That’s the thing about fightin’ with the Book of Hoyle on your side… sometimes the cards just plain don’t come up your way.  I’d already expended what little favor I had gained with the manitou that sits on the other side of the shade from me, and I couldn’t catch a break.  The last failed attempt at hexslingin’ fried me so bad I can’t even bring myself to handle my deck of cards right now, but that’s a story for another time.

After the ruckus quieted down outside my hideout, I was able to wrap up my wounds enough to go out searchin’ for the rest of my gang.  I came around the corner and that’s when I saw one of the damnedest sights I’ve ever seen… my cousin Dustin, writhin’ around on the ground like the Devil himself had him by the ears.  Then I saw why… he’d been shot bad.  He’d seen the bad end of another Peacemaker, and this one got him… well… polite company calls it the unmentionables, but others call ‘em Rocky Mountain Oysters, Juevos Rancheros, the ol’ Family Jewels.  And they was shot plumb off.

He was lucky to be alive, but all the same it’s hard to console a man whose manhood was now a fine paste on the boardwalk in front of a saloon.  I was able to wrap him up enough to prevent him from dyin’, but they’ll be callin’ him Stumpy from here on out.  Life in the Weird West is a bitch sometimes.

Focus on the roleplay

From our interview with Andy Collins and Bill Slavicsek at GenCon last year, this conclusion was clear to me: the mechanics are just mechanics, and you should be focusing on the roleplay.  Nerds latch on to rules and limitations, and often excel and enjoy min/maxing or using the mechanics to ends that they probably weren’t intended for.  What 4e provides for you is a way to have entry-level abilities and skills and have them FEEL impressive.  They even give you special racial abilities that help deepen your character from a two-dimensional cookie cutter into a honed, interesting, dynamic badass that is fun to play.

But I digress.  The criticism that 4e characters all feel like spellcasters, casting with their implements/weapons/rages/etc instead of having actual fighting tactics are ridiculously unfounded IMHO.  What has happened is that 4e characters have some very cool and dynamic abilities that allow them to participate in combat in a more meaningful way.

In our last session, our Avenger used on of his abilities to switch places with a bad guy, forcing said baddie into a situation that they had to struggle to get out of.  Our player actually remarked that that was one excellent battle tactic and that was an important distinction: the abilities read in a standard way, and its easy to attribute them all to a spell block since that’s what we’re used to from previous editions.  In reality, the non-magical character abilities are intended to be battle tactics, or primal abilities… something exceptionally physical to shape the battle in their favor.

So in short: view your character through the proper lens that the class outlines, and pay no mind to the fact that the ability card looks like the 3e spell block.  They’re just trying to simplify the presentation, and that’s it.

WARNING: This post may contain some details about the Kincep Mansion module, but I will try to keep it spoiler-free.  You’ve been warned.

Always coordinate with healthy natural plant life

Our D&D crew has recently began exploring Kincep Mansion, a lovely example of Victorian era fantasy architectures that has fallen into sad disrepair.  Unfortunately, the Kincep mansion has been beset by some less than desirable feng-shui in recent years, best seen to be believed.  They did get one thing right: cultivating a healthy and extensive garden.

During our last session, Stupid Ranger’s character was exploring the grounds and smartly taking the circuitous path to survey the property.  Upon reaching the back of the mansion, I described the garden as described in the module and then she started asking questions.  “Is it a kitchen garden?” she asked.  My first thought (and statement): “WTF is a kitchen garden?”

It seems that this fairly obvious detail was overlooked on the Kincep Mansion fact sheet, so I had to stammer around a bit and decide what type of plants actually comprised the overgrown garden.  Everyone also had a good laugh at my lack of skill at herbology.  The main takeaway here: read through the module and ask yourself “what possible follow-up questions can the players have in this situation?” and make up some stock answers.

An informed interior designer is a happy interior designer

Once again, Stupid Ranger’s character was my downfall.  This time they were cautiously edging closer to the stable area of the map.  They didn’t like the looks of the run-down architecture and overgrown surroundings (always hire a gardener before you want to sell a property!) so Stupid Ranger’s bard wanted to know if she’d heard any stories that would tell about the interior of the mansion and whether or not the stables connected to the main house.  This was not apparent from the outside of the building, so it was a long-shot and by this point in the session I was rather exasperated at the strange details that I had to make up on the fly.

Of course, Stupid Ranger rolled a natural 20.

