Tomas: Okay, I’m going to search the room.

GM: Give me a Search check.

Tomas: (rolls dice) Aw, shoot. I rolled a 4, which only gives me an 8 on the check.

GM: You spend a couple minutes tossing the room, but you don’t find anything.

Maria: Oh! I want to check, too!

Steve: Me, too!

Samantha: I got a 17!

This is dogpiling the check. It’s not always a bad thing, but when it crops up during play it often just feels… wrong somehow. Are the players pulling a fast one? I mean, it just makes sense that Maria and Steve and Samantha could help search the room. So why can it be so frustrating when this happens?

There are actually three different problems here, and it’s probably useful to split them apart and look at each one separately.

First, there’s a metagaming issue. If Tomas rolled a 30 on their Search check and the GM says “you didn’t find anything,” Maria (and Steve and Samantha) don’t pipe up to say, “I’ll try, too!” It’s only when the thief muffs his roll and fails to find something that the rest of the party uses that metagame knowledge to have someone else make the check.

If this is your concern, you can address it by simply making these types of checks secretly: Since the players don’t know the check result, they can’t metagame it.

This won’t necessarily stop the dogpiling, though. The uncertainty about how well Tomas did can actually motivate the players to always dogpile the check. Other types of action checks may also make it more immediately obvious if Tomas failed or succeeded (e.g., he either picked the lock and can open the door or he didn’t) and have the other PCs queuing up to try, which isn’t metagaming but still dogpiling.

Which leads us to the second problem, which is a pacing issue. Is it really interesting to have everyone sit there sequentially rolling the check? What a huge drag! Let’s wrap it up and move it along! (This is particularly true if there really isn’t anything for them to find in the room and Tomas’ check result is irrelevant.)

You can often bypass this issue by calling for all of the PCs to make a check at the same time.

GM: You’re ushered into a grand ballroom. On the wall hangs a huge, heraldic banner of a red stag rearing on a checkered field of blue and white.

Samantha: Do I recognize the heraldry?

GM: Everyone give me an Intelligence (History) check.

In fact, you should often be anticipating this type of check: All of the characters can see the heraldic banner and they either recognize it or they don’t; it’s not something requiring active study, so you should be immediately asking everyone to make the check. (We call these reactive checks.)

Even if it’s a non-reactive check (like searching a room) and the player is the one proposing the action, you can still try to get ahead of the dogpile: “Is anyone helping Tomas search the room?”

But the third problem is a balance issue.

Let’s say that a particular check has a 70% chance of success for the first character, but a 50% chance of success for the other four PCs. This probably falls into the range of checks that’s both interesting and relevant to resolve. But if the check is dogpiled (with all of the PCs rolling and only one needing to succeed), that 70% chance of success suddenly becomes a 96% chance of success, at which point you have to ask yourself why you’re even rolling the check in the first place.

Compound probability adds up quick, and this is particularly true in systems where the range of the die roll is larger than the skill bonuses: The shift in the average die result over multiple rolls rapidly makes skill almost completely irrelevant. (For example, a DC 15 check where most skill bonuses are +1 to +5 and you’re rolling a d20. The successful check is more likely to come from whichever player rolls the highest number on the d20 than it is to come from the PC with the highest skill rating.)

DOGPILING vs. GROUP ACTIONS

Dogpiling a failed check isn’t the same thing as a group action (where multiple characters are working together). Many games already include effective mechanics for resolving group actions. In D&D 5th Edition, for example, you have group checks (everyone rolls and the group succeeds if at least half the checks are successful) and the Help action (the character with the best check modifier makes the check with advantage if there are other characters helping them).

For more on resolving group actions in any system, check out Part 14 of The Art of Rulings.

FAILURE MUST BE MEANINGFUL

Somewhat ironically, the solution to dogpiling largely goes back to the first principles for framing a check: If you’re rolling the dice, then failure should be interesting, meaningful, or both.

So whenever a PC makes a check, there should be a penalty or consequence for failure.

But yet another reason that dogpiling can feel frustrating is that it can trivially bypass what initially seemed like a meaningful consequence. For example, failing to pick a lock on a door is meaningful because it means the PCs need to find another way to get through the door.

Of course, this also reveals that dogpiling is, in many ways, indistinguishable from one PC repeatedly rerolling the same check.

We could start by reviewing the three techniques described in Failure for the Beginning GM:

No Retries. This obviously solves the dogpiling problem by definition. Whoever made the initial check represented the group’s best effort, and no subsequent checks will change that outcome — e.g., we have established that this door cannot pick and you’ll have to find a different way of getting in.

