As Dante recently posted, he and I just finished up Co-DM’ing a 5-week mini-campaign for our group. Though I have played D&D for 20 years, I am admittedly not a particularly experienced DM. And as any experienced DM will tell you, you can take and dispense all the advice in the world — but it’s a whole different thing when you’ve got 6 players staring you in the face waiting for you to tell them what’s next.

A Disastrous Maiden Voyage

A few years ago, I ran a very short-lived campaign that was chock full of story and good roleplaying opportunities. Unfortunately, it was also my first try ever at being DM, and I crashed and burned. I had no idea what I was doing, and my wardrobe contained absolutely no pink shirts. Mostly I stressed out over the mechanics of combat, playing arbiter for rules lawyers, and trying to keep the plot on track. I was convinced after about two sessions that that DM’ing was just Not For Me and we ended the campaign on a really strange note that involved the Stupid Ranger’s character getting polymorphed into a gorilla and doing terrible things to the main villain. Terrible. I shudder to think of it even today.

A New Hope

However, Dante and our friend Eric recently co-DM’ed a campaign in which Eric wrote most of the story and Dante ran the adventure. This appealed to me because I really enjoy writing stories, and this way I didn’t have to worry about choking in the heat of the action. So he’d run the day to day operations and I’d sit behind the scenes and roleplay most of the major NPC’s. Easy, right?

And so, with Dante at the helm of this creaking juggernaut I’d created, we set sail for adventure. And the very first night, I learned a couple very important things about writing the backend in a Co-DMing situation:

• Even if you’re not at the wheel, you still have to steer the boat.

  And to think I thought I could just sit back, relax, and watch events unfold!

  The party immediately started doing things neither Dante nor I were even remotely expecting. And the things they were doing that we were expecting were the ones we were hoping they wouldn’t do. Within 15 minutes of play, the players had all smelled various rats and were on high alert for trouble, and it was clearly evident that the big surprise scenario I wanted to end the night with wasn’t going to happen. Which brings me to my next point:

• Don’t Railroad. It’s Not Worth It.

  If the party wants to do something completely off the map, let them. If you’re not prepared for what they want to do, tell them you need to quit and you can pick it up the next gaming session when you are more prepared.

  Why? Because if you make it such that the same result happens no matter what they do, you start to dig yourself into a trench of bullshit that even you don’t buy. Your story starts to make less and less sense as the game goes on, everything seems more and more forced, and the players feel significantly less like they are in control of the events going on around them and more like they are puppets in some elaborate yet very poorly-thought-out children’s program on Public Access Television.

  Unfortunately, this was the route I went (and made Dante go down, despite his protests). And sure enough, the very next session brought complaints from the players that things felt weird and forced.

• If You Split The Party, Make Sure The Two Of You Can Communicate

  We had a wonderful ninja-type character played by our friend Katherine who had a very wonderful ninja-type thought of hiding in the shadows and waiting ’til dark while the party was off doing something else. And I say “something else” because I took her upstairs to play out what she was doing leaving Dante and the others to do their thing. I sincerely wish I’d thought to bring my laptop with me so that we might have communicated with each other. One primary problem was that, upon our return downstairs, they thought they’d been waiting around for all of 15 minutes before their ninja came back — when in fact, she’d not only waited until dark but had infiltrated the evil Chancellor’s castle. And been captured and interrogated. And set free hours later. Though Dante said nothing, his eyes spoke to me in words consisting of four letters.

  There were other times, like when the party got captured by Elves, and I took everybody individually upstairs to be interrogated. This whole time, I had envisioned a big stone building with no windows, and that is what I started describing when the players asked me. And it was about then that it came to my attention that Dante had been describing the area like a well-guarded grove of trees. Outside. I received several more four letter eye-words.

• Especially If You Are A Newb, Listen To Your Dungeon Mentor

  There were a couple of times the first two sessions when I couldn’t figure out why Dante was getting frustrated with me. And now, in retrospect, it correlated almost exactly to points where I had decided This Is The Way It Must Go No Matter What. And he would always tell me something like “I dunno man, I’m not sure they’ll go for that.” And at the time, I was thinking “he just thinks the story should go a different way but this is MY VISION!“

  Take it from me, your vision probably needs checked.