That meant I had to make up a story about Euphegenia Kincep, the impetuous daughter of the mansion’s owners who enraged her conservative father by sneaking out the Main Hall via the east entrance to the stables with her beau.  A ruined chastity belt later and the story is the stuff of local legends.  Of course, the group wanted to know if they ended up in the stall or the hayloft and a variety of other questions best left for impolite company.

The moral of this story: let your characters use their skills, and be prepared to pull some impromptu tales of lore out of your hindquarters.  This particular situation was stressful for me as the GM, but the result not only fit well into the plot but the group LOVED it.

Be prepared to dive deep into the interior design of your dungeon because you will end up with a richer experience as a result.  Let’s hear some stories of dungeon detailing from you, gentle reader!  Until next time!

I had thought briefly about creating specific plane-based encounters, but because I have been having some difficulty with battle encounters eating up entire gaming sessions I opted instead for the locale itself as the platform for the gaming session.  The players quickly realized that all was not normal when they were whisked away to several different planar settings, including the Elemental Plane of Chaos, the Astral Sea, and Shadowfell.

Now I had some ideas for what the setting would entail, and I retained the relative lack of cardinality of the Ziggurat.  I gave the players some options for exploration, treasure, and combat (however the combat was essentially optional).  Instead, the group seemed more interested in exploring their surroundings… if you click the link for the Astral Sea above, you will see an image of a floating castle.  They immediately wanted to go there, so I had to come up with some interesting roleplay on the spot.  I decided that this would be the Throne of Ao, just to see how they would react to that.  I won’t go into the details of how this played out, but suffice it to say that it was entertaining and the players got some important guidance for the rest of the campaign.

I enjoyed the random nature of the Ziggurat.  Perhaps my interpretation of it was quite incorrect, but my players had fun while having absolutely no battle.  Instead, they had some skill challenges and some roleplay experience awards.  When coupled with some treasure and some information to advance the plot, this all added up to a satisfying experience for both the players and myself.

The Story

Previously in our adventure, we encountered John, who has been working for the Drow because they took his wife hostage.  We entered a deal with John that we would rescue his wife from the Underdark if he told the drow that he had a way to infiltrate the restricted section of the library (we needed more info about the Drow and their plans for items from the library).  So after much wandering around in dark tunnels, taking those roads less traveled to avoid wandering parties of Drow, we found ourselves at a dead end: two Drow guarding the wife, Silvia.

For those of you who haven’t been following along, I’m currently playing Eaerenel, an Eladrin Wizard who specializes in fire spells.  And if you’re not familiar with the fire spells, they usually affect everyone in the area of effect, not just the bad guys.  So if Eaerenel cast a fire spell to affect the guards, she was going to be making life a little extra toasty for poor Silvia.  To make matters more urgent, the Drow decided to kill her instead of letting us try to rescue her and had cast a spell that enveloped her in web of spiders.

Things were looking desperate, and this is where I got creative.  With the DM’s permission, I invoked my ability to Twist the Arcane Fabric to move Silvia to safety before casting one of my fiery spells.  Twist the Arcane Fabric is a feat from Arcane Power (p 130), that allows an Eladrin to use her fey step ability to move an ally out of the way before casting an area or close arcane power.  Dante allowed that since “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Silvia could be counted as an ally.  It was a spectacular moment that made my whole night; I got to save the day!

Be Creative!

Creativity during game play is one of the cornerstones of roleplaying.  Without a touch of creativity, the game becomes mechanical.  To keep that spark of creativity burning,  you have to know your character’s capabilities; how can you plan an awesome course of action if you don’t know what you can do?

In Case of Emergency, FREAK OUT

Well, not freak out exactly, but you certainly make a ton of stuff up on the spot.  In the course of one session, I had to invent three taverns, a half-orc merchant NPC, an entire structure of pages and associated low level government officials associated with the city council (thankfully, I had already planned the bones of the council), and some political plots and intrigue that even I don’t know where they will end up.

What was the hardest part?  Names actually.  The WotC name generator is pretty cumbersome.  In fact, it created some repeatedly inappropriate names (what famous noble is named Horhand, seriously?) and it was tough to rapidly use to generate a small group of names.  Thanks to the miraculous wonder that is Google, I was able to come up with this handy group name generator.  I don’t know who runs the site, but it appears old (references Netscape… retro!) but really got the job done.  A single button click got me enough names to make it through the unexpected roleplaying bonanza.

