How to Find the Right Group and Stick with It

Tabletop games are one of my very favorite things, if not my favorite things. It's been that way ever since I discovered the game in high school, and today, I have more thoughts and opinion about gaming that I ever knew I would be able to have. (That's probably apparent, given that this is my 196th article on this site.) But that hasn't been a product of simply playing the game for a given amount of time. I've had to carefully consider things at every turn and change how I've played. The following is both a chronicle of how I learned to play and how to to find the right group to play with (and stick with that group). 

As I said, I first played D&D when I was in high school. Though I didn't know it then (because I lacked the experience to know about different DMing styles), my DM was a pretty rules-crunchy gamer who used modules for essentially everything. But I didn't have a frame of reference to know this. All I knew was that pretending to be Algar, my elven monk, was a lot of fun, and I got a big kick out of getting to inhabit him for the adventure. 

Under that DM, I learned how to play according to the book. I memorized most of the 3.5 Players Handbook (and I still can refer to specific page numbers from the book if called upon). I learned about combat, from attack modifiers to attacks of opportunity. I turned Algar into the most effective character I could. But that campaign died and was replaced by an evil campaign. Good-hearted Algar needed to go. I created the evil wizard Loki and experienced all sorts of new things: capturing an abandoned castle, escaping an inevitable, becoming an urban legend. I had come to know and love D&D as a combat simulator. 

But then I graduated high school, and I headed off for college. I couldn't find a game, so I decided to try my hand at DMing. I gathered some friends and started a fairly improv-heavy campaign that was (because of my players' tastes) more about silly antics than combat (though that was still a big part of it--that was what I knew). Before the end of my freshman year, I had taught nearly 50 people to play D&D, and I had run countless hours of highly goofy campaigns. 

Something changed in me then. I don't know what it was, but I think I sensed that tabletop games could be something more. I began to develop a homebrew setting. The document for this setting, which stretched to nearly 30 pages of single-spaced information about the world. Sensing that this world was more serious, I set out to create my first real campaign that would be more than oddball shenanigans. The result was a campaign that lives on in my memory as the point at which my career as a DM truly began. 

In the sprawling campaign I'm describing, I ended up having a total of nine players at various points, all of whom either set out to defend a city's royals from assassins or to assassinate the royals themselves. In the end, the party split pretty much evenly, and the final battle pitted these warring factions against one another. Importantly, this campaign had silly moments, but it was mostly centered around a serious story about power, leadership, and government. This party was the one that allowed me to begin to see the real potential of tabletop games. 

When this campaign ended, I got very ambitious. I was working at a radio station at the time, and I proposed a show which would end up being perhaps the first serious D&D podcast of all time. The show, Listen Check, placed two players from the above campaign and one new player into a city filled with criminals fighting to survive. We ran the show for nearly three years, ending up recording 180 hours of gametime. It remains some of my proudest work as a GM, and I still stand by the work we did those years ago. 

Then I got to play as a player for the first time in over five years. I played as Amund "Zig" Zigor, a troubled cleric. One of the players from the radio show was the DM, and the other two players from the radio show were also players in this campaign (as well as a few other folks). I began to use the game as a way to process my own feelings of guilt and shame. My engagement with the game on this level was a product of the brilliant DMing that my friend provided, and I got to see from the player's perspective what a roleplaying-centric campaign looked like. 

Then I moved across the country. It took some time to meet the right people, but I began to run a smattering of campaigns. There was a brief attempt at a campaign that was ended when every romantic relationship in the party ended, causing us all to go our separate ways. But then I began to run another serious roleplaying campaign: the Eastweald. This involved a whole new group of players, three friends I had met at my first job after moving. Most of the group was new to tabletop games, and no one had played a deep roleplaying campaign before. 

As this campaign wrapped up, I returned to the world of silly campaigns with a group of friends from another job and from my time in college. This campaign, set on the desert island of Ramsey, which was essentially a "Wild West meets fantasy" setting, was a return to my earlier days of DMing. One thing that struck me as I ran this campaign in the wake of the Eastweald campaign was that the difference between a humorous campaign and a serious campaign were much greater than I had realized initially. I hadn't recognized the difference because my changes between styles had taken place over a relatively long period of time (several years), but since I was running the Eastweald and Ramsey at the same time at some points, I really noticed the difference. 

After the Eastweald wrapped up, I began a new campaign with the same exact group of players. This new campaign was based on requests from the players for a mystery, and so the mystery campaign was born. Like the Eastweald, the mystery campaign was a more serious campaign (although certainly with plenty of laughs). But unlike the Eastweald, which had been a mixture of roleplaying, combat, and shenanigans, the mystery campaign was a more pure roleplaying challenge. Readers of that campaign know that only two combats happened in the whole twenty-session campaign, and one of them was a friendly boxing match. It was a big step away from what I had started out as. 

Most recently, I have been running some shenanigans campaigns: one at the school where I teach as a part of D&D Club (12-year-olds love shenanigans) and one with a few of the players from Ramsey and a few new friends (all of whom love shenanigans). Both of these campaigns have required me to return to my origins as a DM, which has admittedly been difficult. I have written before about why giving players the fun they want is the most important part of the game, but I also have to acknowledge that my perspective on the give diverges from this idea; I've also written about how roleplaying is, in my opinion, the height of tabletop games. So it's been a complicated process navigating these ideas. 

But then there is my current foray into being a player: my dear con artist Asp. The game in which Asp plays is run by the player from my campaigns who played Carric (Eastweald) and Beor (mystery campaign), and he has decided to run a pretty serious roleplaying-centric campaign. This is perfect for Asp, who is not exactly a combat titan but does have lots of skills in interacting with people. Getting to be a player again after so long has allowed me to continue to refine my work as a DM. 

I've also managed to play and GM other systems, including but not limited to Don't Rest Your Head, Exalted, Call of Cthulhu, and several others. I highly recommend playing other systems occasionally to see the breadth of possibilities; doing so has allowed me to make changes to my homebrew rules that have really improved player experiences.  

So now that I've given you my history in groups, it's time to address how to find the right group. You'll notice from the above section that I've played in a fair number of groups. My high school group, my early college groups, my early roleplaying campaigns, my recent roleplaying campaigns, and my recent shenanigans campaigns have all been different iterations, even with shared people. I would estimate I've played D&D with over 100 people at this point, counting the public one-shots I've run in gaming stores as well. This is not intended as a brag or a reach for nerd cred--I'm simply saying that I've deliberately gamed with lots of people. And that's the first piece of advice: get out there are try new games, new parties, new game styles, and so on. You won't love all of them, but the only way to find out what you like to to try different things. 

This has a twofold benefit. You will get to know more about your opinions of different games and styles of playing by being in the game in the first place. But you'll also find out who you enjoy playing with. I'll be the first to admit that some of my predictions about what I like and don't like have been wrong. I tried playing with an ultra-serious Adventurer's League group and hated it. Turns out, it's not the seriousness I like, but the focus on roleplaying over combat. I've played games with people I like only to find out that they and I do not mix well in-game, and vice versa, have had a great time playing with people I wasn't a huge fan of. Really, truly, you don't know until you try. 

This was especially the case with my D&D Club games. Keep in mind, I mostly run the game for middle schoolers. I have taught several of the D&D Club kids as students and struggled to enjoy being around them, but found them to be absolute delights at the table. Conversely, I've looked forward to a student's contributions to the game only to discover that they only want to kill everything. On a similar note, a few of my closest friends have been in campaigns I've run, and I've found it exhausting to play with them. Again, you don't know until you give it a chance. 

Another detail that you may notice from this history is the fact that I've stuck with various members of certain groups. This is the benefit of playing with many people in action. When the Ramsey campaign ended, the group more or less fell apart. So later on, when I wanted to start a new campaign, I reached out to the players whose style had most matched mine and invited them to help me build a new party. This allowed me to not have to start from scratch and enjoy gametime with people I already knew I enjoyed playing with. 

This was even more the case with the Eastweald/mystery campaign group. Building a good party is a delicate art, and I am incredibly proud that I hit the mark so well with this group. A moment of bragging: the three players who began and finished these campaigns did not really know each other before I put them in a party together. Last week, I was able to hang out with a member of that party at another member's wedding--that's how close we have become. With a group like this, you hold onto it. I assembled them for the Eastweald campaign, kept them for the mystery campaign, and we have even switched DMs but kept the same group for the campaign where I play Asp. When you find a good group, you latch onto it. 

But how do you go about such a thing? People grow and change and drift apart. It's hard to get everyone on the same page even after years. There are a number of things I recommend. For starters, keep up communication with players and GMs you want to stick with. Tabletop games are incredibly social, and that bond goes a far way. It's also important that you keep the game fresh. The Eastweald and mystery campaigns were extremely different, and the campaign I'm playing in now is also very distinct from either of these. But the good news is this: if a party really works on all levels, everyone involved will want to stick around, so just maintaining a positive game goes a long way towards longevity. 

