Welcome back to the column that breaks down gaming into what’s really important, ten things at a time!

The best civilizations in D&D have a very different feel from anything in the real world. A simple urban adventure could happen anywhere, but the exotic environments in these races’ cities open up much stranger options.

1. Drow.

The hierarchical, cutthroat, slave-driven society of the drow is one of the most unique and fully realized in D&D. Rival noble houses, the powerful priestess caste and the weaker males, and the fervent worship of Lolth all add unique color to a drow city setting. Drow cities make perfect settings for power struggles, demonic rites, and intrigue-based adventures.

2. Githyanki.

The city of Tu’narath, home to the lich-queen Vlaakith, serves as the center of githyanki civilization. But the githyanki’s culture is monolithic, and extends to every astral vessel they pilot. Putting your PCs in such a xenophobic, warlike society usually means a big battle, but you the githyanki sometimes make deals—deals they plan to honor until the day they can conquer the ones they’ve made the deals with.

3. Giant.

Tyranny and violence define the societies of the evil giants. They exert brutal control over their subjects and try to dominate others’ settlements. The giants’ strongholds can provide plenty of variety and interesting set dressing. Different kinds of giants inhabit outposts in the borderlands, massive keeps, volcanic lairs, and icy castles.

4. Lizardfolk.

Wild jungle and swamp adventures can bring adventurers into the territory of the lizardfolk. Their tribes enact primitive rituals and revel in cold-blooded savagery. A group of adventurers stuck in the midst of a large tribe of lizardfolk will find that their social graces and reason won’t protect them.

5. Mind Flayer.

Alien architecture and the utter domination of thralls by their illithid masters mark a mind flayer settlement. Mind flayers only rarely gather all in one place, but their far-spanning schemes and dark alliances create the sort of civilization that can span a campaign arc rather than be confined to one location.

6. Minotaur.

The mazes of the demon-worshipping minotaurs trap their foes. The minotaurs themselves can be difficult to understand and deal with, and adventurers stuck wandering a minotaur maze might feel very much alone as they struggle to find anyone sane within.

7. Kuo-toa.

Cold, damp underground lairs of the kuo-toa combine the otherness and strange worship of the lizardfolk with the slavery and religious hierarchy of the drow. The seeming order of their society holds a dark secret: Madness lurks just below the surface of the kuo-toa psyche.

8. Goblins.

The hierarchical society of the goblins stretches from the domineering, warlike hobgoblins to the bugbear enforcers to the desperate, squabbling goblins. All these contrasts within one group make a layered civilization where adventurers might be able to turn factions against each other or exploit the flaws of their goblin enemies.

9. Efreet.

The domains where efreeti dwell are hostile places for outsiders, both because of the flaming environments they prefer and because of the firm control efreeti assert over their servants and slaves. Gleaming spires and domes of brass and gold show off the wealth the egotistic creatures possess.

10. Duergar.

Like a dark mirror of the dwarves, duergar build immaculate underground castles and strongholds. Like the devils they worship, the duergar like to command slaves and keep them on a tight leash.

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Let the New Year ring in new ideas in gaming!

And welcome back to the series that takes a 20 on a Spot check to find role-playing cues in the finer details of the D&D game. Here we forge ahead while never fully taking our focus off the rearview, continuing our look at naming conventions and how understanding a class’s title in context of the world it exists in can inform our role-play.

Parte El Numero Quinto: “How do you say ‘classic portrayal’?”

“Do you believe in magic?”

Clerics are the go-to healers in D&D. But too often they are not allotted the full recognition they deserve. True, they can heal others, among other things, but first and foremost they are conduits through which their deities communicate and interact in the game world—take that essential part away from them, and they’re no longer clerics. They are “rechargeable magic items,” if you will, “wielded” on the material plane by the god whom they venerate, though the “damage” or results they bring about vary from cleric to cleric. While the title “cleric” is a good catchall that identifies all the basic traits a person of this profession would embody, calling them as such and self-referential statements as such only serve to pigeonhole them as healers (something everyone already understands about clerics), and doesn’t open the character or the game up to further RP developments. Many clerics belong to priestly orders that strive to see to a particular end. Players should also mine any resources on their cleric’s deity, adapting a saying, motto, or creed from the deity’s dogma, or adopting a new in-world term for cleric that they go by from the information provided (e.g. clerics of Deneir in Forgotten Realms are called “glyphscribes”). By reciting this info in-game or creating a routine of referring to our clerics as, “[Name] of [Name of Priestly Order]” we are inviting the DM to seed his adventures with references, clues, and mysteries pertaining to the party cleric, or for players at the table to press for the meanings and leanings behind such colorful role-play without resorting to, “Healer! Who’s got the healer?!”

