Go to Part 1

The act of turning to the game mechanics is, ultimately, an assessment that there is variability in the potential outcome of an action. At the simplest level, we are saying that there is a chance the intention will succeed and a chance that it will fail.

Before we pick up the dice, however, we should take a moment to consider the potential failure state: Failure should be interesting, meaningful, or both. If it is neither, then you shouldn’t be rolling the dice. The clearest example of this is when the response to failure is to simply try it again:

Player: I try to pick the lock.
GM: You fail. What do you do?
Player: I try to pick the lock again.
GM: You fail. What do you do?
Player: I try to pick the lock again.

This is the gatekeeper of mechanical resolution. If the gate is locked (i.e., failure is neither interesting nor meaningful) then you should go back to the spectrum of GM fiat and remember to default to yes.

(It’s equally true that success should be interesting, meaningful, or both. But this generally takes care of itself because the players are not going to propose actions they are not interested in achieving.)

A common mistake GMs make, however, is to think that expending resources is automatically meaningful. For example, the most basic resource that one can expend is time. So they’ll look at the lockpicking example above and conclude that the failed checks are meaningful because they chew up time. However, this lost time only becomes truly meaningful it has consequences (i.e., wandering monsters, time ticking down towards a deadline, enemies on the other side of the door having more time to prepare, etc.).

The actual process by which an action check is made is obviously dependent on the game system you’re using. I’m not going to attempt a complete survey here, but what this usually boils down to is identifying the skill and setting a difficulty.

IDENTIFYING THE SKILL

Identifying which skill to use is pretty straightforward: Each skill will have a description which defines its parameters. You simply need to figure out which skill’s parameters the proposed action fits, and this is usually obvious.

In some cases, you’ll find that the proposed action can fall into the purview of multiple skills. Generally speaking, you can just let the character use whichever skill is better for them. The exception is if you feel that one of the skills is less related to the task at hand than the other: Systems vary in how they handle this, but allowing the check to be made with the alternative skill at a slight penalty is usually a good one-size-fits-all solution. (Another option is to allow a skill check using the alternative skill to grant a bonus to the primary skill. Or, as in D&D 3^rd Edition, allowing the character’s expertise in the secondary skill to simply provide a synergy bonus without any check.)

My personal preference is for systems that don’t have a lot of overlap in their skill descriptions. Some overlap is basically unavoidable, but being able to clearly call for a specific check generally streamlines the action resolution process by eliminating the back-and-forth of figuring out whether or not a particular skill would apply to this particular check. This is also why overlapping skills that are frequently used “in the blind” – like a Spot check to notice ambushers – are a particular pain in the ass: Since the player doesn’t know exactly what the check is being made for, they can’t let the GM know if they have an alternative skill they could be using: The GM calls for a Spot Tusked Animal check to notice the brain-eating walrus, but it turns out that the character actually has Spot Carnivorous Sea Mammals at a higher rating.

(Not an actual game. But it should be.)

Not all games have skills, of course. In most of those cases, however, you’ll generally follow the same basic procedure using attributes instead. (In many systems, skills and attributes are actually the exact same thing using different names: You take a single “this is how good I am at doing things” number and you want more detail, so you split it into a half dozen attributes. But then you still want more detail, so you split each attribute into a half dozen skills. It’s only when you get systems that freely pair skills with multiple attributes that the mechanic actually shifts. But I digress.)

SETTING DIFFICULTY

There are basically two ways of assigning difficulty:

1. Look at a list of difficulties and assign the difficulty by either description or analogy.
2. Start with a “default” difficulty and adjust it by considering the factors that modify that difficulty.

Some systems lend themselves more readily to one approach or the other. For example, D20 systems lend themselves to assigned difficulties and include difficulty tables that say things like, “A Hard task is DC 20.” or “A Formidable task is DC 25.” Call of Cthulhu, on the other hand, lends itself to adjusted difficulties by setting the default target number to the character’s skill rating so that the GM adjusts difficulty by applying a modifier to the rating.

Regardless of the system, however, you can use either technique. (And, in practice, you are likely to use combinations of both.) For example, when running D&D you could easily start with a default difficulty of DC 15 and then say, “Okay, it’s been raining and the rocks are slick, so let’s bump that up to DC 18.”

TAKE 1 / TAKE 10 / TAKE 20

When considering difficulty, there are three additional metrics I find useful. I’m going to use D&D 3^rd Edition terminology for them because that was the system where my thinking on this first crystallized. (Players of 4^th or 5^th Edition may find this confusing because the designers made a really weird decision regarding the handling of “passive” checks such that the description of the mechanics don’t match the mathematics of the mechanics. You’ll just have to suck it up, because I’m not going to try to jump through the broken hoops of poor mechanical design.)

TAKE 20: When you Take 20 in D&D, the result is calculated as if you had rolled a natural 20 on a d20. In other words, it’s the best possible success that the character is capable of achieving. It’s used in situations like our lockpicking example: The character is free to repeatedly attempt the task until they succeed, which means that we can just check the Take 20 to see if it’s a success or not.

TAKE 10: You can Take 10 in D&D when you’re not under any pressure. It’s the average result possible if you were rolling the dice, but the mechanic basically says “this is the level of success the character can achieve if they’re not under pressure or pushing themselves”.