  In retrospect, it is glaringly obvious to me that this is where he noticed I was about to railroad people and tried very nicely to get me to relent. But as it always goes, you must let the train wreck happen before someone learns anything. And this is the way it went.

Fortunately, the campaign didn’t completely self-destruct. It took me one more session before I saw the error of my ways and began to atone for my sins. The next session, the party hungered for some battle, so we gave them some in the form of some NPC assassins. That session ended quickly because people weren’t feeling well.

We had planned to end the campaign with the next session, as we were nearing our finale. And when I arrived at his house, Dante spoke some terrifying words to me:

“Hey, how about you run the last one since it’s your baby?”

…. But that is a story for another time.

Phil posted a questionnaire completed by one of his players. On the questionnaire, there was a very provocative question: What do you look for in a game session to make it a great session? Sure, playing is fun, but what is it that distinguishing the good sessions from the great sessions?

Give Me a Spotlight

In a great session, my character gets to do something completely in-character, something that is truly unique to her personality, something that lets her shine. I want the details I’ve planned for my character mean something. If I’m playing a bard, I want to use my Perform skill to calm the nervous crowd. If I’m playing a ranger, I want to track (and destroy) my favored enemy. If I’m playing a fighter, I want some awesome battle in which I can display my prowess with the blade. For at least one moment, my character should be important.

Give Me Part of the Story

In a great session, our group should advance the storyline somehow. I want to make forward progress. My character didn’t get involved in this group to just hang out… she wants to accomplish something. Maybe we finally find that reclusive wizard that will give us the information we need to defeat the Big Bad. It might not have taken that much in terms of game-time, but it was significant to advancing the plot.

Give Me That Look

Every once in a while, in a truly great session, I want to do something so spectacular or unexpected that I get that special look from the DM that says, “I can’t quite believe you just did that.” Once upon a time, back in the college days, my monk, Jade, was actually a half-dragon and had the ability to transform from human to dragon shape. In the epic end battle, while being pursued by wyverns, human Jade desperately needed two things: hit points and a means of escape. I told the DM my plan: while running toward the cliff, I would use my Wholeness of Body ability to heal myself, then, throwing myself off the cliff, I would transform into my dragon form and fly off. Chuck blinked, made me roll a few checks, and allowed it. In the end, we all died (one of my only failed campaigns), but I will never, ever forget that moment.

Vanir and I had the good fortune to run a six-week mini campaign recently. Knowing that the first session of a new campaign is the most important, I would like to share our steps for preparing in a co-DM mode.

The Pre-Prep

The division of tasks for this campaign were clear: Vanir would write the plot, I would run the sessions. Since campaign writing is a collaborative thing, over the course of two weeks we spent some time throwing around ideas: a tyrannical dictator, an oppressed and generally clueless human population that was conditioned to think that the community of nearby elves were dangerous and barbaric, and so on.

Vanir had a great hook: the characters would begin in the employ of the dictator and be tasked to deliver a note demanding that the elves sacrifice their land to him or be destroyed. To further bring this point home, our characters were given a weapon of mass destruction to threaten the elves with if they did not comply.

Unfortunately for them, the dictator had bad information and the artifacts did not work the way the PCs were told. One of our characters was elected the party leader, and he alone was told that if the elves didn’t comply he would utter the command word (“journeymen”) and the artifacts would activate and destroy the elves.

This was a great setup for a fast paced campaign, so we were both very excited.

Knowing Thy Players

A great plot can be unraveled in ways unimagined by your PCs. Knowing this to be the case, we spent a considerable amount of time running “what if” scenarios by each other. This is one of the best opportunities that co-DMing provides you: the ability to run ideas past each other looking for holes and creating contingency plans should your players act randomly.