Druids are the backwoods cousins of clerics in D&D. While they also wield divine (or nature) magic, their emphasis is not so much on healing. So too are they less clannish than the average cleric. Because being a druid is more of a lifestyle than a profession (a distinction shared between the barbarian and the fighter also), their social status is more nebulous than the cleric’s. How they form relationships and the way they interact with the world is more determined by their neighbors and the environment they find themselves in. A druid in the desert might work to nurture oases and create a greater balance between the dry and the lush, in turn making the environment more habitable and creating a greater sense of reliance between the druid and other settlers, though placing the druid at direct odds with the desert’s naturally destructive tendencies (sandstorms, locusts, etc.) Conversely, a druid in a forest rapidly being harvested for wood might work to prevent needless felling of trees, an act that places the environment’s reliance on the druid at odds with those who populate it. Either way, the druid is a galvanizing force in the world where he exists (after all, efforts at promoting natural balance aren’t as fervently pursued where balance already exists), thus showing the significance and bearing that the title “druid” carries extends beyond the statistical (or crunch) and into the societal, environmental, and economical (or fluff).

While clerics derive their social status from the deities they serve, and druids from the environments they are placed in (making the class titles they bear less or more relevant to the kind of role-play they inhabit), sorcerers derive their social status (or “RP cred”, if you like) from their reputation. Because the sorcerer is more of a freeform spellcaster, as opposed to the wizard who must often use planning and elaborate strategy to be successful, she finds success in the moment, as her more immediate, impulsive spells and answers for things come out of such situations and are embedded in her design as a class. This suggests the sorcerer’s reputation may be in constant flux. Playing a sorcerer is the player’s best chance at sorting through all of one’s bipolar tendencies at whatever pace suits the player. In D&D, the name “sorcerer” might carry the same connotation as that of “saboteur,” “lawyer,” or “journalist”—one who is considered dangerous and not to be trusted, unless they’re fighting for your cause. Of course, terms like “mage,” (derisively) “hedge wizard” and “wilding,” or “spellhand” could all be used in place of sorcerer, the best name for the class in-game stems from the reputation garnered by the one who bears it.

Say the word “wizard” in most settings and listeners are likely to know exactly what you’re talking about. In D&D though, they are stereotypically the crusty, robed, learned ones, mixing eye of newt with the blood of a virgin, and casting spells out of dusty tomes laden with archaic text to enchant or immolate their adversaries. Whether wizened sage or traveling spell-for-hire, there are already many names for wizards that the average D&D game supplies in full: illusionist, necromancer, abjurer, and transmuter, to quote a few. Still, there are many of those for whom such titles hold no meaning (i.e. the “generalist wizard”), and so the issue is made clear. What do we call them? Easy though it is to gravitate toward stereotype, there is a kernel of truth at the heart of every one. Wizards are set apart in the D&D world by nothing else if not their inquisitive nature. What else would drive a person to so plum the depths of the natural world as to make the unnatural a reality? An insatiable thirst for learning. While all wizards ought not to be characterized as vacuous seekers of knowledge led only by their lack of all that is knowable, choosing to play a wizard without coming to terms with this characteristic of the class would be folly. Among his daily routines a wizard might be regarded as “teacher,” “master,” or “instructor,” even outside of a school setting. As scholars, wizards would naturally have knowledge in other pursuits, such as history, law, or the physical sciences, thus garnering them the titles “historian,” “judge” or “barrister,” or an equivalent of “scientist” or “professor” that works for your game.

This way, when we ensure that even the smallest and sometimes most overlooked details of our characters are accounted for, the larger specifics and “things that really matter” will jump out at us even more. And we would do well as players and DMs to manage how we use names and titles in-game, for a name holds great power: either to build up or to tear down; to act as a placeholder or illuminate a world.

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Greetings!  For this month’s installment of One Die Short we take a look at Magic Items:

Magic Items are a staple, and to some degree a necessity, of Dungeons & Dragons.  In the above page from One Die Short Howie whines about the uselessness of Matilda’s new-found Pandimensional Knitting Needles of Atropos.  For players, there are certain expectations when it comes to Magic Items.  Generally, this expectation starts with the item being useful.  But what makes an item useful?