TAKE 1: This concept is not labeled as such in D&D, but it flows naturally out of the mechanic. If you Take 1 on your roll, then it’s the worst result the character can have. If the difficulty of the task is equal to or less than the character’s Take 1, then the character will automatically succeed on that task.

Basically, these concepts break tasks down into three states: What characters succeed at without evening trying (Take 1). What they always succeed at if they make the effort (Take 10). And what they will eventually succeed at if given enough time (Take 20).

(For example, imagine that there’s something hidden in a room that requires a DC 25 Search check to find. A character with Search +5 will always find the item if they take the time to ransack the room. A character with Search +15 will find the item if they just quickly poke around the room. And a character with Search +25 will notice the item just by walking through the room.)

These concepts are generally useful in D&D (and other systems) for streamlining action resolution. But they can be specifically useful when setting difficulty by considering the type of person who would be attempting such actions and then using them as the analogy.

For example, I constructed these tables for D&D 3^rd Edition:

SKILLED PROFESSIONALS

GENERIC DIFFICULTY CLASS

TAKE 10 TRAINING: Ask yourself, “How much training would it take for someone to be able to succeed at this task as a matter of routine?” Find that level of training on the table and then add 10 to determine the DC of the check (as summarized on the Generic Difficulty Class table).

Example: Even someone without any training in pottery should be able to make a simple, crude bowl if they’re shown how the equipment works, so making such a bowl should only require a DC 10 check (0 + 10 = 10). On the other hand, it takes some training before someone should be able to reliably perform a backflip, so performing a backflip might take a DC 12 check (2 + 10 = 12).

TAKE 20 TRAINING: When dealing with particularly difficult tasks the question to ask is, “How much training would a person need in order to even have a chance to succeed at this task?” Find that level of training on the table and then add 20 to determine the DC of the check.

Example: An average person can’t just pick up a paperclip and pick an average lock. It takes training. So opening an average lock should be a DC 25 check (5 + 20 = 25).

Even if you’re not performing this mental calculation in the moment, this can still be a good exercise to familiarize yourself with what different difficulty numbers really mean in a new system. (I find these techniques particularly useful if you’re trying to calibrate difficulty ratings for characters outside of the human norm.)

But don’t use the character as their own analogy! Setting difficulty by looking at the stats of the character attempting the action and then calculating what you want the percentage of success to be is a pernicious practice. It can seem like a good idea because you’re gauging what an “appropriate” challenge would be for them, but the end result is to basically negate the entire point of having mechanics in the first place.

Some systems – like D&D or Numenera – lend themselves easily to this kind of analysis. Other systems, however, will obfuscate it. This is often true of dice pool systems. For example, the 2d20 System we use in the Infinity RPG uses a base dice pool of 2d20 which can be expanded through various mechanics up to a maximum pool of 5d20. The target number you’re trying to roll equal to or less than for a success is determined by the character’s skill rating, and the difficulty of the task is rated in the number of successes you need to roll: No matter how skilled you are, there’s no minimum level of guaranteed success. Nor, because of how the ancillary mechanics are designed, is there really a cap on the maximum success you could theoretically achieve.

You could still crank through a bunch of math and get some decent guidelines for dice pool systems like this, but in general you’re probably better off accepting the nature of the beast and using the adjust-from-default method of setting difficulty.

The 2d20 System largely sidesteps these issues, actually, because it doesn’t rely on the GM setting difficulty levels: At least 95% of the time the GM is basically deciding whether the task is of Average (1) difficulty or Challenging (2) difficulty. (Difficulty ratings of 3, 4, and 5 also exist, but are extremely rare in their application.) This is because the system is far less interested in the simple binary of passing or failing the check, and is instead intensely interested in the margin of success the character is achieving.

Which is exactly what we’re going to be discussing next.

Go to Part 6

Go to Part 1

This section of the adventure is based on The Sunken Temple of Arn, a submission to the One Page Dungeon Contest by Strange Stones. Everything you need to use this version of the adventure can be found here, but I recommend checking out the original and some of the other nifty stuff available for free download over there.

(1 square = 10′ x 10′)

TEMPLE ROSTER

(italicized denizens generally do not leave their area but might be fetched as reinforcements; see Adversary Rosters)

TEMPLE KEY

Although originally a subterranean structure of great beauty, the entirety of the Temple has become completely submerged and is now occupied by a tribe of sahuagin.

KRIS WARRIOR STATUES: Throughout the temple there are a number of kris warrior statues. If these are examined with a detect magic spell they register as having a faint magical aura. A successful Spellcraft (DC 18) check will indicate that they were once animated (as guardians of the temple), but the spells are ancient and no longer operating.

AREA 1 – GARDEN: Overgrown with seaweed. A verdigrised copper gnomon sits on a marble base. The gnomon alone is worth a small fortune (2,000 gp). The complete piece is worth four times as much.

AREA 2 – PLAZA: At the bottom of the stairs, statues of two warriors stare down — one bearing a kris in his left hand, the other unarmed.

AREA 3 – FEASTING HALL: A dozen humanoid corpses, decayed and bloated, float freely throughout this room. Statues of the unarmed, kris-bearing warriors dominate the room. This is a feasting hall — sahuagin simply pass through this area and feed upon the bloated corpses they collect.