Eventually, back on track

Our group eventually grew weary of exploring the town, and one of our group members fancied a fight.  Luckily, I had previously identified “that part of town” and had a bar all set up for the purpose.  Fisticuffs were drawn, some fighting was had, and eventually the group headed back to talk to the council member that they had come to this town to visit in the first place.

It was interesting to have to flesh out a town that I had already created the bones for, and have to do so all in one session in front of my whole group.  Everyone had a good time, I awarded the group copious amounts of roleplaying experience to make up for the lack of actual encounters and much fun was had by all.  Has anyone else ever had to perform a similar feat of thinking on your feet as a Game Master?  Let’s hear about it in the comments!

In 3.5, we had the Listen, Spot and Search skills as the observation-based skills.  But on Friday night, I actually saw these skills in action as Dante & I were visiting with some friends.  The kids made a point to show us their rooms, including their books.  Dante rolled pretty well on his Spot check, noticing what books were on the bookshelf.

Shortly after that, I saw the Listen Skill in action.  The kids hovered on the periphery of the adults’ conversation, adding in little bits and pieces.  Dante made a very low roll on his Listen check, and he didn’t really “listen” to anything that the kids said although he made appropriate responses at the time.

The final result of these skill checks came to light on Saturday morning as we were driving.  He mentioned that it might be nice to get the kids a little something as they are helping to take care of our dog, Teddy.  He suggested a couple of books that would fit nicely on the bookshelf, but he missed some of the verbal clues that gave me ideas of other small gifts we might give them.

This is really where the insight came to me: a low roll on one of these skills might not necessarily mean that you didn’t see or hear the subject of the check; maybe you just don’t really understand how it might be significant.  A low Spot check may mean that you see a bird in the sky, a higher check may mean that you recognize it, and a really good check may mean that you know it will lead you to safe water.

I have experienced this kind of description a couple of times in my D&D days, but it does really add something to the game play.  The places where I’ve really missed this level of detail are usually in modules or other dungeon-crawl situations, where we’re just there to hack-and-slash our way through the baddies, but that doesn’t mean that this isn’t a valid place to include these little “flavor text” descriptions.

The Background

We have Toccata and Fugue, twin Goliath sisters. They are bards, play trumpets, and have multiclassed themselves as silly as possible at 5th level. They are ultra-competitive, which only adds to the relative insanity.

The campaign takes place at a remote Woodstock-like music festival, where a major act is headlining and the throngs of people that have shown up are drunk and in a party mood.

The following excerpts are from my Twitter, in chronological order for readability’s sake.

The Tweets

WARNING: Some content may be inappropriate. You have been warned.

“OK, we’ve got two Goliath Bards that were orphans raised by dwarves. One can summon a spirit bear with one eye named Bobo. What next?”

“We’re both big, so we need big… implements.” -e

“And I keep my holy symbol of Moradin between my tits.” -e

“The dwarves, they may not have the length but they certainly have the girth.” -e

“Dwarven girls can handle the girth, but just can’t stand the length” -e

“Do I hear screams of excitement, or …… excitement? -stupidranger

And now we’re discussing breast augmentation creams and now they would work in D&D.

“Barf is more potent than beer because it has stomach acid.” -e

Now I’m being asked the average penis length for a half-elf. Anyone know?

Now we’re fighting some ghouls. They’re mocking the ghoul’s bandana.

Thank God, this session is over for the night. Time to replenish material and rest my weary psyche.

A Cautionary Tale? Hardly!

As you can see, we had some fun. Despite all of the roleplay time, the two of them made it a fair way through my prepared content so I feel like it was a rousing success! As you can see, not much effort was made to constrain their desire to roleplay and be as crazy, and we still managed to progress the plot.

I think it was a pretty good attempt at a campaign in the style I discussed yesterday, I highly recommend you give this type of not-too-serious campaigning a try!

For the first couple levels, I was happy as a clam — a clam set free riding a warm breeze in the spring! I’d seen this sort of gameplay before. It wasn’t rocket science. You activate things by running over them, they activate, and something happens (usually involving some sort of land-rejuvenation like dead grass turning green). It’s not a real complex puzzle game at all. But you don’t play Flower because you want challenging gameplay. You play Flower because you want to go WHEEEEEE I CAN FLY WHEEE GRASS ON A SUNNY DAY WHEEEEEEEE. I’m recall thinking that the first couple levels of this game are the cure for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and that I would play this game every time I get stressed out. It was like being four years old again, and running through a field full of rolling hills and dandelions. It felt great.

After that, things changed.