More often than not I’ve found that unless a Magic Item provides some combat related bonus, stat boost, extra spell or spell-like ability, it’s often perceived as somewhat worthless.  This is for good reason, most especially if you’re playing a combat heavy campaign.  Players like it when their characters get better at killing things.  That’s more or less the main purpose of leveling, and so Magic Items are created with the same ideas in mind.  But Magic Items can be more than this.

A good Dungeon Master avoids cliches, and tries to prevent things from getting stale, predictable and uninteresting.  If Magic Items are always your run-of-the-mill Thundering Hammers, Plate Armor of Fire Resistance, and Invisibility Cloaks, players will start taking them for granted.  Sure, they will still be happy to have them, but they will start to lose their novelty.  They become standard equipment, instead of something new and exciting.

I’m not suggesting that we remove these sort of items from the game, but merely accept them for what they are: useful tools, not epic artifacts.  Magic Items can become the focus of a campaign, but even these items rarely have an identity other than their creative backstory.  Backstories are essential for an important Magic Item, but they don’t make the item itself any more interesting.  Writing a detailed history of an amulet that grants the wearer a bonus spell every day, is still just that: an amulet that grants a bonus spell.

Returning to One Die Short, the Knitting Needles scorned by the Howie have a two-fold purpose (the second purpose is more complicated and one that will have to be discovered by the PCs later).  The more mundane use is that they are enchanted to knit whatever they are commanded to.  At first this seems relatively useless.  Scarves and sweaters galore!  Hooray!  But what I like about an item of this nature is that it forces the players to get creative.  Why not knit a net for a trap, or maybe a bridge to cross a narrow gorge?  Or will they simply use it to become a travelling sweater salesman?

The point here is that the item becomes useful in an entirely new way, but it requires additional thought and creativity.  In my experience this sort of item invariably leads to fun, and sometimes hilarious scenarios, but can also be an unexpected savior during a time of need.  For me, one of the keys to creating these sort of items is to stop thinking in terms of character sheets and stats, and weapons and armor.  Sometimes a really unique item starts with something mundane.

Take a look around you.  How about a magic stool that the character can fold up and carry around with them, and whenever anyone sits in it, it paralyzes that person for a few minutes.  Useful, but in a slightly irksome kind of way.  How do you get someone to sit in it?  Maybe a magic fork that can transform inorganic matter into a nutritious gruel.  The players might never go hungry, but what other use could such a fork have?  How about when one of their comrades is locked up and no one has any decent lockpicking skills?  Turn that stone wall into dinner!

The possibilities are endless, and when we think outside the D&D box we will inevitably create Magic Items that our players will remember.  They may not drool over them, they may not even thank you for them, but you can almost guarantee they will remember these items fondly, and they probably won’t sell them at the first available opportunity.

Thanks for reading, and please be sure to check out the rest of One Die Short, as well as my personal advice blog, Ask the Dungeon Master, all about Life, the Universe, and Roleplaying.

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So as 2012 begins, we find ourselves at Dungeon Mastering wondering about the year ahead.  Assuming the Mayan Long Count doesn’t end with Quetzalcoatl eating the world, here are a few things that we’ve resolved to do in the coming 12 months:

1) Attend a fresh convention

Obviously the biggies of Gen Con, Dragon Con, and Origins are on the wish list of many gamers.  But if you can’t make the pilgrimage to these huge national ones or have been there/done that there are plenty of alternatives.  Pretty much every college has a gaming club & many gaming clubs put on a weekend of geekery.  Going to any of those you haven’t yet been to is a fun excuse for a road trip.  See if you can make it somewhere new as a 1st time attendee to capture the thrill of exploring a different scene & meeting different people.  Plan ahead now and you can more easily save up for that journey.

2) Play more non-D&D stuff

So you’re at a convention where are all sorts of events being run.  This is the perfect opportunity to try new things without the risk of buying what you won’t later like.  Yes, the ‘world’s most popular roleplaying game‘ is great although there are absolutely hundreds of others out there, each with their own merits.  Occasionally you can even meet their makers, and if you’re fortunate, be in their game run by them- like when I got to sit in on an amazing diceless horror title called Dread with its designer, Akira Barnes, as The Host.  However you don’t have to be at a Con to sample new nerdery.  Check out local gaming stores, clubs, or maybe a place as close as someone’s gaming shelf.  We had an unopened copy of Shadows Over Camelot gathering dust until an unavailable babysitter put this very fun co-operative game onto our table.  Now its a regular Plan B night choice.