AREA 4 – ANTECHAMBER: This room is stripped bare. Profane graffiti is carved into the walls (predating the deluge and sahuagin occupation). A fresco depicting the holy void remains intact.

AREA 5 – PLAZA OF WISDOM: This area features two giant statues of unarmed warriors in strange poses.

Search (DC 15): To find the trapdoor leading to a rusted ladder of iron that descends into the lower tunnels.

AREA 6 – ANTECHAMBER: As per area 4.

AREA 7 – PLAZA OF REPOSE: This area features two giant statues depicting cloaked humans armed with krises, preparing to strike unseen enemies. Perched upon their shoulders are two winged gargoyles (which are, in fact, kapoacinth).

Search (DC 15): To discover a ceramic box concealed beneath the eastern statue containing a variety of silver jewelry (worth 500 gp).

AREA 8 – FLUORESCENT KRAKEN: The room glows with a soft, coruscating light that emanates from a lesser kraken which lives beneath the iron grate of the floor.

False Door (Search DC 16, Disable Device DC 25): If opened, the door springs outwards with great force. Reflex DC 25 or 2d6 damage.

Secret Door (Search DC 20): The sahuagin are unaware of this door.

AREA 9 – ROOM OF SECRETS: The walls of this room are painted red.

Search (DC 20): There’s a secret compartment that contains 4 vials of oil of taggit and a cursed -2 kris.

AREA 10 – HIDDEN LIBRARY: This room contains the long-ruined remains of many scrolls and books. A scything blade trap was once set off here and now hangs limps from the ceiling, stirring slightly in the current. The skeletal remains of its 6 headless victims lie on the floor.

Skeletons: If disturbed, they will animate and attack.

Bronze Tablet #1: Among the water-ruined paper, there is a bronze tablet (see below).

AREA 11 – SHAMAN’S CHAMBERS: Ornate stonework furniture, covered with mosses and lichens, dominates the perimeter of this room, surrounding an altar of sea embers (bright blue coals which burn even in water).

AREA 12 – KITCHEN: This was once a kitchen for the temple. Rusted, worthless cutlery and rare, valuable bone china can be found in the cupboards.

AREA 13 – BATHS: This room served as the baths for the temple. A hot spring still feeds the baths, making the water in this room noticeably warmer.

AREA 14 – LATRINE: This room was once the latrine for the temple.

Search (DC 12): A cache of 75 triangular gold coins can be found at the bottom of the latrine trough.

Sorcerous Brand of Arn

AREA 15 – ROOM OF GHOSTS: A blasted altar stands in the middle of the room.

Shadows: The ghosts of two Arn assassins (treat as shadows) linger here. Each of the shadows has a glowing sigil (the Sorcerous Brand of Arn) glowing brightly on their arms.

AREA 16 – THE WELL: Heavy black fluid rests within the well, not mingling with the water. This fluid burns like oil even when submerged.

Vat: A vat stands near the entrance with liquid taken from the well. The sahuagin can tip it over to fill the hallway beyond and light it on fire.

AREA 17 – MECHANICAL ROOM: Levers, dials, wheels, and gears take up much of this room. They are rusted and verdigrised; their function lost to the tides of time.

AREA 18 – SHARK PEN: Rusted remains of torture implements litter this room. There is an outlet to the open sea through a long, narrow tunnel.

AREA 19 – TELEPORTALS: This chamber contains  red teleportal (to Lab 1) and a blue teleportal (to Lab 4). Both are one-way.

AREA 20 / AREA 21 – THE OATHS OF ARN: The secret doors leading to these chambers require DC 25 Search checks to find. In Area 20, the Oath of Arn is inscribed upon the wall. A small altar contains a blue key.

In area 21, the False Oath of Arn is inscribed upon the wall. A small altar contains a blue key which will inflict 2d6 Constitution damage (Fortitude save, DC 20, half damage) when used.

BRONZE TABLET #1

TRACK THE BLOOD
Necromancy
Level: Rgr 0, Sor/Wiz 0
Components: V, S, F
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Range: Blood from the target
Target: One living creature
Duration: 1 min/Level
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No

By tasting the blood of the caster’s chosen target, he creates a connection with that person or creature, enabling a way of tracking it through all kinds of terrain. For some young wizards (level 1-3) this can be a rather tough experience, and they have to make a Fortitude save (DC 15) or lose the blood connection. The blood must still be liquiscent for this spell to work.

There is no defined range of this spell, but when the duration ends the connection is broken and new blood must be procured to cast the spell anew. The blood can come from an animal as well as a person, and even if that creature lies dead somewhere, this spell will lead the caster to it.

Arcane Focus: The blood from the target.