Another note about keeping a good party together: it used to be that having a player move away from the rest of the group was effectively the end of that player's involvement. But now, with online chat programs being the way they are, it's relatively easy to keep a group together. In both the shenanigans campaign I'm currently running and the roleplaying campaign in which I'm currently playing are entirely online, and we have players in different states in both campaigns. There is a certain magic to being around a table together, but it is often worth sacrificing that in order to keep a good group. 

I also want to call to attention the fact that I never would have realized how much I enjoy the roleplaying aspect of the game if I hadn't branched out. I started as a crunchy combat player--Algar and Loki were built to be interesting and fun presences in combat (though Loki certainly pushed me in the direction of roleplaying, however slightly). This gave me a solid foundation in how the game actually works. I moved to shenanigans and found that some good humor can really improve a game. I tried roleplaying and discovered that I really enjoyed the depth of being a real part of a world, and I saw that same excitement in my players as a GM. I quite literally would not be the gamer I am now if I had stuck to only what I knew to start. 

It's also worth noting that I learned things as both as GM and a player. It is probably no surprise coming from a GM like myself who has written so much in order to make GMing more approachable for beginners and intermediate GMs, but I really stress the importance of trying to run a game at least once. The perspective you will be granted by stepping outside your role as a player will help you to understand so many things that would otherwise seem insignificant. GMing has taught me about storytelling, public speaking, improvising, social connection, and what being a player really means in the scope of the game. I'm a better player for GMing, and a better GM for playing. 

But ultimately, this is about finding and keeping the right group. So what makes the right group? It may not be the things you assume are most important. You want a group that is fun to be around--social interaction should be rewarding and easy. You want a group that agrees with you on how the game should be played. And you want a group that you can depend on--a great group is good, but not if you can't ever get everybody together to play. When you find people who match this, keep them. 

Are other factors important? Sure. Having people agree on the theme of a main quest can matter (though this is something players can negotiate about). Having people who know each other can matter (though they will get to know each other through playing). Having people who know how to play can be nice (though they can learn to play as you go). Your needs for your party will be distinct depending on your group and your campaign. 

The bottom line, though, is this: tabletop games are an experience. That means that in order to understand how you really feel about something, you will have to experience it yourself. A good game is not all roleplaying or all combat or all comedy, but a mixture of them, and you can't determine the right mixture without experimenting a bit first. So if you want to know your style and to get the right group for you, keep trying until something fits just right. You'll be better for having experienced things. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: how to handle in-game romances, what to do when the players think of something you didn't, and what to do when you regret a decision as GM. Until next time, happy gaming!

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Mystery Campaign Session Notes 12: Healing

Last time on the mystery campaign, the party's plans to investigate George Turnbuckle were stymied by a chaos storm, which made Ais and Montana unable to communicate normally. They changed their plans, took advantage of the changes from the storm, and hired a team of healers for their business. This time, the party works to shore up their business and prepares for investigating Turnbuckle. 

The previous session had ended at night at Ais' house, so we picked up in the morning. Beor was the first to rise, and he used his solo time to pray to Ehlonna. Ehlonna did not directly respond to Beor, but did instill him with a sense of accomplishment and peace. Shortly after this, Ais and Montana rose. Ais made coffee, and the group set to planning and discussing the details of their investigation. They addressed the possibilities they would face with looking into Turnbuckle's affairs, decisions for their business, the loose end of the powerful spellcaster involved in the case, and other details. 

After the discussion, the party decided to tend to their business in the morning hours and then speak to Turnbuckle in the afternoon--they felt that this was a more considerate approach which would improve their chances of success with Turnbuckle. So they donned their alter egos' disguises and headed to the site of the business, where Davil was working on the third of four apartment homes, and Nyrill was tending to a visitor after having finished painting the business's main building inside and out. Meanwhile, a group of three people stood nearby, discussing the building. 

The players first addressed Davil. He was working away on the apartments and seemed tired. He said he wasn't as young as he once was, but he still knew how to do the job right. After the party had checked in with Davil, they turned to Nyrill and the visitor. It turned out that the visitor was a dwarf named Peyton Copperminer, the painter that Nyrill had spoken of contracting to paint the vistas in the healing center. Copperminer took some directions from the party, ultimately agreeing to paint a different natural scene in each of the healing center's six rooms as well as a mural for the lobby and an elaborate hanging sign to display outside. 

Having addressed all of their employees, the party turned their attention to the people observing the healing center. As they turned to these people, the new employees of the healing center--Nicole, Josephine, and Grat--approached, and Grat began animatedly calling out to them. From a distance, the party was only able to discern that she was explaining the new healing center to the people, and that she was leading them to the business. 

The party prepared to greet the visitors, including Montana casting "Prestidigitation" on Beor so that his hands radiated natural green energy. This big welcome impressed the visitors, who seemed excited that their neighborhood had gained a few nicer buildings. One of the visitors stepped forward with interest about natural healing. Sunburned halfling Quinn Goodbarrel complained of a broken piece of metal that was lodged in his back; further, he had issues with the gods and did not want divine magic to be involved in healing him. 

Beor called Josephine and Nicole in to observe as he inspected Quinn. Quinn showed him the spot on his back where the broken blade still was. Beor administered a healing potion from the first batch of Ais' multiplied potion, and the results were quick and dramatic: Quinn seemed disoriented for a moment, and then the blade tip, having been pushed by accelerated healing out of his body, clattered to the ground. Quinn was ecstatic, thanking Beor for the solution to his chronic pain and promising to spread the word of the new healing center to anyone he could. 

In the meantime, Ais was training Grat on how to use the liquid multiplier. Grat seemed to learn quickly, not only asking specific questions, but even anticipating things about the invention that Lyssbetonk had not discussed in her descriptions of the device. During the training, Ais became passionate about the machine and accidentally slipped in her character voice as Dr. Miranda (as the players were in disguise this whole time) in her instructions for a moment here and there. Grat sympathetically told Ais that she could tell that Ais, Montana, and Beor were in disguises, and that she didn't want to ruin their plans, but that Ais could drop the act around her if she so chose. Ais was very tentative about all this, but seemed ultimately grateful that Grat was both a good employee and a considerate person. 

Soon afterward, Marietta (the street food restaurant owner who the party asked to expand into their outbuilding) arrived to check out the new site of the restaurant. She was pleasantly surprised by the size and quality of the building; she was only minor alterations would be necessary for her purposes. The party discussed with her the detail of rent for the building and settled on 3 silver pieces per week, which is just a touch more than she pays for her other location. Out-of-game, I thought this price was a little step--you could save money on rent by buying the location outright for only one month's rent charges--but given how much Marietta will be able to make with a more upscale menu and wealthier clientele, the tradeoff seemed fair. 

Having been able to only illustrate the power of the healing potions while tending to Quinn, Beor decided to offer a little more training to Nicole and Josephine. They took in Beor's words carefully, and they indicated that they would be comfortable establishing a routine between the two of them to tend to the business when the party couldn't be there. The training was quick, but the party came away with the sense that their business was almost completely formed; it would just be tending to the final details over the next three days to prepare for opening. 

At this point, the party was gearing up to head to Turnbuckle's tower, having done everything they could at the business for the day. But first, they checked in with Davil one more time, now with an agenda. They had heard from Baldwin Weams, tavernkeeper who kept Hildy and her family fed, that Hildy was a prolific and beautiful writer, not least because it was her only way of communicating. The party asked Davil for access to her writings, specifically journals that might reveal what was happening in her life before the murder. Davil was uncertain at first, wanting to protect the memory of his daughter. But after a bit more discussion, he relented and agreed to a compromise: he would bring the party her most recent journal only. Satisfied that it would be the most helpful of her writings, the party agreed and granted Davil the rest of the day off to spend with him family and gave him a small bonus to provide a nice dinner for the Analeths. 

Out-of-game, this now means that I'm going to write the most recent edition of Hildy's journal. I'm imagining a combination of recording her everyday life, a collection of illustrations and poems, and a few clues/secrets that apply to the campaign. I'll be writing it soon and posting it here so that you can follow along. I'll be using this method to create the journal, and I think it will be a fun changeup to have the players pore over some documents to get their next information. 

The first page (out of ten) in Hildy's journal. 

Just before setting out for Turnbuckle Tower, Beor prayed once more. He asked the Ehlonna bless Davil and his family with a sense of peace and acceptance for Hildy's death. [Out-of-game, Beor's first prayer roll was a 79. I ruled that he got a sense of positivity but nothing major. But this second prayer was also a 79. I wanted something bigger to happen.] Beor suddenly felt himself inside Davil's body as he walked away, and then felt an immense calm and sense of love and peace come over him. He could tell through a sort of dream logic that Davil's family felt the same way. Ehlonna had granted his prayer, then, and wanted Beor to know it. And at this point, we called the session, with a visit to Turnbuckle immediately on the horizon. 