If your group is used to using narrative resolution, this may be all that you need. But frequently it will just leave people scratching their heads, “Why can’t Samantha search the room after Tomas or at the same time as Tomas?”

A technique I’ve been experimenting with in D&D to “soften” the concept of No Retries is a gradated group check. Basically, it interprets the dogpile as a retroactive group check. The group check requires half of the people attempting the check to succeed, so the second character to make the check has a chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. But if the second character also fails the check, now they’ve dug a hole and it would take two more successful checks for the group to work their way back to success.

The effective application of this technique can be a little limited, but I’ve found it can be a great mental model for social scenes: Tomas has clearly screwed up the negotiations with the vizier. Can Samantha step in and smooth things over? If not, then it will be quite difficult to salvage the situation.

Failing Forward. This preempts the problem because the first character to attempt the check can’t fail, they can only suffer a consequence — Tomas finds the hidden jewel, but triggers a trap; he picks the lock, but his lockpicks break; etc. Since the initial attempt didn’t fail, there’s never a reason for the other PCs to dogpile.

Progress Clock. When all else fails, start or tap a failure clock. The flexibility of this option is great, making it easy to default to when all else fails.

To sum up: Once the dogpile starts, you’ve just got to start looking for additional consequences. Not in a punitive way, just in a, “Okay, you’re spending a lot of time on this lock… what does that mean in the context of the wider world?” way.

DO YOU DARE TO DOGPILE?

With that being said, you also don’t want to discourage the second-best skill rating in the group from flaunting their stuff occasionally. So you may also want to think about how each additional success on a check could provide a benefit:

• A gather information check where each successful check gives a different piece of information, but a failure results in the bad guys becoming aware that the PCs are asking questions.
• A check to craft a magic item where each successful check adds a unique feature to the item, but each failure results in a curse.

This may require a more complicated framing of the check, but it carries the benefits of extra successes needing to be weighed against the increased risk of failure for each additional participant and forcing the group to make a strategic decision.

Why were the PCs always getting lost in Castle Ravenloft?
The dead ends.

Did you hear that Strahd has started writing poems dedicated to Tatyana?
He went from bat to verse.

What’s Strahd’s favorite artifact?
The neck of Vecna.

What should the PCs never say when answering Strahd’s invitation?
Bite me!

Why does Count Strahd have Wizard levels?
He’s a neck-romancer.

Why are there no mosquitoes in Barovia?
Strahd eliminated the competition.

Why did Strahd join the Creative Commons?
He likes his artists open range.

What happened when the PCs ran from Strahd and he gave chase?
They finished neck and neck!

Why doesn’t Strahd go on adventures?
He sucks the life out of the party.

Why didn’t the players enjoy the Castle Ravenloft campaign?
Strahd was a real pain in the neck!

Why was everyone upset about the 10 Greatest D&D Villains list released by Wizards of the Coast?
They forgot to count Strahd!

How do you beat Strahd at poker?
Raise the stakes!

Did you know that Strahd and Auril had a love child? Unfortunately, the baby suffered from a serious congenital condition…
A severe case of frostbite.

Why doesn’t Strahd incorporate Ravenloft?
He’s not a big fan of stakeholders.

Why doesn’t Count Strahd ever go to therapy?
He’s bad at self-reflection.

After you’ve killed Count Strahd, where do you go to loot his gold?
The blood bank.

Why did Strahd need a cure disease spell?
He couldn’t stop coffin.

What should the bard play while you’re fighting Count Strahd?
Another One Bites the Dust.

Did you hear about Strahd and Tatyana?
He loved in vein.

Why does Strahd always fail his Dexterity (Stealth) check?
He can’t stop coffin.

Why did Strahd want to kill the PCs?
They drove him batty.

Why did Count Strahd have to move out of Castle Ravenloft for a month?
It was getting re-vamp-ed!

What spell does Count Strahd use to control the drawbridge on Castle Ravenloft?
Re-moat control.

Why can Strahd never take a joke?
He’s pun-dead.

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 32C: Enter Arveth

Tor had barely reached the rope on the second floor when an axe thrown from below thunked into the windowsill next to him. He ducked back… and the former prisoners panicked, scattering through the upper level – some cowering in corners, another getting ambushed by a patch of violent slime that fell from the ceiling, a third trying to climb out of a different window only to fall with a scream into the cobbled alley below.

The default goal of a dungeon in D&D is to win fights: You go into the dungeon. You encounter monsters. You kill the monsters. You take their treasure. You leave the dungeon. Hurrah!

But defaults are boring.