 MONSTROUS CRABS

MONSTROUS CRAB (CR 2) – Medium Vermin (Aquatic)
DETECTION – darkvision 60 ft., Spot +4; Init +1; Languages —
DEFENSES – AC 16 (+1 Dex, +5 natural), touch 11, flat-footed 15; hp 19 (3d8+6)
ACTIONS – Spd 30 ft., swim 20 ft.; Melee 2 claws +4 (1d4+2; Ranged +3; Base Atk +2; Grapple +3; Atk Options constrict 1d4+2, improved grab
SQ darkvision 60 ft., water dependency, vermin traits
STR 14, DEX 12, CON 14, INT –, WIS 10, CHA 2
FORT +5, REF +2, WILL +1
FEATS: —
SKILLS: Spot +4*, Swim +10

Constrict (Ex): On successful grapple check (including grapple check to establish grapple), 1d4+2 damage.

Improved Grab (Ex): On hit with claw attack, grapple as free action without provoking attack of opportunity. On success, establishes hold and can immediately constrict.

Water Dependency (Ex): Survive outside of water for 1 hour per point of Constitution (then refer to drowning rules).

*Skills: +4 racial bonus to Spot checks. +8 racial bonus to Swim checks to perform special action or avoid hazard. Can always take 10 on Swim checks. Can perform run action while swimming.

LESSER KRAKEN

LESSER KRAKEN (CR 6): 60 (8d8+24), AC 19, tentacles +11/+11 (2d6+4), Save +9, Ability DC 16

Str 24, Dex 10, Con 19, Int 18, Wis 17, Cha 17

Skills: Concentration +13, Diplomacy +12, Hide +9, Intimidate +12, Knowledge (geography) +13, Knowledge (nature) +13, Listen +12, Search +12, Sense Motive +12, Spot +12, Survival +12, Swim +16, Use Magic Device +13

Constrict: On a successful grapple check (including grapple check to establish grapple), deal 2d6 damage.

Jet: As full-round action, can jet at a speed of 200 feet. Movement while jetting does not provoke attacks of opportunity.

Improved Grab: On hit with tentacle attack, grapple as free action without provoking attack of opportunity. On success, establishes hold and can immediately constrict.

Ink Cloud: 40-foot spread once per minute as free action. Cloud provides total concealment.

 SAHUAGIN ELITE

SAHAUGIN ELITE (CR 7): 75 hp (10d8+30), AC 20, talon or trident +14/+14 (2d8+3), Save +10, Ability DC 17

Str 16, Dex 15, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 13, Cha 11

Skills: Handle Animal +13, Hide +15, Perception +14, Profession (hunter) +14, Ride +15, Survival +14

Blindsense 30 ft.

Bloodfrenzy (Ex): 14 rounds, cannot end voluntarily. +2 to attacks, -2 AC, +2d6 damage.

Pounce and Rake (Ex): Full action. Move up to twice speed and then perform a full attack. Gains two additional attacks that each deal 2d6.

Speak with Sharks: Telepathically, 100 ft.

SAHUAGIN SHAMAN

SAHUAGIN SHAMAN (CR 7+2*): 75 hp (10d8+30), AC 20, talon or trident +14/+14 (2d8+3), Save +10, Ability DC 17

Str 16, Dex 15, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 11

Skills: Handle Animal +13, Hide +15, Perception +14, Profession (hunter) +14, Ride +15, Survival +14

Possessions: gold pearl (operates as pearl of power (2nd level) 4 times per day, but only with divine spells)

Blindsense 30 ft.

Bloodfrenzy (Ex): 14 rounds, cannot end voluntarily. +2 to attacks, -2 AC, +2d6 damage.

Pounce and Rake (Ex): Full action. Move up to twice speed and then perform a full attack. Gains two additional attacks that each deal 2d6.

Speak with Sharks: Telepathically, 100 ft.

*6th Level Cleric

Cleric Spells Prepared (CL 6)
3^rd (DC 16)—magic circle against good, bestow curse, water breathing
2^nd (DC 15)—desecrate, bull’s strength, resist energy, make whole
1^st (DC 14)—obscuring mist, bless, entropic shield, shield of faith
0^th (DC 13)—create water, detect magic, detect poison, guidance, light
Deity: Sea
Domains: Evil, Water

 SAHUAGIN CHIEFTAIN

SAHUAGIN CHIEFTAIN (CR 7+2*): 220 hp (10d8+30), AC 20, talon or trident +14/+14/+14/+14 (2d8+3), Save +10, Ability DC 17

Str 16, Dex 15, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 11

Skills: Handle Animal +13, Hide +15, Perception +14, Profession (hunter) +14, Ride +15, Survival +14

Blindsense 30 ft.

Bloodfrenzy (Ex): 14 rounds, cannot end voluntarily. +2 to attacks, +2d6 damage.

Pounce and Rake (Ex): Full action. Move up to twice speed and then perform a full attack. Gains two additional attacks that each deal 2d6.

Speak with Sharks: Telepathically, 100 ft.

*Potentate (calculated into stat block, see Legends & Labyrinths)

Go to Part 3: The Laboratories

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This 3rd Edition scenario was originally designed for my In the Shadow of the Spire campaign. I recently had cause to mention it while discussing the need to occasionally write-off the material you’ve prepped: Due to a series of odd events, the PCs in my campaign ended up falling in with a litorian named Wenra (who you’ll meet in detail below). At the end of one session they agreed to accompany him in exploring a dungeon complex he had recently discovered, but half of the party wasn’t firmly committed to the idea and at the beginning of the next session they managed to convince the others it wasn’t a good use of their time or resources. The rather lengthy adventure — which I had grown quite fond of — was laid aside.