Since we know our players fairly well (some members of our group have been good friends of ours for years) we knew that there was more than a little chance that our group would do something that we did not expect. We knew one member in particular, my co-DM from another campaign that we are running, would probably be the one to attempt to blow the thing wide open.

The First Session

The player in question acted as we suspected. Immediately upon being given the artifact, our buddy immediately shared his secret duties with the rest of the group, and immediately when the chance arose invoked “journeymen” and found out that the artifact was a dud.

Thankfully, we had planned for this contingency and had some additional encounters planned to help keep the players progressing forward toward some of our other plot points, but with many of the “secrets” out of the bag it became a bit difficult. The normal rails that would’ve been hidden were a bit exposed, and the players were having some difficulty with their motivation to continue on.

The upside to these developments is that both Vanir and I could keep our cool under circumstances that normally would’ve led to catastrophe. Planning for sessions in an iterative way became very helpful during this campaign, and the combined efforts of two DMs helped to make it possible.

More to come!

Over the last couple of weeks of Proper Villainy, we’ve covered everything from how to create a villain to how to make him the worst he can be. All of these can be used to write a believable villain into your story. However, let us not forget we’re playing D&D – and that as a Dungeon Master, you have certain responsibilities to your players that must be considered.

Your villain should not be invincible.

Anybody else ever watch a James Bond movie and cringe when the bad guy captures Bond and reveals his evil plot instead of just busting a cap right in his Secret Agent Dome? Then, naturally, the baddie leaves Bond alone in the deathtrap for a few minutes, which is ample enough time for him to escape and eventually bring the villain down. I know that if I was ever a supervillain, I wouldn’t make that sort of mistake.

Well, here’s the thing. You’re leading a bunch of players through an adventure in which, more than likely, they are the heroes. If they’re against an opponent they can’t ever win against, that is not fun. I’m not saying let the PC’s breeze through every battle. That would be silly, and also boring. But do let them win eventually.

I am reminded of when I was about 7 years old, and my older brother (who is one of the nicest people I know) was a total dick to me when we were playing with my He-Man action figures. The incident went something like this:

Him: Skeletor captures Teela and takes He-Man’s power sword!
Me:: But He-Man hits Skeletor in the face and takes it back!
Him: Without the Power Sword, He-Man is powerless and it doesn’t hurt at all! Skeletor then tosses the Power Sword into the Great Abyss, forever ridding the world of He-Man!!
Me: MOM!!!!!!!!

There is a little something to remember here when dealing with the PC’s. You’re omnipotent in their world. You make the rules. They can’t beat you. It’s like trying to rules lawyer God into making it rain tomorrow. (If any of you can do that, I have some requests.) If you’re constantly never letting them win because “that’s not how my villain would act”, you’re missing the point of why everybody is sitting around the table looking at you and rolling dice.

Make Your Villain Mortal Again In 30 Days Or Your Money Back

• Smoke And Mirrors

  You can just make him LOOK invincible until the PC’s show up. However, you may run the risk of leaving your players feeling let down if they show up and find a 98 pound weakling instead of the Dark Warlord of Blood. Make him difficult — just not insurmountable.

• Give him a weakness.

  If you really must make your villain invincible, provide some kryptonite that the PC’s have to work for. And when it’s time to use it, I personally prefer making that a challenge as well. After all, it’d be boring if the PC’s walked in the front door, held aloft the Wand of Fraznozz, and a bolt of lightning struck the evil wizard down immediately before the PC’s were awarded experience and bid good night.

  One way to do keep this exciting is to make the “kryptonite” difficult to use – like birds steal the artifact and you have to shoot them down to get it back while Big Bad’s chopping the party up. Another is to have it be nonlethal – it just allows the party to hit him / not die instantly when he hits them. You still want the end battle to be an exciting climax.

• Friends Don’t Let Friends Use Deus Ex Machina

  If your villain is way badder than the PC’s could ever hope to be, don’t have the solution to this be an external force, for instance – a equally superbad NPC on the side of Truth and Justice, showing up at the last minute. This takes the PC’s completely out of the equation and turns what should have been a climactic battle into nothing more than a cutscene. And though you might be tempted to use said Super Awesome Good NPC to wear the villain down enough for the PC’s to handle him, it still takes away from their sense of accomplishment in kicking his evil ass.