That's all for now. Next time on the mystery campaign, the players will confront George Turnbuckle, try to learn his place in the mystery, and face an unexpected foe. Until next time, happy gaming!

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Mystery Campaign Notes Session 11: More Chaos

Last time on the mystery campaign, the party assembled a device which multiplies liquids with the aim of producing mass quantities of healing potions. They also learned that murder victim Hildy Analeth's employer was seen speaking with a turbanned figure just before her murder. This time, the party works on their business goals and deals with repercussions of the chaos storms that plague the city. Read on for the full details of their adventures. 

The session began in the mid-afternoon; the party intended to go to the tower of George Turnbuckle, Hildy's employer. But on the way, a chaos storm struck, and both Montana and Ais were affected. Montana transformed into a grey macaw, and Ais suddenly began speaking with "Back in my day" at the beginning of every sentence. The party recognized that their ability to successfully question Turnbuckle would be impacted by these chaos effects, and they resolved to change plans and not risk messing up their investigation. 

I want to take a moment to call out this scene. I really wanted my players to speak with Turnbuckle--there's an exciting moment I have planned for the end of this chapter, and I wanted my group to get to experience it. When the chaos effects were chosen, I thought, "These will be fun challenges for the players to deal with." But they didn't go that route. They've become cautious and prudent, and so the chaos storm actively set the story back. It's not what I ideally would have liked, but it is a detail of the setting that I cannot change at this point. If you're the kind of GM who wants their players to always be pursuing the story, you'll want to think carefully about mechanisms like the chaos storms. But I am okay with the campaign stretching longer, and I really enjoyed the effects on roleplaying that were created, so in the end, I am happy to have my players attending to other goals because they're taking the story seriously. 

So instead, the party returned to the site of their business. There, they checked in with Nyrill, who was painting the interior of the building with elegant designs; he also made plans to return to the business with a professional painter who could provide portraits of calming scenes for the business's private rooms. Davil was also making considerable progress on the public housing the party had asked for; he was nearly halfway done with the four housing units when the party checked in. Davil talked a bit about what life was like before the chaos storms, which he said started about 300 years ago, when the town was still growing. 

An idea suddenly struck the party: Montana, as a bird, was still able to use his voice as though he hadn't transformed at all. The party decided to have Montana perform an impromptu musical show on a busy street corner in an effort to raise some funds. Montana ended up playing three songs, each thematically related to being a bird, such as a blues song about being stuck in a cage. As has become the norm for Montana, the audience loved his performances and the people of Yamseth tossed coins to the party for their show. The party made a considerable amount of coins from this show, and in the end, Montana transformed back into his orcish form. 

With money in hand, the party decided to investigate a member of the Above they have heard is a powerful mage--Polly Bridgerman, head of the Yamseth College of Magic. At her office, the party asked a few questions about the chaos storms (Bridgerman revealed that magic cannot counter the storms as the storms as pure chaos energy and not magical in nature) and quickly realized they had forgotten to develop a strategy for questioning Bridgerman. So they cut the conversation short and prepared to leave, but Beor asked a series of questions about mind control before they left. Bridgerman also leant Beor a book on natural healing to help with the development of the business. 

After leaving the College of Magic, Montana decided to scry Bridgerman using the borrowed book as a focus to see what she does when people are not around, hoping for some damning evidence of wrongdoing. But watching for ten minutes, all Montana saw was Bridgerman taking notes and developing theories on the chaos storms. Content that Bridgerman was innocent enough for now, the party agreed to spend their efforts elsewhere for the time being. 

The party had heard from Nyrill that a weekly meeting of healers and apothecaries would be happening later that evening as Sebastian Cliffracer's Tavern. The party hoped to discover a few healers they could hire for the natural healing center, and indeed, they found a small circle of healers debating methods and materials in the tavern. Beor asked a handful of questions of the healers and described the business; Montana opted for a more stressful interview, and cut both his forearm and his leg badly to provide the healers with a way to prove their skills. In the end, they hired Josephine Glass, a halfling druid; Nicole Fyrra, a half-elf druid/cleric of Ehlonna; and Grat Sharn, an orcish generalist with abilities from most every class--the first two would be dedicated healers, and Grat would be the caretaker of the liquid multiplier. Content with their new hires, the party agreed to meet with everyone at the business the following day at noon to show them the building and talk about responsibilities. 

Worried about the setting sun and Beor's potential transformation into a werebear, the party decided to call it a night and returned to Ais's place. There, Montana prayed to Fharlanghn for guidance, and his prayers were answered. He appeared suddenly in a beautiful scene, walking alongside the god of journeys. Fharlanghn told Montana that the case was important and that he was uniquely qualified to help resolve the case and find justice. He also told Montana that whatever was waiting at the end of the journey would change the world and help many people. Montana found himself back at Ais's place, and everyone turned in for the night.

I mentioned that Beor borrowed a book from Polly Bridgerman; it is called Natural Healing and Its Applications. In order to transmit the knowledge of that book to the players, I will be writing a series of notes that Beor took on the book. I've covered document creation before, both shorter texts and whole books, but another route you can use is notes. For now, you can view the notes Beor wrote. Soon, I will publish a guide to creating notes in this style, but the basis of the idea is this: rather than providing a glimpse of complete information like we would with a full book or a comprehensive document, we provide bullet points of the information that would be relevant to the player character reading it. There are plenty of ways to make this interesting, and I'll cover that soon. But for now, this is how the 11th mystery campaign session took place. 

That's all for now. Next time on the mystery campaign, the party will investigate George Turnbuckle and continue to build their business. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Roleplay New Skills and Abilities

Levelling up in a TRPG is one of the most exciting moments for players; they get new abilities to use in and out of combat, which makes for the excitement of learning new powers. But for campaigns that are focused on roleplaying and storytelling, how to you account for these changes? How do we describe the change in the players abilities, which happen in-game in a sudden burst in almost all games? With this guide, you will be able to roleplay the learning of new abilities in a way that enriches the game. 

For the sake of simplicity, I will be addressing my advice on this topic to Dungeons & Dragons for a few reasons. For one, it is the most popular of TRPGs; for another, it has the most extreme version of the levelling up problem that you'll find in most any game. But these ideas generally apply to TRPGs at large as well, and the problem is conceptual rather than specifically numerical, so these ideas should serve you in any game. 

Let's focus on the issue I'm describing. Let's say you have a group of adventurers who are progressing from 7th to 8th level. We have player characters who gain significant bonuses. Let's consider a few classes: the Bard, when going from 7th to 8th level, gains an additional third level spell and an Ability Score Improvement. These bonuses carry narrative weight with them. What causes them to become instantly stronger/smarter/wiser? Why do they get an additional spell? Or perhaps the party has leveled up again (to level 9), and now the party's fighter gets to use the ability Indomitable, which allows one reroll on a saving throw. What has made this fighter instantly better at saving throws? Why should they not have this ability one day and then have it the next? 

But it's not just a matter of continuity. When player characters gain new abilities, there is the potential for storytelling. You can make your players learning new abilities into an empowering moment for your players. All it takes is adding a detail or two about how they learned this ability. You have two main strategies when it comes to this, and you should work with your players to decide which one is best for your game. The first strategy is to look ahead to what abilities the players will soon unlock and build in moments that move them towards naturally learning them; the second strategy is to ask your players to improvise a way that they would have learned the new abilities after they have been awarded. 

Let's begin with the building towards it method. We'll stick with the examples above--the bard and the fighter--to examine how the players might learn it. With the Ability Score Improvement at the bard's level 8, we want to know which points will be spent in what way. If they're going for all points in Intelligence, for instance, we need to provide Intelligence-based challenges. Perhaps a puzzle where the answer is related to the bard's performances would set the stage. We might also direct the player to seek out Intelligence challenges, and they may do so by reading a great deal or practicing their chess game. We don't need to come up with one thing that accounts for a boost of 2 Intelligence points, necessarily; we just want to grant the player the feeling of having earned the boost, which makes the bonus feel more special. We just change the challenge based on the attribute that will be boosted (feats of strength for Strength, moments of clarity for Wisdom, suave moments for Charisma, and so on), and the end result is a path to improvement that the player helped to craft. 

The 9th level fighter is in some ways an easier and in some ways a harder change to roleplay. Generally, the most obscure a stat is, the harder it is to roleplay, and the ability to succeed on a saving throw is a much more obscure idea than simply how much a character can carry, for instance. But at the same time, this bonus is all we need to consider for an entire level up, which means it's doable. To prepare the fighter for Indomitable, we can have the fighter train their resistances; perhaps they expose themselves to harmful situations on purpose in order to train up with saving throws, or perhaps they exercise in their downtime in order to train their body to be more responsive. The player themselves might seek out dangerous situations to test their resistance. What matters is that you and the player make a collective effort to explain the improvements to their character. 