3) Play a different version of D&D

In whatever incarnation you’re using, there’s bound to be room for improvement.  Make peace with the other side(s) in the Edition War to see if you can ‘port’ cool bits or concepts or materials from one edition to another.  1st Ed has interesting titles for every level of every class: Thieves were Rogues, then Footpads, Cutpurses, Robbers, etc.  The non-THACO positives of 2nd Ed were talked about in an old DMing column.  3rd Ed has a vampire’s lifetime supply of adventures, bestiaries, & alternative rules thanks to the greatness that is the Open Gaming License.  (Thank you, Ryan Dancey.)  And 4E gives us more hit points, more feats, & the fun that is at-will powers.  No matter what number is next to D&D there is something to be gained by playing it.

4) Get someone new involved in the hobby

As long as there are Geeks, there will be roleplaying games.  But when people identify themselves as a ‘gamer’ these days, more often than not they are referring to the electronic kind.  Whether Warcrack or Call of Duty or Angry Birds, pixels compete with paper.  And while paper covers rock, pixels are stronger than scissors.  Even we here at DMing have to admit that the ability to log onto Xbox Live or Playstation Network and find fellow players anytime, anywhere, can’t be matched.  And while the death of tabletop gaming is hardly close at hand, technological advances like those shown found in Skyrim will make more and more put down dice bags in favor of a controller.  So between that downward trend as well as how new blood can really re-invigorate a gaming group, seek out possible new (in person) faces.

While we never seem to keep most of our resolutions no matter what year we make them, (I’m looking at you bathroom scale) even doing just 1 of the above Gaming Resolutions can’t help but have a serious positive impact on your gaming in 2012.  Well, assuming a giant feathered wing serpent doesn’t show up.

Good gaming in 2012 from all of us at Dungeon Mastering!  Even Expy.

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A few years ago, I was fortunate to be part of a kick-ass campaign.  It was based upon The Temple of Elemental Evil, an AD&D adventure so adventurous it needed be labeled as being a ‘Supermodule.’  Even discounting the 128 page size, the scope and scale of T1-4 (which later spawned an equally badass sequel written by Monte Cook) with its various antagonists, was mythic.  Our DM, who I’ll call Dan, ran it with the 3.0 ruleset so we could play an Old School classic in a New School edition.

While converting ToEE was impressive, Dan’s real achievement was running the dungeon in such a way that it felt as a fully functional ecosystem.  He made the entire Temple seem as if it was truly alive- with both their initial reaction and then later the active anticipation of our party.  In short, Dan’s bad guys constantly evolved which for us as players was a paradigm shift in how bad guys were run.  But there was 1 thing Dan really didn’t do well, and that was how he solicited feedback.

Last time, in d10 Things You Must Do Between Campaigns, I talked about some critical things all DMs should do when transitioning campaigns.  These (7) tips will both help successfully end the current game while sufficiently prepping for the new one.   And 1 of those tips was to Review How the Campaign Went which is to say, you need to get feedback from your players regarding your DMing skills.  Honest feedback.  Which in many ways is like a boss asking to hear how he’s doing from his employees: the boss is almost always told what they want to hear.  Let’s look at how that kind of useless (even counterproductive) feedback happens.

At the end of every ToEE session, Dan would inevitable speak those words we knew were coming, and dreaded hearing.  “Well guys, did you have fun tonight?”  Putting on our best forced smiles, everyone’s answer was always the same: “Yeah man, of course.”  Now, the majority of nights this truly was the case and therefore an honest answer.  But when it wasn’t, when the game lacked a certain something or simply wasn’t up to par, our DM never knew any better. Because what he was asking was akin to being asked, “Was it good for you too?”  By that I mean there’s only one smart answer.  In the Nine Hells, there’s only one safe answer to both of those questions.  So we always had fun, even when we didn’t.

What should Dan have been asking?  What should YOU be asking?  Its actually quite simple, and with apologies to Matt who left a comment on this piece’s predecessor, doesn’t require a player survey to happen.  There are 2 key things that you seek: “What did you guys like?” and “What would you guys like to see done differently?”  The former tells you those things that you need to keep doing.  The answers will provide some much-needed encouragement.  And these answers about what is positive with your DMing will (gradually) help your players feel comfortable enough to answer the followup query.

