What a +10 Sword looks like

If you read DungeonMastering.com,  then you most likely play or at least come across video games.  Console Cleric is a column that looks at various video titles to see what digital counterparts can add to tabletop sessions.  Last time our controllers took a tour of Gears Of War 3.   This time we’re jumping into THQ’s Warhammer 40K: Space Marine where you take on the role of an Adeptus Astartes, an armored superhuman defending humanity against hordes of monsters and the forces of darkness.  Games Workshop’s Warhammer Universe  is the Ying to D&D’s Yang- dark & gritty rather.  Here are d4 (relatively) spoiler free lessons from Space Marine’s elements that will improve your D&D sessions:

1). Begin with a bang: When the game opens, the Space Marines are trying to stop an Ork invasion of a strategically important Forge World (i.e. where various war machines, including the nigh-unstoppable ginormous Titans/BattleMechs are created).  The central character that you play, the captain of the Ultra Marines chapter, decides to ditch their playbook (the Codex Astartes). Equipped with a Jump Pack he leaps out of a descending Thunderhawk transport so as to board an Ork flagship, encouraging his colleagues to keep up as he soars down.  Landing on their ship alone, he wades through bunches of Orks seeking to get to their main gunport.  Once there he wrenches the cannons around so they fire upon the ship, which promptly crashes.  Captain Titus gets out of the wreckage to carry on the liberation efforts.  And cue the opening credits.  So for certain sessions, simply start with action.  Just jump right into something that gets the dice rolling & your player’s heartbeats moving.

2). Have Common Respect: The majority of humanity’s forces in the 41st Millenium are the billions of the Imperial Guard, divided into literally millions of regiments.  But if they are the quantity, the Space Marines are the quality.  Decades of training coupled genetic engineering with the powered armor/weapons makes them the Imperium’s elite force.  They are seen on some planets as angels of mankind’s God Emperor.  In the game the surviving Imperial soldiers offer prayers on your behalf usually while kneeling or calling you ‘My Lord.’  The esteem is nice & completely believable given both the pessimistic situation as well as the literal power difference between the 2 groups.  So in D&D, when the player’s characters reach the point where they are able to stop hordes of Orks with swords or sorcery, consider having the average layperson treat them with some obvious R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  Not necessarily outright toadying, but certainly manners consistent with enough differences in Levels to show are called for.

3). Lead them into temptation: Evil is indeed a growth industry because it offers a quick and easy route to power.  Towards the end of Space Marine, Captain Titus is given the opportunity to join the Dark Side of the Warhammer setting.  The offer is made for him to lead his chapter over to the other side & thereby begin to dominate the galaxy.  Unlike a number of other Space Marines who succumbed to this siren’s song, (becoming Chaos Marines, aka the infamous Traitor Legionnaires) Titus declines & a fight ensues.   While he resists this immediate seduction, there are implications from how Titus is able to survive the battle with the BBEG that insinuiate he still might have been corrupted anyways.  So rather than all your Bad Guys simply only fight the PCs, have some of the cooler NPCs appropriately try to convince a character  to turn bad.  Better still, perhaps develop a plot that leaves in question whether a PC has unwittingly started down the path.  Good going Evil is an incredibly interesting story development.

Thats’s Console Cleric, recommending aspects of THQ’s Space Marine that can make D&D better. But remember that while video games are fun & fast, RPG’s are where you can try anything.  ’Til next time.

Oh- my Battle Brothers & I are looking for fellow Space Marines to join us on Xbox Live & stand against Chaos.  My GamerTag is MythicParty- if you see me on, send me a message.

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Lo there, wanderer! Stay thine course and sit with me awhile. Let us plumb the depths of the D&D game as we take a 20 on a Search of the titles given the oft-crunch-filled characters we play.

Ye Olde Six Spote: “How do you say ‘classic portrayal’?”

Before, we looked at the game’s most recognized magic-users, but now we spy a glance at the game’s most skilled and talented, and a little more. Gather round now, there be fluff hidden hereabouts!

Feathers, sashes, and slippers—the art of the soft sell.

One of the most venerable and iconic classes in D&D, the bard is not only a class title but an honest to goodness in-world profession and one of the best slice of life examples the game has to offer. Bards make excellent court heralds, the mouth pieces of the rich, decked in gaudy finery and all the pomp and circumstance that go with being a “man of the state.” Bards too can play the role of the destitute, barefoot and penniless but right at home on the road, waving the banner of dissent against the establishment. With such a wide gamut of RP styles to choose from, what then lies at the heart of each? Yes, bards have a middling skill at defense and can be dangerous in a pinch, but they are not bred for the fight. Their class abilities and spells help them to worm their way out of combat, or at least navigate it with the least amount of discomfort for all involved. They are odd (or exceptional) not for the clothes they wear and the songs they sing, but because they stand in contrast to so many of the other classes which revel in the fight. This matches up with their historical counterparts who were often brought in to soothe and mediate. Does this make them a bad class for a game built around tactical combat? Not unless you disagree with the following. Bards option for the softer approach, whether it’s a set up to a dagger in the back of his enemies, or those same enemies made friends, and thus are given to the greatest variance of “RP cred” by virtue of the fact that they can complement or form a counterpoint to any other class’s social status in-game. Bards are the “peacemakers,” the “wordsmiths,” and/or the “charlatans” of D&D.