If you're going this route, where the players must earn their abilities before having them be awarded, you can make some changes to the level up system to match. You might start by placing specific goals on level up requirements, such as "the player must work on their saving throws three times before they can level up." Or "the player must spend one hour working on related skills in order to level up." This is not meant to penalize players or create impediments to their progressing through the game, and if it feels that way to them, you should revert to standard level ups. The goal here is to have fun, so keep that in mind.

The other route involves asking players to retroactively explain their abilities. This is an easier route for most people, and it actually creates a lot of fun for players, who now have to rationalize their advances in power using their creativity. I recommend this option for most games, as it doesn't force the players to change their playstyles and instead opens up possibilities for collaborative storytelling. In this method, you simply direct your players to rationalize how they developed their boosts to abilities. Let's break down both of the above examples again, this time with a focus on retroactively training for them.

The 8th level bard, in this case, needs to come up with a way to rationalize their boosted ability scores. Perhaps they've selected one point in Dexterity and one point in Charisma. Now the player needs reasons for these increases. The first option they have is looking at the things they've accomplished since their last level up. Perhaps they made a particularly important Dexterity-related roll, such as dodging a deadly attack--this is the moment where the player character becomes more dexterous. Similarly, for their Charisma boost, a well-played social situation is enough to earn the levelled-up skill or ability. 

But then, maybe your player characters haven't taken significant actions that would contribute to a boost. In that case, you want your players to dedicate some of the game's downtime to having practiced the skills. Most adventures have some downtime--a bit in the mornings and at night around bedtimes, while traveling, or significantly more if the party is working on individual goals. The players should concoct a reason they've earned the boost. If a combat bonus is the goal, having sparred with another player character is a good way to take care of both of their boosted abilities. If it's a mental skill, reading a book can suffice. Becoming stronger can stem from exercising, and Dexterity can similarly be trained with specific actions (think that game where you try to slap the other player's hands before they can withdraw them, for instance). Skill boosts (which don't really happen in 5e, but which is a major issue in 3.5) can be explained with practice of the existing skill. New spells can be learned from books, observing other spellcasters, divine inspiration, or having understood but not had the power to cast a specific spell--the increased power comes in the same way that other practice functions. This basically only leaves hit points--you can explain that characters become hardier via the routine exposure to harm. 

What may not be immediately apparent about this setup is that it creates fun for your players. Most players will have a great time trying to rationalize their increased powers, coming up with creative and often bizarre ideas. Levelling up becomes a game within a game, one the players must win in order to claim their increased powers. If you institute it, remember that the spirit of the exercise is in fun, not in hardcore reality simulation. Players should feel that the challenge of rationalizing new powers makes the game more open to their input, not that there's an additional barrier to success. Make it more of an improv game and less of a requirement, and I think you'll be surprised by the fun that comes out of the process. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: descriptions of each gods' temples, agricultural details for your gameworld, and how to design a one-shot from a movie. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Manage a Boss Fight

It's the end of your campaign, and all that's left is the final boss fight. Your players dig in for combat, and you're prepared for the BBEG to show why they're so intimidating. But how can you ensure that your boss fight is dramatic enough to merit being the finale of the campaign? You don't want it to be over too quickly, but you also don't want to wipe out your party. So how do you set up your boss fight so that it excites the players but is also balanced? Some folks would say that the answer is a carefully, mathematically-balanced encounter, but I argue that you can do even better than that by breaking your boss fight into three parts that are more scripted. Read on for how to use this method to create exciting boss fights. 

I've written something similar before: a guide to improvising encounters. That guide takes a few basic considerations and turns them into encounters, but the premise is the same as what we're doing here: we're balancing our encounters to create dramatic moments. The key difference with a boss fight is that it matters more that it be satisfying and dramatic; it's the culmination of your whole campaign. So we'll use the same concept to create boss fights that are more interesting than simply the result of dice. 

As I mentioned, you can spend a lot of time working out a mathematically sound encounter. This requires considering challenge ratings, character levels and abilities, and other details like weaknesses and spells. But you can make it simpler for you and better for your players if you wing it. No, seriously. We'll plan for three parts of the encounter, and in the final part, the players will defeat the BBEG. It's as simple as that. Obviously, this approach isn't for hardcore combat simulators; this approach is about storytelling and getting the most drama for your effort. If you like the sound of that, consider the three parts of a boss fight:

There are generally three phases you want to include in a boss fight. Part one is where the players make their first attacks or other tactical efforts. During this phase, you want the players to be able to deal a good chunk of damage to the BBEG, but you also want the BBEG to attack in a way that exemplifies why they are the final boss--what makes them so much of a badass? Part two is where the players run into trouble. During this phase, the BBEG should use a tactic that weakens the party's strategy, and they should strike hard at members of the party. You want this part to feel like the BBEG is getting the upper hand. Finally, in part three, the players pull ahead again. The BBEG should be able to make a last-ditch effort to turn the tide, and should even be able to render unconscious at least one member of the party, but ultimately, the players will win with a dramatic strike. 

Let's get into the details with each part now. Part one: the players make a strong initial showing, as does the BBEG. In practice, this should look like the party getting opportunities to strike the BBEG. I generally argue that it's better to give your BBEG a higher number of hit points and a lower Armor Class; this means more dramatic successes for the players, but an ability on your part to string the encounter along. So set a relatively low Armor Class depending on your party's level. I like to give them roughly a 50% chance of hitting initially, so a party with an average +3 to hit should have a 13 AC; likewise, a +6 to hit should mean a 16 AC. I generally let this phase of combat go for about three to five rounds or so; you want the party to hit the BBEG enough that it seems like they've done about half damage total. 

At this point, let's address the BBEG's hit points. I don't start with a number set in stone. I might decide that it has generally about 150 hit points or something like that, but this number doesn't matter very much. Whether the party is scoring 30 points of damage or 90, it should seem like the BBEG is at about half health. This just means that the players should work for three or so rounds to damage the BBEG, and it works. Whatever they accomplish should be enough. If they deal more damage than expected, just grant the BBEG more hit points in your head, but if they deal less than expected, string this phase out for another round or two until you can tell your players feel like they have made good progress. 

Then we get into phase two of the boss fight: the players run into trouble. I like to deploy a dramatic flourish here generally, usually by employing an effect that makes the BBEG harder to hit. Perhaps it's magical armor (an artifact or "Mage Armor") or simply the BBEG going Super-Saiyan; the effect is that they pose more of a threat than previous. I like to boost the BBEG's AC by enough to make the players only 25% likely to hit. To provide examples, this would be a +3 to hit with a 15 or 16 AC, or a +6 to hit with an 18 or 19 AC. Now, your players are only succeeding in hitting the BBEG half as often as they were, which allows the BBEG to deal more damage relative how much they're taking damage. At the same time, boost the BBEG's saving throws to defend more against spellcasters. I recommend a +3 or 4 bonus, but this can be adjusted with good fudging of rolls on the BBEG's part. You can go the other route with this as well: improving the BBEG's likeliness to hit the players or deal greater damage can also add the imbalance you need to create some drama. This phase of the battle generally lasts another three to five rounds. Your players need more time to deal the damage they were dealing earlier in part one. Just as important to your consideration of when to move on to part three is how much damage the party has taken. When you have one or two party members who are at about one-quarter health or less, it's time to move onto part three. 

Part three is where the players turn the tide and win. I like to use the AC-improving effect as a story moment; sometimes players will strategically try to negate the AC boost, and sometimes, the effect simply wears off. In any case, it can be helpful to have the AC boost disappear in phase three so that the party can get back on top of the encounter. You can have the boost you've granted to your BBEG disappear when a player strikes them particularly hard--basically use anything that would allow you to change the battle back to closer odds. In part three, I like to have one or two members of the party go unconscious. This really ups the drama. The BBEG should look both poised to win the battle and in fairly bad shape; we're imagining at this point (the beginning of part three) that the BBEG has only about 25% of their hit points left. This part of the battle should again be about three to five rounds, granting time to do and take damage. Then, when one of your players deal a considerably blow (more than 10 damage, let's say), the BBEG has taken all they can, and they fall unconscious. I think it's more interesting to have the BBEG incapacitated than dead, personally, so I generally have the BBEG rendered helpless rather than kill them; it should be a player choice to kill or spare a BBEG, not mine as a GM.

You can absolutely mix up the makeup of your boss fights. Add minions to the mix, use interesting terrain to create strategy, give the BBEG special powers; whatever you want can work. This guide simply shows you how to pace your boss fights for the enjoyment of your players. And trust me, your players will almost always prefer a dramatic fight than a statistically random one. It's more engaging and exciting, and that's the point of playing. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: how to design a custom TRPG, how to roleplay learning new skills and abilities, and descriptions of what each deity's temples look like. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Help Players Customize Their Characters' Appearances

You've probably seen it in just about every video game you've ever played: customizable appearances. Some games' entire reward systems are new pieces of fashion or armor and weapons. Just because they do it doesn't mean you have to, but customizing appearances is an immensely satisfying thing for players to do, which is why so many games include it. You can allow for and even encourage players to express themselves and their characters by customizing their appearances, and all it takes is a bit of creativity and a willingness to let the players guide the process. 