  Don’t let anything bogart the PC’s glory. That’s why you’re all there. Even you.

Remember, as DM, it’s your job to run the show and thrill the people at your gaming table. It’s OK to deviate from the plan a little bit — and stack the deck slightly in favor of the PC’s — to make the story work out better in the end.

But if anyone finds our you’re doing it, you kill them in their sleep.

Until next time….

<evil laughter>

We’re rapidly closing in on our one-month anniversary here at Stupid Ranger, and I’d like to take a moment just to say thanks. We just crested 3,000 pageviews today, which is pretty amazing to me. We’ve got readers from everywhere from Iceland to Iraq. Some dude in Baghdad has seen Lumbar. I am speechless and grateful.

Thanks to everybody who comes to read us every day. Thanks to all of you who linked to us and helped us start to grow. Extra special thanks to every website owner that got an email from us and still read it even though they thought it was spam. You know who you are. 🙂

I wholeheartedly encourage everybody to click on those links on the right side of our front page. None of us would be here without a good community, and I think there’s a lot of good D&D sites run by some really great people. Please go visit them, and keep a good thing going.

There’s been a few outstanding individuals (with outstanding websites) without whom we would almost certainly not have gotten this far this fast:

• Martin from Treasure Tables
• Yax from DungeonMastering
• Jonathan Drain from Jonathan Drain’s d20 Source
• Phil from Musings of the Chatty DM

Thanks, guys. We really appreciate the help and support you’ve given us over the last month.

Once again, to everyone, thanks for coming. We’re enjoying the hell out of this website, and I hope all of you are as well. 🙂

Yes. There’s a story to this one, but if we told you we’d have to kill you. Gygax laughed, that’s all you need to know.

I was working on Better Characters: Weapons post when I came to realize a startling fact: I have never played a true stand-alone spellcaster. Now, I have played spellcasters: clerics, bards, even a sorceress, but I have never allowed them to rely solely on their magical abilities.

I suppose the reason I was so surprised is that I’ve always felt that spellcasters are so powerful: how many times has a fireball turned the tides in a difficult battle? How impressive is the power behind a lightning bolt? I hold spellcasters with great respect, as a player and a character. And yet, I have never played the character wielding these spells.

After coming to this revelation, I talked it over with Dante, who, of course, pointed out the very obvious: I don’t trust magic because it eventually runs out. After you’ve used up your spells for the day, you’re done until tomorrow, and the best you can hope to achieve is some minor damage from whatever simple weapon you have at your disposal.

So, my resolution, which I state before you all, is to play a true spellcaster in the next new campaign. I’ll let you know how it goes! 😉

As mentioned earlier this week, we have been experimenting with the noble art of co-DMing. I would like to share a cautionary tale of symbiotic preparation gone terribly wrong in the hopes that nobody repeats the errors that troubled us for a brief while.

Let it not be said that I won’t own up to my mistakes!

The Problem – Preparation Gone Wrong

A few sessions into our first experiment into co-DMing, Murphy came to visit and my co-DM was not able to come up with any compelling story advancing elements for the session (which started in an hour and a half). He suggested that we try a module that he had handy. It was a realtively intricate haunted mansion story, however it soon became apparent that there was Too Much Stuff in there for a one-session diversion like we had originally intended.

Using the principles of creating episodic content, we had placed the hook of this module in the adequate hands of the leader of the local thieves guild, who recruited our players at swordpoint to go and rescue his children that had gone missing in the vicinity of the haunted mansion.

Unfortunately, this worked too well… we had crafted a scenario that drove our players into our “prepared” content, however we had not left them with an out that didn’t involve their organs ending up on the black market.

Oh no, whatever did you do?

After two sessions, our group was growing weary of the setting. It was a little advanced for their party level, so they were forced to go through the cycle of fight then go back to town to get healing at least twice. They scarcely made it 1/3 of the way through the floor plan of the haunted mansion after these two sessions so I did what any good self-respecting DM would do: started hacking stuff out of there.