The adventure itself is an adaptation of and radical expansion of two dungeons from the One Page Dungeon Contest: The Sunken Temple of Arnby Strange Stones and Escape from the Lost Laboratoriesby Wordman.

THE ARN

The Arn were a secret society during the era of the Sorcerer-Kings. (Much like the Brotherhood of the Silver Hand.) They constructed networks of underground laboratories to keep their work hidden and connected these laboratories using a teleportal network.

The Arn sect in the area around the City dabbled extensively into the chaotic magitech of the Banelord and Lithuin.

SORCEROUS BRAND OF ARN: These marked the members of the order. The branding irons can still be found in the Temple of Vehthyl (Laboratory 4).

BRONZE TABLETS OF ARN: Written in the secret arcane tongue of the Arn. Requires a read magic and comprehend languages spell, and still requires a 5/2 (failure starts over) Decipher Script check (DC 20, 1 hour per check). Each tablet generally has 1 spell on it.

THE WANDERER AND THE BEAR

Wenra is an Artathi — a member of the proud race of felinids who live on the southern continent. His animal companion is a bear named Seenmae.

Wenra recently discovered a secret door in the Catacombs beneath the City that open onto a long stairway leading down to the entrance of the Sunken Temple of Arn. Finding his way blocked by water, he returned to the surface to get a potion of waterbreathing (and ended up getting several doses of gillweed, see below) and to seek out adventurous companions to accompany him in exploring the ruins (which is where the PCs come in).

Wenra believes that the sunken temple may lead to the Lost Laboratories of the Arn — elaborately concealed laboratories belonging to the arcane sect of Arn which were scattered around the City and only accessible through some sort of teleport network. (He is, in fact, right about this.)

Wenra has in his possession a red key which he believes will allow him to access the entire teleport network. Unfortunately, although it appears intact, it is actually broken. (Spellcraft DC 25 to identify the key; DC 35 to realize it’s not fully functional.)

GILLWEED: Chewing this heavily oxygenated weed allows a character to breathe underwater for up to 1 minute per dose.

WENRA

APPEARANCE: Broad-shouldered Artathi with golden fur. His mane has ribbons of blue-and-crimson threaded through it. His two front-fangs have scrollwork inking on them in the shape of a bear’s paws.

ROLEPLAYING:

• Hunched shoulders.
• Big laugh.
• Gleeful about delving (which often overrides caution).

BACKGROUND: Wenra was a member of one of the Artathi hunting bands that roam the rocky land north of the city. He left his tribe and came to the City to escape a wrath oath that was sworn against him by his brother (Tyrian) for sleeping with his wife (Bithbessa).

When he arrived in the City two years ago, Wenra became fascinated with the Catacombs beneath the city. He joined the Wanderer’s Guild and threw himself enthusiastically (if not always competently) into delving.

---

WENRA (CR 5) – Male Litorian – Ranger 7 – CG Medium Humanoid
DETECTION – low-light vision, Perception +10; Init +1; Languages Common, Goblin, Litorian
DEFENSES – AC 18 (+2 Dex, +1 Two-Weapon Defense, +5 +1 chain shirt of silent moves), touch 12, flat-footed 16; hp 61 (7d8+21)
ACTIONS – Spd 30 ft.; Melee +1 battleaxe +8/+8/+3/+3/+3 (1d8+5) or +1 battleaxe +12/+7 (1d8+5); Ranged +8; Base Atk +7/+2; Grapple +11; Atk Options favored enemy (animal) +4; Combat Feats Power Attack; Combat Gear caltrops, acid (x3), antitoxin (x2), holy water (x3), potion of cure light wounds
SQ animal companion, improved combat style (two-weapon), favored environment (underground), low-light vision, wild empathy, woodland stride
STR 18, DEX 15, CON 16, INT 13, WIS 10, CHA 12
FORT +8, REF +7, WILL +2
FEATS: Improved Animal Companion, Endurance*, Track*, Improved Two-Weapon Fighting*, Power Attack, Two-Weapon Defense, Two-Weapon Fighting* (* Bonus feat)
SKILLS: Climb +8, Handle Animal +11, Heal +5, Intimidate +3, Jump +8, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +9, Knowledge (geography) +3, Knowledge (nature) +7, Perception +12, Stealth +11, Search +12, Survival +4, Swim +7
POSSESSIONS: +1 chain shirt of silent moves, +1 battleaxe (x2), backpack (caltrops (x2), candle, chain, crowbar, grappling hook, hammer, pitons (x12), 50 ft. rope, torch (x12)), bandolier (acid x3, antitoxin x2, holy water x3, potion of cure light wounds), gillweed (12 doses)

Endurance (Ex): +4 on Swim checks to avoid nonlethal damage; Constitution checks to avoid nonlethal damage from forced march/starvation/thirst, hold breath, nonlethal damage from cold and hot environments; Fort saves vs. suffocation damage. Can sleep in light or medium armor without becoming fatigued.

Favored Enemy (Ex): Gains +4 bonus on weapon damage, Bluff, Knowledge, Listen, Sense Motive, Spot, and Survival checks vs. Animals.