The easiest way to let players express their appearance is through their clothing. It's something that we can take for granted that at least most of a character's clothing match their sense of style, so have your players describe their clothing and appearance otherwise when they introduce themselves and continue to describe outfits so that other players get a sense of their characters. You can create opportunities for players to get even more invested by providing clothing shops in the towns they visit and allowing them to add new items to their wardrobe. Act like a salesperson: give information about anything they ask about, but guide them to a few specific items you think they'll like. Unless the players are asking for something that couldn't exist in your setting, have it be in stock. Anything special (like a tuxedo in a fantasy setting, for instance) will take a custom commission. 

Another element of appearance customization that you can easily implement is tattoo artists. I'll admit I'm biased (I have full sleeves, knuckle tattoos, and a few other pieces), but I think tattoos are rad. And when the player themselves doesn't have to endure being needled repeatedly for hours, tattoos are an even more attractive prospect. I will simply introduce to a scene a traveling tattoo artist who offers reasonable rates and seems quite talented. If the tattoo idea proves popular, the artist can become a recurring part of your campaign. Tattoos can be a great way for players to personalize their characters, and they can affect the story as well; a character who rolls a 15 on an Intimidate check might be a little more impressive when the character is covered in tough-looking tattoos. Players should be encouraged to design their own tattoos, but the artist is willing to suggest classics, like a snake, a wolf, a heart, the name of a loved one, sun-and-moon, or a dagger. [Details on tattoos in my world can be found here.]

Players may want to alter their physical appearance for a variety of reasons. When I ran Listen Check, one of the characters ran afoul of the law and wanted to create a non-magical alter ego. In cases like that, why not provide a scene in which the player goes under the knife? In the show, I created the Patchwork Man, a monstrous figure who had experimented on himself to learn surgery. The scene was tense, the Patchwork Man was creepy, and the players were on the edge of their seats. It was a good digression from the story that contributed to the story in big ways, as that character now needed to collect his "old" affairs as his "new" self.

Then you have the matter of actual gear. Most TRPGs attribute statistics to various types of gear, but you can still get imaginative with different styles. I think about it this way: Dungeons & Dragons, at least, exists in a world of artisans. Unlike in Skyrim, no two pieces of leather armor would ever look exactly alike. In fact, artisans can make more money by selling more specialized pieces than just industrially turned-out products. So your description of gear should match; provide customized descriptions for pieces of armor. I like to offer 2 or 3 of the same item, but each with a different design. It would sound like so: "You're looking for light armor, eh? I've got this padded armor that triple wrapped in burlap, and this other beige padded armor that comes with a matched padded helm. Then I've got leather: this one is shaped like a cascade of leaves, in the elven style; this one is made or stacked layers that would absorb a punch like nothing; this one in the dwarven style, with squared off edges. And I've got two studded leathers: this dark-stained gnomish build with double the normal amount of studs, and this craftsman cut that looks like a tortoise's shell." That's a lot more information than you would normally provide during a shopping trip, but the players will appreciate it--and may even custom commission a piece with a design of their own choosing. [Check out detailed descriptions of common items here.]

Just as armor is treated in this way, so are weapons. For the same artisan reason, weapons should generally have more to them than just the type of weapon. Weapon descriptions should again offer 2-3 options for players and describe both unique traits about it and its general appearance. If you want to get more detailed, please do! But the bare minimum is what I've outlined here. In practice: "Ahh, it's a dagger you want? I have three fine daggers are a handful of average blades I wouldn't sell such a discerning customer. Here's this one, a stiletto with a blood groove favored by halfling assassins. Then we have an orcish hunting blade, long and curved with a topaz set into the grip. And finally, a short, wide blade, meant more for chopping than stabbing. Great grip; impossible to drop." Now if the character decides to buy one of these blades, they'll be picturing it this way every time they use it in combat. That's worth taking the time to extend shopping trips. 

Magic items likewise deserve time and attention for description. In fact, magic items are supposed to be fantastical. In my homebrew world, even non-magic users can tell when a spell has been cast in some cases just from the feeling in the air. You don't have to go that far, but your description of magic items should suggest that they're more than meets the eye. Let's use a classic example: a wand of magic missile. Maybe a wizard looking to conceal the fact that they're using a wand would want a simple stick that could be mistaken for nothing useful, but for vendors selling the wands, it's beneficial that the wand itself look powerful and enticing. Let's say a character in your campaign walks in to buy a wand of magic missile. Is that the end of the transaction? I hope not. Offer some designs for that wand: one with lightning bolts carved into the wand, one with fingerbone-like segments, and one with a symbol of Boccob burned into its handle. That's a much more interesting deal than simply buying a wand. 

I'm sure that there are some GMs who scoff at this advice. "We can't even see the characters anyway. Why do these detail we can't see matter?" But the players can and do take these details to heart. Part of roleplaying is experiencing the full range of the character's reality, and appearances are an important part of that. Part of what makes the game fun is agency, and allowing your players the agency to design every aspect of their appearance is an expression that will get them invested.

Once you've gotten your players used to the idea that they can affect the details of their character's life through small actions like deciding cosmetic differences for them, they'll start to realize that they can assert that same agency elsewhere in the game. Shopping trips are an easy way to open the door for players to really express themselves. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: TRPGs as a therapeutic tool, how to write good riddles for your party, and a list of homebrew magic items. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Involve Player Character-Related NPCs in Your Game

Player characters are often isolated characters, people with no ties to anyone outside of their adventuring party. It's a classic tradition to create characters who have tragic pasts with no living relatives; player characters are rarely involved with other characters in any meaningful way. This serves the player in that they are able to create characters who stand in the story without the support of a network of people who know the player character. And yet, no person is an island. Even the most fiercely independent player character is likely to have formed a bond with someone in their life. And you can use player character NPCs in your story to great effect. Read on for tips on how to do so. 

The first step in this process is encouraging your players to develop backstories with NPCs in them. When I played Zig years ago, I spent considerable time developing a network of NPCs with whom Zig was close. Zig was a married man with children, and he was estranged from them, so there was a lot of dramatic potential for storytelling. I also wrote about every other major figure in his life, including family, friends, and mentors. Going off of this, my GM was able to integrate Zig's NPC relationships into the game. Zig's wife gave him another chance to make their family work, and Zig ended up spending a lot of time working on those relationships. And though my GM never made use of it, he always had the potential to use Zig's family as bait for the BBEG. From these two positions alone, it should be apparent that player character NPCs can be extremely useful in a game. 

I have run games where player character-NPC relationships have become significant as well. When I was running Listen Check, Soren was a character who was affected by his relationships with NPCs. He wanted to tend to the wellbeing of his family, so he was often writing letters to them and sending them money; his hometown was eventually built up into a bigger, better place as a result of his funding it. Further, Soren developed a romantic relationship with an NPC, Spurla. Soren and Spurla hit it off rather quickly, and by the end of the adventure, they were bound for a new adventure together: starting a family. Soren's story was perhaps the most emotionally-driven of the player character stories from that campaign, and that Soren was played by a rookie player reveals that the veteran instinct to create unmoored characters does not always serve us. 

So you should encourage your players to create NPCs who are important to them for the sake of realistic storytelling and your ability to dramatize their relationships. To do this, ask players to come up with a few people with whom they have regular contact. Even a hermit character is likely to have to work with or buy supplies from another person at some regular interval. For most player characters, you want the player to create at least three NPCs. They don't have to design every detail of the NPC, but the more they decide about the character, the more their vision of their character will be within their hands. These relationships can be familial, romantic, financial, friendly, marked by rivalry, or educational; what matters is that the player understand the kind of dynamic they have with the NPC and communicate it to you so that you can roleplay it. 

Once you have your roster of player character NPCs, you have some brainstorming to do. How can these people take part in your story. It may be possible to replace a character in your notes with an NPC from your players--in that case, substitute them and watch as your players get even more invested in the story. If you can't or don't want to go that route, at least use the NPCs during downtime. When player characters catch up with these NPCs after some adventuring, the NPCs should be able to talk about what they accomplished that day and ask questions of the player characters that show they're invested in the player characters' lives. Basically, you have to choose between telling the story with the NPCs or creating a new mini-story that involves the NPCs. 

If you're telling the story with the NPCs, you'll want to make sure that your understanding of the NPC matches the players. It defeats the purpose of player character-designed NPCs if your version of them doesn't suit what the players intended. Remember that your roster of NPCs should be true to the player's vision, but also that the NPCs can surprise them. Imagine a campaign in which the players were chasing a shadowy assassin, only to discover near the end of the story that the assassin was one of the player character's NPC relations. Doesn't that have more drama and excitement than simply having a BBEG? 