All of a sudden the seven rooms that the players didn’t go into on the main floor became a long wide hallway, which turned a bend to the basement stairs. The basement, which had originally been a giant cavern structure, got boiled out to its component teleportation puzzle that took them to the battle with the Big Bad.

Since they hadn’t made it to these areas yet, it was a pretty easy decision and it led to a pretty spectacular moment for our fighter. The module eventually resolved, and the players appeared satisfied at the result. Due to some unexpectedly acerbic comments by our fighter and cleric, the party still ended up on the bad side of the thieves guild, but that is a story for another time.

The Great Post-Mortem

I would like to be very clear in saying that this was not my co-DM’s fault. I should have opted to take the time to read through the module thoroughly and cut away the parts that were too time consuming ahead of schedule, but I opted to wing it.

As a result it became rather apparent to the players that they were inside of a module, which is something that is usually a pretty major gaffe. While my players generally embraced the hook that I placed before them, it would have been more appropriate if I had given them an out that didn’t place them immediately in mortal peril.

In the world of co-DMing, preparation should be a two-way street. Always (and I mean always) have something prepared if the co-DM gets sick at the last minute, has writers block, or is otherwise incapacitated… it will be better for your players, your game, and your stress level.

I’m going to make a distinction here. There are bad guys, and there are villains. What’s the difference? Well, let’s go a little less fantasy and a little more sci-fi for a moment. Let’s take everybody’s favorite Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader. I don’t think too many people are going to disagree with me when I call him a true villain. He’s one of the classics, despite (IMHO) a somewhat poorly-executed backstory in the prequels. What makes him a true villain?

• Infamy

  Bad guys are bad. They can be heartless, cruel, sadistic, murderous, you name it. But one thing they’re not is infamous. And that’s one thing a real villain has going for him. The seasoned villain has spread fear throughout the land with an iron fist, people quail at the mention of his name. People might not want his name spoken aloud for fear he might hear them!

  You can get infamous fast or slow. You can get it fast by, say, murdering an entire village. Then sit back and watch as your name spreads fear across the land for awhile. But good, long-lasting infamy — that needs slow-cooked in a giant black crock pot with a skull on it. Vader had a very nice crock pot, and he used it religiously. You have to cultivate this kind of infamy, and Vader waged a campaign of terror across the galaxy — and to do that, sometimes you need theatrics. He makes examples of people at staff meetings by choking them with the Force. He blows up entire planets to make his point. But most of all, his official title has “DARK LORD” in it. Everybody everywhere knows you don’t want Vader showing up on your front porch for any reason, and that’s completely on purpose.

• Advanced FUD

  Not to say all your villains have to wear a black cape and look malevolent and shadowy, but keeping the FUD flowing by staying mysterious certainly isn’t going to hurt. What I mean by this is, people are way scarier when you don’t know how, when, or even if they’re going to come at you. This could mean several things. People could just be ignorant or wildly misinformed about a villain’s battle capabilities (like when Han Solo fires a blaster at Vader in ESB and Vader just stops it cold…. thats gotta demoralize a scoundrel). Or the villain could simply be known for being unpredictable – and frequently catastrophically violent. Think about it, if Darth Vader goes to the grocery store to buy a carton of milk, the dude working the counter is PRAYING LIKE CRAZY that there’s nothing wrong with the credit card reader.

  Vader had FUD down to a science. It seemed like he was everywhere, in a TIE fighter, lightsaber duelling, pointing Death Stars at planets. You couldn’t escape him, and you had no freaking idea what evil rabbit he was going to pull out of his hat next. His breathing made you wonder what the hell was really under that suit. And his Force powers made all of us go “he can do WHAT?” more than once. Come on, being able to sense Luke had a sister and gloating that he was going to turn her to the Dark Side? Guessing Luke wasn’t expecting that. That’s some evil genius right there. And the fact that he could pull stuff like that out of his ass just made him that much scarier.