This particular default, though, can be pretty sneaky. You can usually spot it, though, if you keep your eye out for “clear the dungeon” scenario goals.

For example: “My scenario isn’t just some crude, kick-down-the-door dungeon crawl! The PCs need to stop an eldritch rite which threatens to sever the connection between the Material Plane the Feywild!”

Okay, sure. And how do they stop it?

“They have to find the corrupted grove and journey into the liminal realm which connects all dryad trees!”

Awesome. And how do they actually stop the ritual?

“… they have to hunt down all the cultists in the dryad-realm and kill them.”

There’s nothing wrong with a good fight, nor with a pulp scenario where you solve your problems with fists and/or swords and/or blasters. (That adventure through a corrupted dryad-grove sounds amazing.)

But as I think the current session demonstrates, having non-combat goals — whether for a full scenario or just an individual encounter — makes the combat more interesting.

The raid on this abandoned apartment building was, if I do say so myself, a thrilling scenario. Both I and the players were fully engaged, grappling with a complex, multi-level environment filled with a variety of opponents and treacherous environments.

But the instant “save the prisoners” was introduced as an additional, non-combat goal everything was ratcheted up to another level. It added layers of complexity to the tactical situation, and by virtue of inherently creating a set-up with multiple goals (the default combat goal of “take them all out” plus the new goal), it turn calculations into choices.

The example in this session also demonstrates that these non-combat goals don’t always need to come from the GM. If you create a rich environment that responds dynamically to the players’ choices and actions, they’ll merrily set their own goals and complicate their own lives.

Campaign Journal: Session 33A – Running the Campaign: Fantasy Campaigns
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 32C: ENTER ARVETH

December 20th, 2008
The 18th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Tee went over to the door that the venom-shaped thrall had been guarding and found it, predictably, locked. But it was no more difficult than the last one. Swinging it open, however, she found an even more disturbing sight: Five prisoners shackled hand-and-foot to the floor.

Tor, nursing a sick suspicion, crossed to a cocoon that was enmeshed in one corner of the hall. With a single slice of his sword, he cut it open… and a vaguely humanoid form tumbled out in a gush of acidic liquid.

“Venom-shaped… Shaped by venom.” Horror and disgust were mixed evenly in his voice.

Tee moved to free the nearest prisoner. They immediately panicked. “No! Not me! Where are you taking me?”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here to help.”

As Tee worked to undo their shackles, Agnarr headed back down the hall and grabbed the unconscious spellcaster from where they’d left him in the entryway. He wanted to keep a close eye on that one.

Questioning the prisoners they quickly determined that they had been brought here only a few days ago. There had originally been eight of them, but the cultists had been taking them away one at a time. Three of them had been kidnapped from around the city (mostly straight off the streets), but the other two reported being sold through a black market slave trade of some sort running through the Teeth of Light. And one of these reported seeing a temple with a statue of a rat-shaped man in it, leading Tor and Elestra to conclude that the followers of the Rat God must be involved, as well.

ENTER ARVETH

But what were they going to do with the prisoners? Tee definitely didn’t want to be responsible for them. And she knew that the building was being watched. They eventually decided to give each of the prisoners 10 gold pieces, told them to cover their faces, run for it, and get as far away from here as they could as quickly as possible.

But as they gathered them up to lead them out the front door, Elestra and Ranthir – who were still standing in the hall – suddenly whirled towards the front door. Two people had just come in: A blond woman and a thuggish man.

The woman hissed. “Kill them.”

Then she drank a potion and disappeared.

Tee quickly shouted at the prisoners to head upstairs – there was a window with a rope: “Get out. Get out as fast as you can. Go!”

Tor rallied the prisoners and led them upstairs. Ranthir, meanwhile, dropped a thick web into the entryway – it clearly caught the thug and he hoped it had caught the invisible woman, as well.

What they couldn’t see through the thick web, however, was that both the thug and the invisible woman had ripped their way out of the web, gone back through the front door, and were circling the building.

Tor had barely reached the rope on the second floor when an axe thrown from below thunked into the windowsill next to him. He ducked back… and the former prisoners panicked, scattering through the upper level – some cowering in corners, another getting ambushed by a patch of violent slime that fell from the ceiling, a third trying to climb out of a different window only to fall with a scream into the cobbled alley below.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Tee and Ranthir were rapidly gathering up the papers and alchemical equipment from the laboratory.

Between the axe and the panicking prisoners, Tor didn’t notice the subtle shifting of the rope as the invisible woman climbed it. She appeared suddenly before him as her knife plunged into his shoulder.