Favored Environment (Ex): Gains +4 bonus Hide, Listen, Move Silently, Spot, and Survival checks in Underground environments.

Wild Empathy (Ex): 1d20 + ranger level to improve animal’s reaction, resolve as Diplomacy.

Woodland Stride (Ex): Move through any non-magical undergrowth without speed penalty or damage.

Ranger Spells Prepared (CL 3)

1^st (DC 12)—speak with animals

---

SEENMAE (CR 4) – N Large Animal
DETECTION – low-light vision, scent, Listen +4, Spot +7; Init +1
DEFENSES – AC 20 (-1 size, +1 Dex, +5 natural, +5 partial plate barding), touch 10, flat-footed 19; hp 72 (6d8+24)
ACTIONS – Spd 30 ft. (40 ft. w/o barding); Melee 2 claws +11 (1d8+8) and bite +6 (2d6+4); Ranged +4; Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft.; Base Atk +4; Grapple +16; SA improved grab; Combat Feats Run
SQ familiar abilities (link, share spells), low-light vision, scent
STR 27, DEX 13, CON 19, INT 2, WIS 12, CHA 6
FEATS: Endurance, Run, Track
SKILLS: Listen +4, Spot +7, Swim +8* (+12 w/o barding)
POSSESSIONS: partial plate barding

Improved Grab (Ex): Start grapple as free action off claw attack, no attack of opportunity.

*Skills: +4 racial bonus on Swim checks.

---

WENRA’S PATH

Wenra’s Path leads:

• Through the Catacombs to a door.
• Down a long stairway (with
• The stairway continues down into sunken passages.
• The sunken passages lead to Area 1 of the Sunken Temple of Arn.

Go to Part 2: The Sunken Temple of Arn

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Go to Part 1

We started by looking at how player declarations (or the lack of one in terms of passive observation) trigger the process of making a ruling. Then we broke that declaration down into intention, method, and initiation. Now we’re ready to move into the real meat of the rulings process: Resolution.

Resolution is the bridge between intention and outcome. In many ways, you can think of it as a test: The character’s intention is being tested and the result of that test is the outcome of the action. In the most basic terms, therefore, resolution determines whether the character succeeds or fails at their intention. (Although, as we’ll shortly discover, it’s not always that simple.)

DEFAULT TO YES

The easiest ruling for a GM to make is, “No.”

Player: I want to jump over the chasm.
GM: No.

Player: I want to convince the Duchess to support Lord Buckingham.
GM: She refuses to listen.

Player: I ask around town to see if there are any rumors of an ogre in the area.
GM You don’t find any.

When you use “no” everything is simple: There are no complications. No consequences. It’s clean, tidy, and definitive in its finality.

That makes it an incredibly useful tool. It’s also why you should basically never use it.

What you actually want to do is almost the exact opposite: Default to yes.

Player: I want to jump over the chasm.
GM: Okay, you’re on the other side.

Player: I want to convince the Duchess to support Lord Buckingham.
GM: She listens to your proposal and agrees to its merits.

Player: I ask around town to see if there are any rumors of an ogre in the area.
GM: Old Man Hob says that a farmer named Willis was complaining about an ogre killing his sheep last month.

“No” inherently stagnates the action. It leaves the situation unchanged. “Yes”, on the other hand, implicitly moves the action forward: It creates a new situation to which both you and the players will now be forced to respond. Now that they’re on the other side of the chasm, what will they do? How will Lord Buckingham respond to the Duchess’ unexpected support? Will the PCs hunt down Willis’ supposed ogre?

The other reason to default to yes is that, generally speaking, people succeed at most of the things they attempt. You want to drive downtown? Find some information by googling it? Book plane tickets to Cairo? Those are all things which are generally going to happen if you decide to do them.

YES, BUT…

The problem with always saying “yes”, however, is that it lacks challenge. It’s boring and it’s predictable. (It’s also not reflective of the way the world works: Failure, or potential failure, is part of life.)

This means that we need to add another tool to our repertoire: Yes, but…

Player: I want to jump over the chasm.
GM: You leap over the chasm, but as you land on the other side the floor collapses under your weight, sending you plunging down into an abyssal pit…

Player: I want to convince the Duchess to support Lord Buckingham.
GM: She listens with interest to your proposal and seems intrigued, but she wants you to promise that her ancestral rights to the Eastermark will be guaranteed.

Player: I ask around town to see if there are any rumours of an ogre in the area.
GM: Old Man Hob says that a farmer named Willis was complaining about an ogre killing his sheep last month. But as you’re speaking with him, you notice a shadowy figure watching from the corner of the tavern…

“Yes, but…” adds to the idea proposed by the player. It enriches the player’s contribution by making a contribution of your own. Unlike “no” it doesn’t negate. Unlike “yes” it isn’t predictable.

NO, BUT…

That all sounds great, right?

But what happens if what the players want contradicts the known facts of the game world? For example, they want rumors of an ogre, but you know there are no ogres in the area.

You may think that this will bring us back to “no”, but we’re not quite there yet. Generally speaking, the only time “no” is acceptable is if the intention directly contradicts the reality of the game world. So before we get back to “no”, we’re going to make a pit stop at No, but…

Player: Can I find a wizard’s guild?
GM: Yes.