  What’s that you’re saying? My villain isn’t a Sith Lord, and doesn’t have all those cool powers? No problem. The human mind has a tendency to blow things out of proportion, and that’s what villains need. Your villain may simply be an ordinary S.O.B., but you want people to think of him as an unstoppable dark force who can destroy everything they hold dear with but a passing thought. Incite unrest in the people with tales of your dark army by raiding some villages — but try not to let anyone see the whole thing. This way they think it’s huge — and panic — regardless of whether it actually is. Save an evil twist for the end of an encounter. Do horrible things to people by proxy. Don’t let them steal your villain’s power away by letting them see the real him. When they know what they’re facing, they can plan and move against it.

• Arrogance

  There’s gotta be a little. It’s just no fun to finally beat the giant emotionless killer robot at the end of the game. It’s much more satisfying to finally put that smug son of a bitch in his place. Vader was right on here too. Not only is he sure he can crush the rebels, he’s gonna turn his kids (and mortal enemies) to the Dark Side. Because he can. And it’s so great seeing the villain’s reaction to their world crumbling around their dark, evil ears when the heroes bring them down. Can any of you tell me you didn’t feel just a little awesome at the end of Star Wars when Han Solo shot Vader just as he was about to blow Luke away? Vader’s reaction was simple, but great – “WHAT???!”

  If you want a villain people love to hate, arrogance is a good place to start.

Now, for contrast, let’s take Darth Maul from Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Evil? Sure! Hell, he even killed off a Jedi. But nobody has any idea who he is. About the only thing Darth Maul had going for him was some seriously amazing Jedi whoopass skills. But once he got chopped in half, nobody cared anymore. Even at 8 years old, I didn’t want Vader to die. Maul was just a bad guy. Vader was the real deal. Vader even out-evilled the goddamned Emperor. What’s that, you say he turned good at the end? Pardon me, but I think turning your back on goodness and justice and terrorizing an entire galaxy for 30 years and STILL getting into the shiny guys’ club when you die is the best con job ever performed.

Darth Vader had Proper Villainy down to a science. Learn from the master.

P.S. Yeah, I know I was going to talk about the pitfalls of evil characters this time. In the heat of my sci-fi nerd-lust, I forgot. We will explore those depths next time. Until then…….

<evil laughter>

There comes a moment when every character is faced with a decision whose outcome will either be for the good of the character or the good of the party. And when that times comes, it is one of the most difficult situations you will ever face.

The Scenario

At the end of a recent campaign, Ari, my elven fighter, found herself in the midst of a situation where she had to question her actions: was she acting in the best interest of the party? The group had acquired several pieces of the star-shaped artifact that would close the many portals opening all over the countryside; they had climbed the tower to the ceremonial site; they had found several of the pieces already in place. All they had to do was join the few pieces they had collected, and the star would be complete. As they were about to complete their mission, their luck ran out; multiple portals opened around them, and demons started entering the room.

The Dilemma

As the guardian of the artifact’s pieces, Ari felt obligated to finish putting together the star; as one of the fighters, she felt obligated to draw her blades and fight off the minions of evil. She was sure, however, that if she could finish reconstructing the star, the gates would be closed and they would all be safe again. But, she still felt as if she were taking the easy route in all of this, standing at the back of the room and furthest away from all the danger. Should she keep up her efforts reconstruct the star, even though she was not suffering in the attacks, or should she abandon her task and fight to save her companions?

The Decision

Ari held true to her convictions and continued to reconstruct the star while all around her demons poured into the world, bent on destruction. Every time it was her turn, and the DM looked over at me to see what Ari would do, I struggled against the metagaming voice that told me someone across the room was about to be officially dead and allowed Ari to hold onto her belief that the only way to end this was to finish piecing together the star.

In the end, it all turned out okay. Ari was right all along, and by reconstructing the star, she caused the portals to close. By allowing my character to follow her convictions (and by staying in character), the evils were defeated and the entire party went on the live happily ever after… until the next chapter starts up in a few weeks.