If you're creating a new mini-story for the NPCs, you have plenty of options. Consider the goals of the NPCs as designated by the player characters. How can they pursue these goals while the adventure goes on? Perhaps you have a player character who has a steady romantic partner who is a healer. While the player characters are off adventuring, that NPC is off working on improving their healing and helping the needy. Perhaps the healing NPC tends to the wounded of the player characters' enemies, and now there is a conflict between the ideals of the party (defeating wrongdoers) and the ideals of the NPC (helping anyone who needs it). Now the player characters have to take a different approach than they normally would; they can't escalate the conflict with their close ally, and instead must talk it out. This makes better storytelling than if the player characters had no one to answer to. 

Here are a few ideas on how to incorporate NPCs into your stories:

• A player character's business partner wants to invest in a new business venture. The player character hears that the new business venture requires working with a shady person. The player character must work with the business partner to make or not make the deal. 
• A player character's younger sibling has gotten into some trouble with the local guards. They were carving profanities into the frames of houses throughout town, and now they must remain in the stocks for a day. The younger sibling requests help contesting the charges and escaping the stocks. 
• A player character's significant other needs to travel back to their hometown because their mother is sick. They must walk dangerous roads to get there and don't know how long they will have to stay. The party must assist in whatever way they see fit. 
• A player character's friend finds a magical charm along the road while traveling, and they believe it makes them wiser. Their behavior, however, becomes increasingly erratic. The player character can tell that the charm is causing this troubled behavior, but the friend is defensive of the charm. The party must do what they can to convince the friend of the harm it is doing. 
• A player character's mentor is aging and wants to retire from adventuring. They need just a bit more gold in order to comfortably end their career, and they look to the player character for help. They are willing to go on one last job with help to secure their future. 

Keep in mind that these small stories don't have to be wide-ranging to engage the players. The fact that they're dealing with NPCs of their own design will encourage them to treat the matter with seriousness and priority. And any twist in the story brought on by these NPCs will be automatically relevant to the players--they will carry the player characters with them wherever they go. So encourage your players to develop backstory NPCs and drop them into your game wherever appropriate. You'll find that they spice up the narrative and add considerable meaning to the game. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: how to customize player character appearances, how to use TRPGs like therapy, and how to write riddles for your players. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Create Campaign Continuity

You've just completed a campaign. Your players have taken grand actions to resolve your story, and now the gameworld stands to change based on their decisions. Your next campaign is in the works, and I believe that you can make your last campaign a factor in your new campaign. All it takes is a few big ideas and the follow-through to add them to your world. Then you stand to make your world react to your campaigns and carry the tradition of past stories into the new. Read on for examples of how I have implemented this and how you can do it for your campaigns. 

Years ago, I ran a campaign wherein my players were directed to kill off every member of the royal family and support team of one of the biggest cities in the known world. They completed two of the twenty contracts involved in the outlined story and turned on each other in a party split. I adjusted the story; it was now a conflict between palace guards and anarchists. In the end, the king was assassinated, and the city fell. It rose again as a democracy with an elected council, now a beacon of progressive politics on the continent. This was a big effect on the world; not only did one of the biggest cities lose its leadership and government, but it led to people in the world thinking about how to implement democratic ideals. So to create continuity in my world, all campaigns and one-shots that take place there are affected by what happened in this city. The city of Talon Gorge is reformed and small cities nearby begin to emulate its government. These changes make the campaign real and can create interesting storylines for players who now also have to contend with the actions of players before them (including their own, if they played with me before).  

The effect of a campaign doesn't have to be simply fallout from player decisions. When I ran Listen Check years ago, the campaign was marked by interference from a few gods. One of these gods was an incarnation of Fharlanghn, and when the campaign was resolved by killing an avatar of Gruumsh, Fharlanghn rewarded the party with effects equivalent to a "Wish" spell (Gruumsh had offered a "Wish" spell as reward for a quest that he reneged on, which led Fharlanghn to counteract him with the rewards. The rewards were each quite different, but all the effects created lasting impressions on my gameworld. Dewey the monk took up with a pair of law enforcers to create systematic and genuinely helpful police forces across the continent, which means that as I play future games, most places will have this form of guard employed. Soren the ranger had fallen in love with an orc (I don't do half-orcs for a variety of reasons, so his love was an orc), someone with whom he could not have children. But Fharlanghn recognized that Soren wanted a family, and granted the ability for any humanoid to have children with any other humanoid. This has pretty wide-reaching effects, as my world now effectively has no barrier to romance, and this will change perceptions of race over time. Finally, there was Rupert the wizard, who became a dragon according to my custom dragon rules. Being a dragon means that Rupert is effectively immortalized in my gameworld, as he now constitutes one of the most important beings in existence. Future adventurers who dabble in dragons will likely meet him, and this is another lasting effect on my gameworld. 

These campaign effects are all very consciously designed; I knew even from my outline for the palace guard campaign that the kingdom would permanently change, and the effects on Listen Check were something I had considered out-of-game for some time. But the natural end of a campaign can give rise to continuity as well if you're thoughtful about it. When I ran the Eastweald campaign, the story ended with a serious blow to the Dalton Church of Pelor, the arrival of goliaths on the shores of the continent, and the establishment of an Underdark community for the goliaths. Each of these ideas can carry forward. As the mystery campaign progresses, the players may hear about the disruption of the Dalton Church of Pelor or even witness its effects on the temple in town. News of the goliaths may reach the players, and rumors of the Underdark may make an appearance as well. It's okay if your campaign continuity effects are more like video game announcements regarding something the players have just accomplished, but I would push you to find ways to express the change through the world. For instance, I could have a public argument between Dalton Church of Pelor officials about the troubling news from the capital. I may have a goliath show up in town, looking for supplies to take back to the Underdark. The goliath may even ask the player characters for help in dealing with some issue there. As it happens, my mystery campaigners are the same players who played in the Eastweald, so it would be an extra special moment to return either of these ideas to the campaign. My players would be forced to understand that their actions have consequences that reach beyond the game. 

So if you want to implement campaign continuity in your game, the steps are fairly simple. First, you take the major results from the previous campaign. Anything that stands out as having a larger effect than just the campaign itself should be noted. The final moments of the campaign will definitely be included, but also consider anything that the players may have done that would have a bigger effect. (I'm thinking, for example, about how the players in the mystery campaign are using a magical liquid multiplier to produce massive amounts of healing potions, which will have a massive impact on the way that healing is viewed and paid for in town and potentially beyond, depending on how much their business expands.) Essentially any action that the players take which make you say to yourself, "Whoa, that might have broken the game a bit" should spark your interest here. 

Now that you have your effects, it's time to decide how they are expressed in the world. Let's stick with the healing potion example. The thing that makes this idea powerful is that it could make healing potions plentiful enough and cheap enough to be used by non-adventurers for more common ailments. This means that healers could be driven out of business, and it also means that the average person may become more reckless with their safety, knowing that a trusty healing potion is within reach. So Yamseth, the city where the mystery campaign takes place, could quickly become the site of increased chaos and perhaps even a willingness to challenge the powers that be. The city is dominated by a divide between rich and poor; these healing potions could have the effect of emboldening the poor and allowing for class warfare. This isn't even against the wishes of the party, per se; they want to return power to the common person. It may be that these effects take place during this campaign, but if there isn't room for it here, I can use these effects in a future campaign to reinforce the continuity between campaigns. 

Then it's time to implement the effects. If your players are the same players whose actions you're extending, be as detailed as you can about the effect. They will be tickled to see their past actions taking effect in such a way. If the party is responding to the effects of another party, be a little more sparing. Not everyone enjoys having past party exploits recounted, and the new campaign is about the new players, so don't get carried away and make the story about your old players. Just provide the impetus for the effects and let the party react to it. There's a chance that they won't find much to do or say about the effects; that just means they're viewing it as a story event they can't connect to the story. Feel free to drop what you're doing with the previous campaign effects and focus again on your story--the goal of continuity is to make the storytelling more expansive, but if it works against your story, it's better to forego it. 

The real sweet spot with campaign continuity is with return players. In Listen Check, Rupert was controlled by the head of the palace guard in the previous campaign. When Rupert heard about the effects on the fallen city, it was much more than Rupert hearing news; it was also the player recognizing a connection between his efforts in the game and the legacy his actions left. It was a magical moment for me as a GM; it was like he and I were back in the old campaign for a time, only now there was sign of a change his former character had made. Rupert ended up reading a few articles about the fall of the city. This was, upon reflection, a bit meta-gamey. Rupert had no established interest in politics or in that city in particular. But his player could not resist; discovering what the end results of his previous character's actions was such a thrilling idea that he looked into it. This will drive the average player, so if you're running with a return player or even a few, consider building a bit of continuity between your campaigns. 