In the same way bards can travel among many different social circles (and enjoy greater potential for play from an RP standpoint), monks too can fit in wherever they go because they often don’t “look the part” of the average D&D character. Though the bard strives more to perfect those around him, the monk is more interested in perfecting the self. The bard is at his best when exercising the flexibility of his RP cred and his right to use the crunch he is given to achieve that somewhat fluffier goal. The monk is at her best when exercising the flexibility of her class features (crunch) against the varied dangers of the world, thus providing her with the spectacle of achievement (or failure, if unlucky) that would naturally stimulate others to engage her in RP. Where the monk takes it from there is up to the player. The bard lives by his words, whereas the monk lives by her deeds. Bards work well in groups by their very nature, and while monks are the ultimate in self-sufficiency, it is that very quality which makes them a valuable asset to any enterprising party of adventurers. What then does this say about the name “monk”? Not much in retrospect, but even that is informative. The D&D monk with her martial prowess invokes the idea of Shaolin Monks, or even a more westernized version, like Friar Tuck from the Robin Hood stories. Both of these examples hail from different schools of thought, so we would do well to keep the monk’s school or tradition at the forefront of our thoughts concerning in-game titles. Words like “monk” and “mystic” are unimportant among members of the cloister themselves. Within the cloister monks would have everyday chores, so consider this. One player says to another, “Are you what they call a monk?” After a brief pause, the other replies, “No. Just a simple a miller.” Such a simple line of dialogue, yet the character’s mystique remains intact opening a gateway to further RP.

Rogues, while not every edition has called them as such, are perhaps the most varied class of characters in D&D. 1^st Edition progression tables used to list the changes to a rogue’s title as he advanced in level (e.g. “footpad,” “cutpurse,” “robber,” “burglar,” “filcher,” “sharper,” et al.), and while this is great for labeling all the ways a thief might manifest in the game world, it’s a bit too dictatorial to expect the class to inhabit and outgrow each of those titles in such rapid succession. Rogues can be of completely non-criminal backgrounds also, so what about them? Once again, it comes down to how the class manufactures its RP cred. No rogue likes to think the skills and traits he brings to the table can be duplicated by anyone else but him (whether or not this is actually true). The way a rogue promotes his daring-do (through bravado or quiet cunning, etc.) would be limited only by the depth of his skill set and the inventiveness with which he recreates himself. (Of course, having the best resources at hand helps, and if rogues are good at anything it’s resource acquisition.) The crunch tells us the rogue’s skill set is already deep, so all that remains is for us to provide the inventiveness. With that in mind, we can make the old 1^st Edition level progression work for us today. Rather than definitively saying when and what a rogue becomes, each rogue would do well to have a set of fallback “professions” or covers to call upon depending on the job he is doing. One month he’s a corsair raiding ships, the next he’s a buccaneer press-ganging locals in coastal towns, and after that back to being a regular pirate. As DMs, we could encourage our players to group rogue skills according to profession, so as to better hone in on what they need for specifically-themed campaigns. (In keeping with the whole renaming theme, why not encourage them to rename certain skills, i.e. Stealth could become “Sneak” or “Footpadding,” putting a character’s own personal stamp on skill use in-game?)

And a little more…

Do you name your characters before rolling them up or after? How important is a character’s name? And if it is, how? All valid questions. I’ve done both in the past; naming characters before and after I’ve rolled them up. Naming them after is about finding the proper mold to suit the heap of flesh you’ve dreamed up. Naming them before is a want to fill the mold with parts of a worthy whole. My first D&D character was named Hudson. It’s an unmistakably masculine name, and at that time, no one in my mind named Hudson could be imagined without a thick red beard. The name was already informing me about the character, and this was all before I rolled even a single die. Hudson became a fighter; moreover, he became a gladiator because he had no last name. A character’s name can also help us determine where the character comes from, how he talks, or what she sounds like. “Hudson” has a Nordic vibe to it, so I concluded he must have come from a cold clime. Does the name tell you something about the character’s family (e.g. who sired them), or what their profession is (i.e. many surnames do just that)? Exotic names can be hard to pronounce, but they can also give us clues as to the character’s voice. Researching phonetics or the sounds letters make on websites like dictionary.com or wikipedia.org can help you find the voice through pronunciation. Take “Drizzt Do’Urden” for example. What would he sound like in-game? We need look no further then his name. Perhaps he speaks with the equivalent of a French/Spanish affectation to our ears? A Mediterranean/North African blend? Persian?

And so it is that we come to the end of our look at class names and names in general in the D&D game. Hopefully, these articles provide you with the right tools to come up with ideas that even surpass the ones presented here. Good gaming until next time; with swords high and daggers low!

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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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