Player: Can I find a wizard’s guild?
GM: Yes, but you’ll have to go to Greyhawk. There isn’t one in this town.

Player: Is there a wizard’s guild in this town?
GM: No, but there’s one in Greyhawk.

Player: Is there a wizard’s guild in town?
GM: In 1982 Berlin? No.

As you can see, No but… is in many ways just Yes, but… looked at from a slightly different angle. Where a clear distinction does exist is when the method by which the character is attempting to achieve their intention isn’t viable: “No, that won’t get you where you want to go. But here’s an alternate way you could achieve that.”

THE SPECTRUM OF GM FIAT

Collectively, let’s refer to this as the spectrum of GM fiat:

• Yes
• Yes, but…
• No, but…
• No

The reason we default to yes – i.e., default to the top of this spectrum and work our way down it – is because any requests being made by the players generally reflect things they want to do. When they say, “I want to do X,” what they’re saying is, “I would find it fun if I could do X.” And unless you’ve got a really, really good reason for prohibiting them from doing those things, it’s generally going to result in a better session if you can figure out (and offer them) a path by which they can do the things they want to do.

Sometimes they’ll reject that path. (“I don’t want to go to Greyhawk. It’s too far away.”) That’s OK. That means they’re prioritizing something else. But give ‘em the meaningful choice instead of taking it away. Choice is, after all, what roleplaying games are all about.

And one of the great strengths of Yes, but… is that it’s actually quite difficult to game the system:

Player: Can I build a nuclear bomb?
GM: Yes, but you’re going to need to figure out some way to get your hands on enriched uranium. And if the government figures out what you’re doing, the words “terrorist watch list” will be the least of your problems.

(Sometimes, of course, you might be dealing with a troll player who keeps asking to fly to the Andromeda galaxy during your World War II campaign. But if that’s routinely happening, then you’ve got a problem that needs to be dealt with in ways that have nothing to do with action resolution.)

If you’re really struggling to avoid No, another useful thing to remember is that a close cousin of Yes, but… is, “Tell me how you’re doing that.” Which is basically the same thing, except that you’re prompting the player to think of their own “but”.

Player: Can I build a nuclear bomb?
GM: Okay. Tell me how you’re doing that.
Player: Well… I’ll need to find a source of enriched uranium. Can I make a Contacts check to see if one of my old Russian buddies might have a hook-up on the black market?

This last exchange also points us in the direction of the exit ramp which will carry us away from the spectrum of GM fiat: “I’m not sure. Let’s find out.”

This is the point where both the GM and the player turn collectively towards fickle fortune (i.e. the game mechanics) to seek an answer. Of course, the GM’s role is not yet complete: If resolution is the process of testing the character’s intention, then this is where the GM designs the test.

Go to Part 5

Big social events are a great set piece for an RPG campaign: They’re hotbeds of intrigue. If violence needs to break out, the innocent bystanders raise the stakes. If there’s to be a murder, they provide a wealth of suspects. If the PCs are trying to pull a heist, they delightfully complicate the proceedings.

I’ve also found them to be effective as a way of signaling when the PCs have changed their sphere of influence. You rescued the mayor’s daughter from a dragon? Chances are you’re going to be the belle of the ball. And you’re going to discover that powerful and important people have become very interested in making your acquaintance.

When these events work, they’re exciting and engaging experiences, often providing a memorable epoch for the players and spinning out contacts and consequences that will drive the next phase of the campaign. The difficulty, of course, is getting them to work properly: They require the GM to juggle a lot of different characters and getting the players to actually form a meaningful relationship with the NPCs at the party can often feel like a crapshoot.

Fifteen years ago, however, largely through trial and error, I sort of “cracked the code” on how to prep and run these types of scenarios. Over the years, I’ve used the same scenario structure repeatedly in a wide variety of circumstances – political caucus, soiree on a flying ship, dinner in a mystic castle, journey on a long-haul space freighter – and it’s proven to be remarkably reliable in producing great gaming experiences featuring intensive roleplaying opportunities.

The structure can be broken down into four tools: The location, the guest list, the main event sequence, and the topics of conversation.

LOCATION

Where is the social event taking place?

You’ve got a lot of flexibility with this. I’ve run these types of events in everything from a simple ballroom to multiple flying ships (with the event moving back and forth between the vessels).

What you want to avoid, however, is making the location too small or too simple. The key to any good party is having multiple zones of activity, so that social groups can form and break apart freely. Similarly, as we’ll see, what makes this scenario structure tick is that the PCs are NOT simultaneously engaged with every single NPC at the event. (That’s a different kind of event – a board meeting or a union rally or something of that ilk.) In order for that to work, there needs to be a lot of different areas that the group can move between.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that you need lots and lots of different rooms. For example, in a nightclub the dance floor, the bar, and the VIP area are probably all in view of each other, but they’re distinct areas that people can congregate in.

On the other hand, it doesn’t hurt to incorporate a wholistic environment, either. The Enchantment Under the Sea dance in Back to the Future, for example, uses the dance floor, the punch bowl, the backstage area, and even the parking lot outside. Including private areas (or at least theoretically private areas) can also be a good idea, not just for the opportunities they provide for the PCs to seclude themselves, but because seeing NPCs slipping into or out of such privates areas can immediately invoke intrigue.