Which are those things that you need to do better.  Those things you should improve upon.  Put bluntly, those things you have to fix.  However the phrasing of this is crucial.  You don’t want your question to come out as, “What didn’t you guys like?”  Because that immediately puts the players on the defensive.  Which is why ‘differently’ is a great word since gamers let their imagination run rampant so they can easily relate to the possibility of differences rather than negatives.

Ask these 2 key things at the end of every session (preferably via email/forum to not put anyone on the spot), politely push for specifics, act on what you learn, and your DMing will soon level up.  Your player may even honestly be able to say that they had fun.  ‘ToEE’ next time.

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You know what they say about the 3rd time.

This Sunday, while running a game for my group, I revealed that a recurring NPC the PCs had believed to be an ally was actually a rather sinister antagonist. I believed, when creating his stats, that he would be a difficult enemy to defeat; indeed, I intended for the PCs to fail to defeat him and for him to teleport away through an interplanar portal. A force field blocked off the group (and the NPC) from the NPCs two lackeys that were generating the portal. However, the Warlock in the group used the “Iron Spike of Dis” power. This power, while more than bloodying the NPC, had the effect of immobilizing him. Improvising, I had the NPC open a portal in the floor below him and appear behind the force field and thus out of harm’s way. The Warlock, who was proud of his strategizing, felt as though I cheated him out of his glory. If I hadn’t, I would’ve cheated the entire group out of a potentially epic and rewarding campaign. Did I handle this the right way?

I addressed a similar question a few months back – What do you do when player actions clash with the outcome you expected in the story? I suggest you read that and the discussion that follows, as the point was explored in more detail in the comments.

However, there’s another aspect to this question that I’d like to explore: the challenge to using recurring villains. Recurring characters add a lot of flavor to a story. Looking to comics, characters such as Doctor Doom and the Joker can be as interesting as the heroes they fight. As a player gets to know a villain, his appearance in a story serves a number of purposes. It lets the player have some idea of what to expect (Magneto? We’re going to be fighting evil mutants, guys). Beyond that, the history between the players and the villain can add dramatic tension, especially if the villain has occasionally won in the past. At first you didn’t care about the Lord of Blades. Then he killed your sister. This time – it’s personal!

Of course, in superhero stories defeated villains generally go to jail. As a system, D&D is set up for bloodier battles. In 4E, you can technically decide if an opponent dropped below zero hit points is dead or simply down for the count – but as The Knights Of The Dinner Table have shown us time and again, mercy for enemies isn’t always a top priority for adventurers. You can always come up with a plan for how you want the villain to escape, as with the portal above. But clever players can always come up with a solution the DM hasn’t thought of. So how can you save an NPC without your players feeling like they’ve been cheated of victory?

The first answer is the simplest: You don’t. The underworld has a revolving door in D&D. Raise Dead, Resurrection, Reincarnation… in many stories you can’t be sure the villain is dead until you’ve seen the body, but in D&D you can’t be sure until you’ve burnt the body and trapped the soul.

Of course, with a good story, even a burnt body won’t take someone out. Count Feldvar cut off his finger and gave it to a friend to ensure that the ally would have a piece of his body to raise him if required. The Faceless One is an agent of the Goddess of Death, and Death will never hold her for long. And wily Serella made a bargain with an archdevil—she’s regained her life, but now she has a debt to repay. To me, this last example is the most interesting one because it can actually drive a future adventure. By the time you next meet Serella, your characters will have gained levels. But now she has new powers gained from her infernal pact and a new mission. She’s going to wipe out the city of Ux with a terrible plague because she HAS to in order to pay off her debt – something you set in motion by killing her!

Another long term option is to have a new villain step in. How come it’s only the HERO who gets to say “You killed my father, prepare to die?” Just because the PCs never knew that the villain had a lover/child/parent/partner/apprentice doesn’t stop you from pulling such a figure out for the next story; when Beowulf brings down Grendel, it simply sets the stage for the even tougher battle with Grendel’s mother. Rather than looking at the death as the end of the story, it may be an opportunity for it to evolve in a new and interesting direction.