Having a hard time coming up with ideas about extending a campaign to affect your current game? Some campaigns lend themselves more to this idea than others. But every campaign can have an effect if you're creative. Even the classic "go fight the BBEG" type of story can have interesting effects. Perhaps the BBEG has a relative or student who has taken their defeat hard and wants to push their evil agenda even further, now with a new foe. Or the defeat of the BBEG creates a vacuum of power in the area, and now there are warring factions trying to take it over. Or the BBEG had a safeguard to protect their plan, and now part of their plan is taking place in a moderated way (people in the targeted area are made violent, but will not attack each other as planned). Or the BBEG's plans to obtain an artifact of power leads to the rise of a lich who owned the artifact; now the party must deal with the fallout from the BBEG's plan. Whatever you decide to do, just make your effects consistent and meaningful; if the effects cannot be reasonably predicted or responded to, or if the effects don't really change anything substantial, you probably want to rework the way the campaign carries forward. 

Above all, remember that campaign continuity is about you as GM. No one gets the same bird's-eye-view of all your campaigns that you do. From your perspective, you can see dozens of players cause effects all over your world for future players. To you, your gameworld is a theater in which all sorts of stories are told, each realistically affecting the next. So draft the ways your old campaigns would have affected your world and get ready to tell a story bigger than any single campaign, a story about your world. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: what details are worth roleplaying, how to avoid overpreparing, and how to describe setting. Until next time, happy gaming!

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Mirror Parties: A Way to Spice Up Your Campaign

In TRPGs, the players embody a special kind of person. They are the type of person who is so powerful that they are capable of taking on special challenges that the average person is not prepared for. Player characters, then, are a unique kind of person who exists in the world, a kind of person who is elevated above the concerns of average people. TRPG characters are rarely farmers or shopkeepers concerned with getting by; they're heroes who answer the call of adventure. But does it make sense that the player characters are the only heroes in the world? I don't think so. So I add in other heroes which can complicate the story. I do this specifically in the form of what I call a "mirror party," a group of heroes who are matched with the party of player characters, and this mirror party can cause all manner of interesting additions to the story. Read on for how to develop a mirror party and how to use one in your campaign. 

First, some examples of how mirror parties have benefitted my games. When I was running a campaign early in my GMing career, my party of player characters were deciding whether to protect the royal family or tear their kingdom down. I inserted a group of four adventurers who seemed to have similar interests to the party; they too wanted to be involved in the shake-up surrounding the kingdom. In this case, their agenda was to protect the kingdom, and they often encountered the anarchist faction of players. This created an opportunity for me as GM to challenge the anarchists via the story. 

Time passed, and I wanted to refine my mirror party idea. When we launched the podcast Listen Check, two of my three players had played in the palace guard campaign. So I took the mirror party from the old campaign and inserted them into the new campaign. The four adventurer mirror party traveled to the city where the podcasted campaign took place and had a new agenda: their fourth, a monk named Hyrum, had accepted a misleading bargain with an evil god, and his soul was being tortured by the god. The mirror party then sought to free Hyrum's soul from the evil god. This was complicated by that fact that Hyrum, now partially possessed by the evil god, was killing innocent people across town. This storyline went for a stretch of episodes, and the player characters sought to stop the murders; their paths met with the mirror party a few times, always pushing towards stopping Hyrum from further violence. The mirror party was more or less a force to advance this storyline, and it worked well as a way to remind the players that they weren't the only forces of heroism in the campaign. 

Let's jump forward to today. Now I'm running the mystery campaign, and the mirror party concept has taken a new form. One of my players suggested a mechanic wherein each character has a secret, and the players gain bonuses for keeping their secret from the other players. But this mechanic doesn't really lend the players to investigating each other; they gain more by tacitly keeping their secrets and benefitting as a group. So I tweaked the mirror party formula and created Dirk St. Patrick, a private investigator who is constantly messing with the player characters. Thanks to his prodding, one of the player characters has lost their secret, and the other two players are closer than ever to losing their secrets. All it takes is Dirk suggesting things about the player characters, and the rest unfolds naturally. Here, it is most in focus that the party dislikes the mirror party; Dirk is a destabilizing force moreso than the somewhat helpful mirror party in Listen Check. It doesn't have to be that way, but it often plays out in such a manner, so be prepared to relish the opposition of your mirror party. 

A final example before getting into how to design your mirror party and implement them: also in Listen Check, I tweaked the concept of the mirror party. One player, my brother in fact, had two concepts for his character before we played. One was a stalwart monk who had been wronged in his childhood by a terrible gang; the other was a fighter who specialized in shield combat and wielded two shields. Ultimately, he picked the monk. But his backstory called for a gang leader who had orchestrated his childhood pain, and I wanted that character to be special and intimidating. So his archenemy became a dual shield-wielding badass based on his original design. My point is this: the mirror party doesn't have to be a rival gang of adventurers; they can simply be a foil to the party. 

So how do you design your mirror party? You have a couple of options. One is to take each member of your player party and create duplicates of each character. You are running a campaign with a fighter, bard, druid, and warlock, so the mirror party is also a fighter, a bard, a druid, and a warlock. Build these characters the way your story will most benefit from them; I personally take joy in creating more powerful versions of the party members with my specialized GM knowledge. You can also create bizarro versions of the players; maintain their general personalities, but create alternate class versions of them--a bard becomes a performance-based rogue, a warlock becomes a charismatic sorcerer, etc. This choice basically comes down to your goal with the mirror party; if you want to entertain your players, it's best to mimic them, but if you want to challenge them, it's best to try to upstage them. 

As I indicated with my explanation of Dirk St. Patrick and my brother's archfoe, you don't need an entire party of adventurers to create a dramatic foil. One character can be enough to disrupt your party and create storytelling moments. Dirk, in fact, only appears for a moment every few sessions--he is only there to shake things up and leave before the party attacks him (which they have done). I did a similar thing in my National Treasure campaign, where a highly talented bounty hunter kept crossing paths with the players; he would talk shop, and my goal was to impart some strategic pointers to the party through him. It worked to a certain extent, but whether or not it accomplished that goal, it did develop story moments and roleplaying expressions out of nothing, and that's a powerful tool to have at your disposal. 

Once you've got your mirror party, it's time to decide how to use them. You may want a rival party to add drama to the party's goals. The thing about a lot of adventure hooks in TRPGs is that a questgiver offers a reward to the players for completing the quest. But would a questgiver only support one group of people trying to help? I think they would be willing to pay anyone who helps as desired. So a mirror party can also pursue the quest, which means that there is external opposition. Now the party must outrace, outthink, or otherwise outmaneuver the mirror party to succeed. They might even engage in a direct conflict. These are all great effects for your story, and all it takes is the appearance of some rivals. 

Maybe your players are resisting a certain quest hook. Often the trouble there is a lack of dramatic stakes. But if a mirror party is working towards the goal as well and asks for help (perhaps with the promising of returning the help later), the party may be more likely to get invested. Similarly to how the mirror party worked in Listen Check, where they advanced the evil god/murder storyline, you can have your mirror party take actions to move the story along that the players don't, which means you have the freedom to focus on stories that the players haven't latched onto yet. 

Perhaps like with Dirk St. Patrick, you want an out-and-out villain who isn't the BBEG. With the right capabilities, that kind of character could seriously complicate things for the players. You can even use them as a check on unbalanced gaming (or cover your behind if your players outsmart one of your challenges). Now, rather than the players taking an action that throws off your story, you can use your mirror party to right things. Let's say my mystery campaigners were to decide to kill someone they suspected of the murder they're investigating. In a traditional TRPG format, it's pretty likely that they could get away with it. But with Dirk around, there are consequences. He can either block them from the murder (perhaps by appearing at just the right moment) or investigate them after the murder (using his skills as a private investigator, he would be able to pressure them considerably). A mirror party can give you the ability to up the dramatic stakes quite easily. 

A final note on mirror parties: have you as GM ever wanted to speak directly to the player characters? Do they need to be set straight, are they misunderstanding a key detail, or is there some other reason you'd like to be able to just talk to them? It's inelegant to address things out-of-game to make sure the player characters understand something, but you can do it naturally with a mirror party. Your mirror party is kind of liminal--they exist between the spaces of the gameworld and your influence on that world. They can talk directly to your player characters and communicate things directly. Did they misinterpret a clue? Have the mirror party show up and address it. You can get your players back on track with a simple conversation that actually dramatically works. 

Mirror parties are a fun and simple way to add some variety and storytelling tools to your game. Remember that even though your mirror party is fantastic and will help, the story isn't about the mirror party. It's still about your players. So be cautious with your use of mirror parties, as they can distract from the players if used carelessly. That's all for now. Coming soon: how to develop continuity between your campaigns, what details to bother roleplaying, and how to avoid overpreparing. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Deal with Party Splits

It's a classic conundrum: some of your party is motivated to do one thing, and the rest of your party is motivated to do something else. The party is at odds. Player agendas threaten to cancel each other out. It's the end of many campaigns, but it doesn't have to be. You can salvage a party split with the right story moves, and your campaign may even end up better for the split. Let me begin with an example of a time that a party split made a campaign better than it was before. 