The nighttime level started off much as the daytime ones, except the grass that the wind touched glowed, and would power these little lightposts everywhere. It was quiet, and pretty, and tranquil. Kind of like a dream, which was not a big surprise since I’d heard the developer referred to each level as a “dream”. What the bastards forgot to tell us is that they also included nightmares.

After clearing part of the level and lighting something up, all of a sudden the soothing music darkens noticeably and the camera pans over to a dark place on the horizon. Something cracks and pops, and small dark red lights hang menacingly from powerlines I can’t see. Oh, and darkness started creeping over the ground, seemingly led by some malevolent force. And that’s where I have to go next. No problem, I think, I’d find some flowers and light that shit right up. But as I go deeper into the darkness, there’s no flowers. Matter of fact, I can barely see where I’m going aside from those red lights. And it’s getting narrower. And those lights look like they’re watching me. And I’m going so fast, I can’t stop, everything’s in the way. Is it reaching for me? I’m going to trip and something’s going to get me! My pulse quickens and my breath is gone. I almost want to cry a little.

Then, as quickly as it started, it’s over. I’d cleared the level somehow. The previous levels had some goal, like revitalizing a tree or activating a bunch of windmills, and you got a nice little set of cutscenes at the end where you could just watch and relax. This dumped me out to the stage selection menu, sitting on the couch trying to catch my breath, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Then it hit me. This was completely intentional, and brilliant. The reason I was so scared is they managed to activate my inner 4 year old, and keep me in that mindset for awhile, and then throw in exactly what scares the crap out of him. And when I’d have a nightmare as a kid, it almost always was me doing something fun, and then something changes subtly, and then I’m running for my life from something, and I don’t know what it is but it’s scary, and things are going way too fast for me to process and I’d want to cry and then suddenly I’m awake and everything is OK again but I don’t know how I got here or if any of this is real and I’m still scared out of my mind. (I briefly considered phoning my parents to see if they’d let me sleep in their bed that night, but I think Efreak might have objected.)

Imagine if you could harness that kind of fear in your campaign. While I struggle to think of ways to do it as effectively in D&D as it’s done in Flower, the idea of something dark, malevolent, and most importantly nameless seems like a very good place to start. If you plop an enemy down and the players sort of know its stats and you announce all its abilities (with stats) as they happen, it breaks the spell. Now, granted, you can’t really get around that in D&D — when they take damage, you have to tell the players what happened to them in a way that they can record on their character sheet. But that doesn’t mean you have to say “the wight uses its Drain Level ability on the farmer”. You could, instead, talk about the NPC farmer suddenly being grabbed by a clawed hand from the shadows, his face suddenly growing gaunter and paler. Make sure to mention his attempts to cry for aid instead producing a dry rattle. You don’t have to tell the PC’s everything all the time!

…….OK, I admit it. I wrote that last part about D&D because I wanted to distract everyone from the fact that a game about flowers scared the hell out of me. It’s not the first time flowers have scared me so. There was also that time when I was 3 that my older brother told me there was a new kind of killer bee that looked just like floating dandelion seeds……

The idea of some epic story running in the background tends to diminish the PCs in a game somewhat. To me, player characters are competing with non player characters for the spotlight in settings like this. Even in a Hyborean Age setting, players will measure their character’s deeds and worth against that well known Cimmerian. Playing a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away means living up to all of the iconic characters of that saga. And who can stand next to the deeds of a simple hobbit and his gardener in Middle-Earth?

I can see where he’s coming from to a certain extent. You don’t want to diminish the PCs’ importance in the story. But I feel this points to something of a cultural need to up the ante and make things more exciting by means of putting things in a larger scale — an entertainment arms race, if you will. Under this mindset, you could have an exciting adventure where the characters save the girl, defeat the bad guy, and narrowly avoid death countless times — but since nobody saved the world from total destruction, it’s now somehow boring.

I would submit that large, epic backdrops for your campaign give you a lot more options as to what your PCs do. The story of Star Wars isn’t just about the dozen or so epic battles we see. For every one of those we see, there were a thousand more in the war that we didn’t, and they didn’t have anything to do with the Big Story. (That’s why I love the Clone Wars cartoon. Mace Windu vs the robots FTW.) There are giant, untapped mines of action and intrigue everywhere if you pause to find them.

There’s no need to try to shoehorn your PCs into someone else’s story — they have their own to tell. If you can get the players invested in their characters and what they’re doing, it will be interesting. Your players are not unimportant in the grand scheme of things if you focus on their story instead of the grand scheme of things.