game: clarity of description, characterization of NPCs, and allowance of freedom for a player to define their character. Lastly, any GM should be at least partially well-versed in all three playstyles common to tabletop games: strategy and combat, antics and silliness, and storytelling and roleplaying. Let's get into each individually. 

Worldbuilding is the past, the stuff that makes the world what it was leading up to this moment. Any seasoned GM can tell you that any part of your world can radically change at a moment's notice if a player affects it, and that basically makes all worldbuilding a description of the past, the world before the players. Worldbuilding doesn't have to take some typical progression of overall map to politics guides to social customs, either. I highly recommend just writing about the things you find fun and interesting (after all, the point is to have fun). I wrote guides to tattoo art and popular literature before I actually described what cultural values define my homebrew groups because I love tattoos and reading, and they were much easier to write and pick up momentum with than an all-encompassing definition of humanity. I think that people forget that there are not key details you have to describe as a GM to do it well. You can offer a really colorful, specific description of something that doesn't really matter to the game, and it will still stand out as good worldbuilding, a memorable moment, and something impressive about your creativity. I had a player who's played with me for years who was stunned when I had a unique funeral ritual on hand when it came up in-game--I'm weirdly obsessed with death and hang out in cemeteries, so it was fun for me to write the funeral details. That's what your worldbuilding should be--you making your world more colorful and interesting while having fun doing it. 

Then comes the present: improvisation. Improv is a skill that people spend their lives working at, but we don't need to become a renowned improviser so much as have the vital spirit of improv alive while GMing. Improv is fundamentally based on a simple idea called "yes, and": whatever is said in the scene must be accepted as true (yes), and there must be a back-and-forth where every time someone speaks, they are adding to the scene or at least moving it along (and). Some GMs have a more "no, but" style, which is to say, "You the player cannot reach as far as you said you want to, but I can offer you this compromise." That's fine too; I prefer to give the players as much agency as possible, so I try to avoid "no, buts" unless I have to, but it's really to your taste. What matters is that you can recognize what the players are doing and respond directly to it. This means no ignoring what the players want, do, or say because it isn't aligned with your story or worldbuilding. It also means trying to stay one step ahead of your players, who are also trying to get one step ahead of you. The biggest skill in improv is to keep going no matter what. Things will get wild and potentially out of control--this is a TTRPG we're talking about, after all. You have to see the madness, accept it, and add your own direction. (This is not to say you can't challenge your players, which you should do. The acceptance of what the players say does not mean agreeing with it or letting it work if it wouldn't. The acceptance of what the players say is about recognizing that they are telling you how they want to have fun, and you should listen before you respond.)

Finally, the future: planning. Planning is a radically different beast depending on the game you're playing. I ran a mystery campaign that required some more planning than I typically do (which is not very much, admittedly, but still--a mystery is a pretty tightly-wound story). I also ran a very silly antics campaign that not only did I never prepare for, but which I always got inebriated before GMing to increase how dumb everything became. Over the years, I've realized that planning is not a monolith. How you plan for one session is not true of every other session, and knowing how much to plan and in what way is the hardest skill involved here. I have some generalizations to offer. Combat campaigns need prep. Calibrating encounters, devising interesting strategic situations, generating enemies that are interesting--these are things that take time and effort. I personally don't enjoy these kinds of prep, and I'll openly admit that when I try to improvise combat, it usually doesn't feel as vivid as some other GMs' combat. It's something that I need to work on. Antics campaigns don't need much prep, usually just a premise to get the group started. I once had an antics group spend two full hours reenacting the movie Shrek because I asked them to stage a community theater play. If you're running a stoytelling or roleplaying campaign, I'm going to suggest using the form of notes I use these days for those games, a sort of profile on the major NPCs who will factor into the campaign and what they want and why. It's relatively spare, but since I wanted an organically evolving campaign led by the players, all I really had to do was have a good idea of the NPCs, and everything else came naturally. I will say that outright planning sessions for storytelling is one of the biggest mistakes you can make as a GM. It ends in railroading or worse every time. It will burn out your players, who you will be dragging along on a story only you will be connected to. Don't do it. Plan the people meticulously, but let the players decide what the story is.

This leads us to the description triad, starting with clarity. I place this first because it is absolutely crucial. When a GM speaks, everything they say becomes reality, and what is not defined is filled in by the imaginations of your players. This often means that at a table of a GM and four players, there are five different imaginings of the same image or place or action. I've had moments as both as player and a GM where vagueness, non-specificity, or misspeaking caused a serious and sometimes lasting misunderstanding about things. In the real world, if I say something incorrectly, you can see in reality what my mistake is, and we can fix the misunderstanding easily. But everything in the entirety of existence is in the GM's head, so they have to work extra hard to be clear. I suggest visualizing what you're describing it and going about 3 times more into detail than you think you do. The worst that happens is that you provide a very clear description of something at the cost of a few extra moments; the worst that can happen if you give only a few broad strokes is that the players are lost without any idea what you're talking about. It's easy to get caught up and try to move quickly, but it's worth taking the time and effort to slow down and really say what you mean to say. 