I was just getting my feet under me as an intermediate GM, and I designed a campaign that revolved around killing off 20 members of the royal staff of a town. The players completed the first 2 contracts and then turned on the questgiver; the party was divided over the questgiver's goals, and about half the party went in either direction. The more rebellious characters decided to destroy the kingdom, and the more stalwart characters decided to defend the kingdom. At least 75% of the campaign's story became the struggle between player factions. The final battle was a showdown between anarchist forces and the palace guard, and the story resolved on the formation of a new future for the city. 

When the party split initially occurred, I was at a loss. How would I recover from losing my main quest and seeing the party divided? I wasn't sure, so I just kept running the game and hoping for the best. The players soon aligned themselves along ideological lines, which meant that disagreements about how to proceed could derail the whole campaign. But it didn't play out that way. The palace guards set to doubling down on defenses while the anarchist players worked on plans to assassinate the king. The story didn't so much disappear as reform; now I had a group of players committed to preserving a kingdom and a group of players committed to destroying it. In other words, I had two parallel campaigns that unfolded at once. This is how we should view split parties; they are two conjoined stories with one outcome. 

More recently, when I ran the Eastweald campaign, one of the three players used the final battle to reveal that he, a part-paladin named Carric, had formed a bond with Vecna, the evil god of secrets, and he turned on the other two players. The final battle became Vecna and Carric versus the other player characters. This party split is different from the one described above because it doesn't mean a reformation of the story so much as a twist. But the principle is the same. Carric turned against his compatriots, meaning that his conditions for success were mutually exclusive with the rest of the party's. Isn't this a problem? 

In both cases I've described, no one was truly bothered by the story's outcome. One player in the first campaign was troubled by the lack of consequences for the lead anarchist character in the story's denouement, but his character was in part responsible for that decision. Neither case saw the players involved feeling cheated or opposed to each other; they viewed their experiences in the story as evolving naturally from player actions and the other events in the story. Not every player will feel that way, but there are things you can do to resolve that. 

Before you begin adjusting your game for a party split, it's a good idea to check in with your players. Is everyone prepared for a party split game? Some players may find the idea unappealing, or even in opposition to what they find fun. If that's the case, you might try salvaging your campaign with an out-of-game appeal to your players: set aside your roleplaying differences and make the game work for the sake of everyone's enjoyment. It may even be possible that the campaign is simply over; sometimes players are neither willing to change their decision-making nor to face off against their friends. It may be better in that case to start a new campaign with better parameters than plunge into a game that will be unenjoyable for your players. But if your players are game for a little opposition, you have options for making a party split work. 

Perhaps the most common cause for party splits is alignment disagreement. I address this briefly in my guide to building a cohesive party; a lawful good character and a chaotic evil character in one party is usually a recipe for a party split. You can counteract this issue before it starts by building your party around a range of alignments. All good and all neutral alignments generally work together; all neutral and all evil alignments can be a good combination as well. Law and chaos are less divisive issues than morality (most of the time, at least), but divided moral alignments usually cause issues. (That campaign I described with the palace guards versus the anarchists? When I mapped the alignments of each of our nine characters, we had one character assigned to each alignment. No wonder it erupted in a party split.) So be careful at the beginning of the game and suggest the party agree on a range of alignments to prevent unnecessary party splits later. But you can work with party splits when they arise. 

The first thing to do when the party splits is to reorganize your story's stakes. Where once the party strove to solve problems together, now you have the party working against each other to further their agendas. So you need to move the conditions for success. Let's say you have a campaign where an evil god is promising lots of power in return for pushing their agenda--harming the innocent. Where initially the party was working to protect the innocent from this god, now you have a party split. Some characters insist on continuing to protect the innocent, but others find the god's promises of power too enticing to ignore. Now it's time to adjust the story. Instead of a blanket "protect the innocent," you develop a series of important communities. Each of those communities is both a population to protect and a group to target for the evil god. Now it's up to your players to square off and accomplish one or the other goal. 

Balance is very important in situations like these. If one group has a real advantage over the other, it should be for the sake of serious storytelling. For example, it would be a mistake to have the evil god offer magical help to the players supporting them; that gives them a big advantage over the defending players. You might offer this change to the story if the defending players are running away with the game and the evil god-aligned characters need a boost. Similarly, if it proves too easy for the evil god-aligned characters to target innocent communities, perhaps a good-aligned god steps in to help the defending players. Generally, though, you want your split parties to have equal shots at success, or else you will be dealing with players with sore feelings. 

The second big step to take is to become a more reactive GM. I talk a lot here about how you need improvisation skills to be a strong GM, and it's never truer than with party splits. The thing about a party split is that your story is no longer a path from point A to point B; it becomes an ideological issue for each character to address themselves. Developing your story still involves providing details and new events, but the meat of the story is now in how the players feel about the issues involved. For instance, in the palace guard scenario, the stepping up of guard activity would once have been a way to get the player characters to be working when something important happens. But after the party split, the palace guards respond to the increased patrols with vigilance and duty, while the anarchists respond to them with frustration and a greater need for creatively addressing their goals. As a result of this, your job as GM becomes less to advance a narrative (since your players will be doing that) and more to introduce ideas for the players to contemplate. 

An example of this in action: during the palace guard campaign, a common question was how harsh to be with the anarchists. Some players, like my younger brother, who played a sneaky orc named York, felt it their moral obligation to stop violence, but could not contemplate using violence to stop other violence. This put those characters in a position of moral quandary when dealing with the anarchists. But other players, like my best friend, who played an awkward dwarf named Barryn, were more conflicted in his beliefs. Barryn wanted to decisively strike against the anarchists, but was concerned about the moral impact of harming or imprisoning people who technically hadn't yet committed a crime. Many issues that law enforcers face in real life became the matter of the game's story, and it was a richer and more complex story for it. 

But it's not enough to react to the players and let them guide the story. You also need to let go of your ending. The stakes used to be the players versus the story, but now it's the players versus the players. I had envisioned the tragic fall of a kingdom and the players' shock at their involvement in it, but the players made the story about a struggle between powers and ideas. Similarly, you'll need to completely re-envision your story's conditions for ending. Let's return to that example about the players siding with or against an evil god. Where you once held the fate of a particular group of people to be the final stroke in the story, that ending will no longer work. The stakes have changed. Now your story is about the ultimate success of failure of that god's agenda as enforced by the players. As you may have noticed, a party split's effect on the story is often to magnify it and push the ending conditions into bigger territory. In this example, we go from the fate of a town to the fate of the whole world inasmuch as the god can change things. And that's fine! It's good to make your campaign about something bigger when party splits are involved. 

A word of warning, though: if your players said they're up for a party split, but you've noticed there's a negative change in the game afterward, you need to do something to address it. The most important thing in gaming is creating fun, and if the party split removes the fun, it's time to rethink things. I generally recommend letting a party split play out if your players are onboard with it, and I recommend using story forces rather than rules to solve the problem, but every situation is different. It may help to have some willing players create new characters who are onboard with the rest of the party's plans, and it may be a good idea to tweak the story so that everyone is closer to agreement. But the holistic way to solve it is to create story reasons to keep the player characters on the path they would naturally take. Think about how much fun you would lose if you had to roll a new character because the other characters were too different from yours. Is that fun? Probably not. I think most players would have more fun standing by their character's personality and finding new ways to engage with the story. So give a split party a chance if the conditions are right--your campaign may actually benefit from it. 

A final note on party splits: when I ran the palace guard campaign, even after the party split, I kept all my players together. I have heard of people running games where only the sub-parties play together, and I think that's a very interesting format. It really highlights the opposition of the parties and it eliminates the capacity of meta-gaming, which can be an issue in split parties. But with a group of well-meaning roleplayers, it actually helps to have everyone together. Watching another player take their turn and stymying your players is exciting and spawns one-upsmanship in a fun way. And in the case of the palace guards, it kept the social element of the game alive. Best friends sided against each other, romantic partners sided against each other, siblings sided against each other; losing these connections over the party split didn't make sense. By keeping everyone together, the joint story they all told became the central focus of the campaign rather than the many disconnected actions of the players on a grand story that was bigger than any one individual. Make this call based on your gut and player opinion; your players will have a preference for together or apart, or at least they will have an opinion after a session or two.

So the bottom line is this: a party split isn't the end of anything but your campaign as you knew it. You can and should encourage your players to keep at the story they're all telling together with some adjustments for their new roles. Rewrite your story's win conditions so that they allow the players more agency. And be ready to address smaller changes as you go, just as you would with any situation in TRPGs. With all that work, you'll be able to turn most party splits into interesting experiments in storytelling and roleplaying. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: how to include music in your campaign, how to use mirrors of your party to shake up the game, and what you can do with campaign continuity. Until next time, happy gaming!

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