Perhaps you needed that villain to escape because the story you’re running just won’t work without him. Realistically there’s no time for him to be raised, and you don’t have stats handy for his mom. You just weren’t prepared for things to go this way. You could take the trapdoor getaway approach and hope the players aren’t too annoyed. Or you could take the Doombot option – which is to say, the villain the PCs killed wasn’t the villain at all. As soon as he dies, his body transforms into the corpse of a changeling – but exactly when did the switch occur? Alternately, spells like domination or mind seed could allow the villain to use a dupe as a puppet – and when they get to your final scene, they’ll be surprised when a seeming stranger announces “You fools! Now you face the TRUE Count Feldvar!”

In any case, my gut reaction is: don’t rob the players of their victory. Find a way to make that victory part of the story. Find a way to return the villain from the dead; have a new villain be created by the defeat of the old; or allow the players to have the victory, but have it turn out that it wasn’t actually the villain that they were fighting in the first place.

You know your players, the history of your campaign, the mood at the table. At the end of the day, my advice is to be flexible and to do what is best to ensure that your players have fun.

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My weekly gaming group has recently begun a new campaign- Paizo’’s exciting sandbox-style Kingmaker. (Think Old School Module B2 Keep of the Borderlands).  This comes after having played Curse of the Crimson Throne since early January 2010.  In the process of transitioning from one Adventure Path to the next, we’ve come up with steps for this process.  I called these things ‘Must Do’ because of a  sincere belief that they will sincerely improve games.  Here’s what my group has done, why we did it, and what we’ll do for the next switch.

1. Have the last night be an event: Every week our adventuring starts with a meal beforehand for fuel and fellowship.  But this particular evening, we all brought more food than usual.  Better food than usual.  Better beer than usual.  While I’d stop short of calling it a feast, the brand quality or better snacks definitely made for good grub.  And that helped kick off the night.  So save a few bucks in advance to treat both your friends as well as yourself.
2. Take some pictures:  If your group is anything like ours, they’re not exactly the most photogenic bunch.  Get some pictures anyway.  Yes, shots of the table showing off the minis and the BBEG.  But also of the players (we missed doing that).  Consider it a souvenir to look upon in the future.  A portrait of the people behind the heroes.  I have yet to meet someone who has said they wished they took less photographs with their friends.
3. Make a toast:  This is something we missed yet should have made time for.  At the very end of the night, before everyone heads home, stop.  Officially mark the occasion.  Raise a glass to the DM and fellow players.  Then go around the table sharing your favorite moment from the campaign.  Let the DM go last so they can take it all in.  And then toast, pledging to game again.
4. Review How the Campaign Went: Useful feedback is critical for improvement.  For that you need (and should want) everyone to be honest.  However this can be hard.  Frankly our group struggles with peer reviewing.  But sharing what people liked along with what people would like to see done differently is in the best interests of every player and every DM.
5. Setup a Break: This is crucial.  You’ve just gotten out of a multi-month Adventure Path with high-Level characters.  Before you jump right back into another arc, sliding way down to 1st Level, embarking yet again on another multi-month commitment, pause.  Take a breather.  People need to recharge their batteries, particularly DMs.  A few weeks off is a good thing.  The break will get your group excited and eager to return to rolling dice.
6. Play Other Games: During this mini-vacation from your regular thing, expand your Geek horizons.  Try a game that isn’t like what you’ve been playing.  If your closet is anything like mine there are a bunch of board or card or other RPG titles that haven’t been opened in awhile.  Maybe ever.  Dust those off and see what they’re about.  We broke out a very fun co-operative board game called Shadows Over Camelot and got a reminder of how important it is to work together as a team.  Plus how badly a traitor can mess up a kingdom.  :P
7. Improve the Way You Play: The most important part.  Just as characters get better after gaining experience, so too should every gamer.  In between Crimson Throne and Kingmaker we made several changes.  Serious changes.  The basement where we have our sessions got a makeover worthy of a television show, complete with home-built furniture pieces.  We signed up for Obsidian Portal, an amazing campaign wiki site, springing for Ascendant membership to get extra maps/a forum as well as to support the service.  We spent more time creating characters to better develop deeper backstories that would help our roleplaying.  And we came back after the self-imposed D&D recess fully ready to follow Rule 0: “Above all else, have fun.”  In short, we’ve Leveled up our game, and leveled up as gamers.

So the next time you’re ready to end a campaign, remember the things you must do because they’ll help make both it and the ones that follow that much better.

What are some suggestions you have for what to do in between campaigns?

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