The second in the description triad is characterization. Whether you realize it or not, sentient characters (usually humanoid and vocal but not always) are the heart and soul of the story. Yes, an epic tale might cover a massive conflict that involves thousands, but the actual stakes of the story is the safety of the people. Yes, a story might involve colossal governing bodies, but the impact is on the people in those groups and who the groups affect. And having a bland, faceless NPC be the object of pain for the sake of the story is hollow and meaningless. To get the players to care about how the story goes, you have to get them to care about the people in the story (including negative caring, also known as hatred). Give every NPC something unique or strange or distinctive. They're allowed to be similar to each other and even share traits or backgrounds, but adding details to a character is generally what makes them feel real. There are some highlights for developing NPCs and groups of NPCs to refer to, but the basics boil down to trying to make NPCs more interesting by giving them more to say than whatever advances the plot. This is where my advice to develop NPCs but not storylines above can doubly help: good characterization assists in both realms. 

The final note in description is freedom. Players of tabletop games have been sat down and told what tabletop games are: they are a way to imagine literally anything together and make choices that affect this shared reality. To see this, to see absolute creative freedom before them, and be restricted by GM choices--it's a horrible disappointment at best and a reason to leave tabletop games forever at worst. If players are not free to act as they like, there is little reason for them to be there at all. It is vital, and I do mean it is necessary to the success of your game, that you grant meaningful freedom when appropriate. This does not have to be given in a radical way. Sometimes freedom looks like letting the players do non-story-related things without interruption. Sometimes freedom is letting your players get away with a crazy idea. Sometimes freedom is simply stepping back as the GM and trying to figure out what your players want so that you can help them get it. But whatever form it takes, freedom must exist in a tabletop game.

This leads us to the final triad, that of style. I want to note here that working at any of these is helpful, and there is no real game which is entirely one style or another. So as I go over these styles, I want you to be thinking about how these complement each other as opposed to work against each other. 

One style of GMing focus is combat. Many tabletop games exist where the whole emphasis is combat, and many others are combat-focused uses of broader games. The big picture with these games is that combat is meant to be frequent, strategic, and epic. Set pieces are common here, and the stories told usually frame the combat around a quest of some sort. While I'm no expert at GMing in this style myself (I have a lot to learn about the care and precision of it compared to my freewheeling style), I can recognize these as the strengths of the combat style. The core skill here is using creativity applied to pragmatic problems (how do I make this fight balanced and interesting? how can I create an exciting second phase of the fight? how can the geography impact things?), and mastering the combat style of GMing requires a great deal of consideration of the players' abilities and what they would find exciting. 

Another style of GMing focus is hijinks. The players and the GM are not sitting down to take a storyline seriously or master combat so much as they are there to joke around and hang out with their friends. That description is by no means judgmental--the point of tabletop games is to have fun, and an antics game makes a play directly for that fun. Crazy NPCs, inane plans, wild cause and effect--all of the really unpredictable side of tabletop games is most present here. Generally speaking, the GM's job is to play it seriously to the players' shenanigans; the GM doesn't shut down the antics so much as challenge the players to make things even more ridiculous. Mastering the hijinks style means knowing when to match the ridiculousness of your players and when to challenge them with an obstacle that makes them do something even wilder. 

The last style of GMing is storytelling/roleplaying. I have been unabashed about stating my regard for the roleplaying style of tabletop games, and I won't go back on that here now. I do truly believe that this style accomplishes something unique in the world; video games simulate combat exceedingly well, improv comedy exists for laughing with your friends, but what else is like experiencing a shared story in your mind by proxy? Roleplaying styles are generally marked by a focus on a story that the GM and the players tell together. Generally speaking, a roleplaying GM is at their best when they are using well-developed NPCs to interact with the players, who are fundamentally pushing the story along with their actions. That means being good with characterization and freedom from the above triad, and it also means (in my experience) being comfortable not having 100% control of the entire game experience (since some of that has been given to players). 

We can align some of these skills in the triads to understand them more fully. Let's take a look:

Despite the appearance, this is not an alignment chart joke. Rather, we've set our three triads horizontally, and vertically, we have the most related ideas. This is to say that worldbuilding is the first step in running a session (triad 1) and is similar to characterization (worldbuilding applied to characters) and the roleplaying/storytelling style (which I prepare for with worldbuilding and characterization). Or hijinks, which is in triad 3 with the other styles, while being grouped with freedom (which is often most radical in hijinks games) and improvisation (the most important skill with a hijinks game). Or clarity, which is triad 2 with the other overarching ideals our description must look towards and the last row, with combat and planning, the two most pragmatic approaches to running a game, not to mention all three being integral in some campaigns. 

So what does perfect GMing look like? Is it a fulfillment of all nine ideals? Is it mastering the skills required to succeed? Is it crafting a campaign so unflawed that it can't go wrong? No, none of that. Remember up at the top--we're not pursuing perfection. We are simply recognizing that these nine ideals are important parts of tabletop games which we can all benefit from. Because again, these things are relative. If a combat GM presented me with a perfectly clear and perfectly planned session, would I have fun? Not really. I don't enjoy conflict, I crave radical freedom, and it's just not my style. But they could be, in theory, perfect as a GM. Only I didn't have fun, and fun is the point. 

What I'm driving at, reader, is this: your skills as a GM are not some objective measure. You can't take a test and be scored on your performance. What makes you successful or not is whether you, in the moment, can help your players have fun. I think that the nine ideals I outlined can get just about anybody the right ideas to get going in the right direction. With persistence and time, you can become excellent at any of these skills, and you will be able to use that to be a great GM to someone at your table. Hey, maybe your practice has paid off, and you found the right player, and you're the perfect GM for them. 

That would make it all worth it, wouldn't it?

That's all for now. Coming soon: reflections on the campaign of a lifetime, an argument for open-ended stories, and an expansion to the Paladin class. Until next time, happy gaming!