Grunting heavily, Tor dragged her through the window with her dagger still buried in him and then slammed his sword into her. She crumpled in the corner.

By the time he’d yanked the dagger out, however, the axe-throwing thug had reached the window, as well. The thug took one swing with his axe – which Tor easily ducked – and then was run through the heart with the electric-arc of Tor’s return thrust.

Tor turned to Dominic. “Heal the woman, then we’ll haul her downstairs and ask some questions.”

While Dominic did that, Tor and Tee gathered up the rest of the prisoners. One of them, unfortunately, had been killed by the violet slime. The one who had fallen out of the window had broken his leg, but Elestra was able to heal that. Then they sent them on their way. “Get as far from here as you can.”

While Agnarr and Dominic kept an eye on the prisoners – making sure that they got away safely – the others quickly mopped up the various nests and cocoons left scattered throughout the complex, making sure that the cultists’ work here was completely destroyed. They left only the barricaded room with its dangerous, gelatinous tentacles, which they resolve to deal with before going down the hole.

They reconvened on the first floor. The woman (who Tee identified as Arveth, who had recruited her into the Brotherhood) and the spellcaster were traussed up in the manacles that had formerly held the prisoners.

They were in for a rude awakening.

Running the Campaign: Non-Combat Goals – Campaign Journal: Session 33A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

Enemies in Feng Shui — the action movie RPG of fast and furious combat inspired by the classic Hong Kong films of Jackie Chan, John Woo, Tsui Hark, Michelle Yeoh, and Jet Li — are split into four types: Mooks, Featured Foes, Bosses, and Uber-Bosses.

Mooks, in particular, are treated a little differently by the system. First, they’re significantly worse than any other foe in terms of statistics. And, second, they instantly get knocked out of the fight if they get hit. Don’t even bother rolling for damage.

(If you’re thinking, “Hey! That sounds like minions from D&D 4^th Edition!” you’re not wrong. They got the idea from Feng Shui.)

The goal is that you can — and should! — stuff your fight scenes full of disposable mooks to create frenetic action and allow the PCs to show off their badassitude. (Even in a baseline fight, you’ll have 3 mooks per PC, and the number only goes up from there. In fact, when you want to make an easier fight, you actually increase the number of mooks, albeit while decreasing the number of featured foes.)

Feng Shui also uses a 1d6 – 1d6 core mechanic, so for every check you’re rolling two d6’s. That means that the GM is going to be rolling a lot of dice to resolve all of their attacks. Despite all that dice rolling, though, it’s quite likely that literally none of those attacks will hit. (They are just mooks, after all.)

If you roll all of those attacks one at a time, this can be a huge drag on gameplay.

One option to avoid this is to roll fistfuls of dice! There’s an article here on the Alexandrian that dives in to a lot of different techniques you can use to make this work.

Another option is to use a mook sheet: A big sheet full of pre-rolled mook attack roles. They look like this:

The idea is that, rather than rolling dice, you can just use the values on the sheet, crossing them off for each mook attack.

Atlas Games actually provides an online tool that will let you generate new copies of these sheets.

A problem you can run into with either technique, though, is that — if the mooks all just make straight-up attacks — they can whiff a little too often. This is, of course, what lets you have so many of them in a scene, but if the players no longer feel as if the mooks are a relevant threat it can render the mooks moot.

Fortunately, the solution is a simple technique: combat boosts.

In Feng Shui, characters can perform a combat boost as a 3-shot action to help out another character. A boost can:

• Grant +1 to the recipient’s next attack.
• Grant +3 to the recipient’s Defense against the next attack (and all others in the same shot).

Instead of having the dozen mooks in your fight scene all flail ineffectually, what you should be doing is having each of them perform a combat boost.

You might have the mooks form up into small gangs: Five mooks working together can boost the attack value for one of their number to be roughly equal to a featured foe. A dozen can swarm over a hero, with eleven performing an attack boost and the twelfth packing a boss-size punch.

Alternatively, you can have the mooks group up with a featured foe or boss, either boosting their attacks to devastating levels and/or creating an almost impenetrable defense with their defensive boosts.

You’ll want to make sure to weave these boosts into your narration of the fight: Describe the mooks grabbing PCs by the arms and allowing their boss to land a crushing blow or throwing themselves in front of their boss to take a shot. You could even describe misses as the PCs being unable to get close to the big bad guy through the swirling swarm of mooks!

You want to make it clear to the players that the mooks are the problem, and that they’re going to continue to struggle against the featured foes until they clear out the riff-raff.

Fortunately, it’ll still be quite easy to do that.

They’re just mooks after all.