GUEST LIST

Next, you’ll want to prep the guest list. In my experience, you’re generally going to want 10-20 people. Fewer than ten and the event isn’t dynamic enough and doesn’t really feel “large”. More then twenty and the lack of focus kind of just devolves into noise. Fifteen or so feels like a pretty good sweet spot to aim for.

(Obviously many events will have a larger attendance than that. But you’ll want to focus on the circle of NPCs that are immediately relevant to the PCs.)

First, you’ll want to prep a master list of names that you can use as a quick reference while running the event.

Next, you’ll want to prep each of these important NPCs using the Universal NPC Roleplaying Template. The template will let you quickly pick up each NPC and slip into their role during the event.

I recommend printing out one NPC per sheet and keep them loose-leaf. That will let you quickly pull out the sheets for each NPC participating in a particular conversation for easy use. If you’ve got the time and resources, it can also be rewarding to prep a visual handout for each NPC. During each conversation, you can just quickly prop up the visual handouts for each NPC present, making it easier for the players to track who they’re talking to and enhancing their memory of each character as a separate individual. (They can also serve as handy visual reminders for you.)

KEY INFO: The Key Info section of the roleplaying template is designed for scenario-essential information that is crucial for the GM to remember when using the NPC. When using the template for a social event, this can include:

• The character’s relationship with or attitude towards other NPCs. (“Despises Susannah.” or “Will enjoy swapping war stories with the naval officers.”)
• Specific reactions that they might have to stimuli. (“Is angered by anyone suggesting that her father is dying.”)
• Particular actions or interactions that should be triggered. (“Will try to poison Cassandra’s drink.” or “Wants to sell the PCs timeshares in Venice Beach.”)
• Clues that can be gleaned from them. (“Knows the knife belonged to Cassandra.” or “Perception check (DC 20) to notice that her dress has been torn.”)
• Scenario hooks.
• Cross-references or common experiences that they share with particular PCs. (“Was raised in the same orphanage as Bella.” or “Was a friend to the duke they killed in session 3.”)
• Unusual or important gear they might be carrying. (“Her glass eye allows her to see through walls.” or “The golden cross she wears is made of aurum (true gold).”)

Obviously some of these categories overlap with each other, and there are plenty of other essential details that will be scenario- or character-specific.

MAIN EVENT SEQUENCE

Next you’re going to prep what I call the main event sequence for the event. For example:

• Announcing Guests of Special Honor
• Iron Mage Appears
• Aoska Arrives
• Urlenius Arrives
• Lord Dallimothan Arrives
• Lady Rill Joins the Party
• Arguing About the Balacazars
• Debate of the Twelve Commanders
• Sheva and Jevicca Seek Out the PCs
• A Poetry Reading

I usually prep these as a linear sequence (A happens, then B happens, then C happens). You could also just prep a grab bag of events that could happen in any sequence. (You could even stock a random table and roll to see what happens next.) If you want to run something a little more complicated, you could also try prepping multiple event sequences. (This is a variant of the Second Track.)

Obviously the PCs can also initiate alternative “major events”, or they may end up derailing (or transforming) the events that you’d originally planned. More power to them. The main event sequence should be seen as a tool, not as destiny.

It can also be tempting to think of the main event sequence as the “Story of the Party”. But it isn’t. It’s more like the piece of string that you dip into a saturated sugar solution in order to make rock candy. The experience of the party – the cool and unique events that you and your players are going to remember – will crystallize around the string. If you’re eating the string instead of the candy, you’re doing it wrong.

TOPICS OF CONVERSATION

The last tool you’ll prep are topics of conversation. These might be momentous recent events, fraught political debates, or just utter trifles (like the series finale of a television program). For example, in a scenario I ran as part of In the Shadow of the Spire, the topics of conversation included:

• A recent riot
• A magical battle that the PCs had been involved in
• A string of terrorist attacks that had been plaguing the city
• Rumours of war to the south
• The health of a guest who canceled at the last minute
• A magical STD that had been afflicting merchant families
• The recent prison escape by a criminal the PCs had arrested
• A new restaurant that recently opened in the Nobles’ Quarter

I recommend mixing in a few “irrelevant” topics of conversation to camouflage (or, at least, contrast) the “important” stuff.

The topics of conversation can also pick up elements from the main event sequence as they happen. (“Did you see Astoria rush out in tears? What could Rupert have possibly said to her?!”)

In some cases, you may want to reference topics of conversation in the Key Info section of the NPCs from your guest list (i.e., what they think about or can contribute to a particular topic). But for the most part you should be able to simply improvise what various people have to say about each topic. What can be more useful is figuring out two or three different general viewpoints on a particular topic (supporting the new Ironworkers’ Guild vs. thinking it’s a front for criminal activity), and then you can just have each NPC ad lib within that debate.

RUNNING THE PARTY

First, you’ll want to know what happens in the first moment that the PCs show up for the event. What will immediately attract their attention? Who will they see? Is there a major announcement (about them or otherwise)? Is there something big and loud going down? Is there something subtle that only they might notice?

This will generally be the first event on your main event sequence. It’s the initial hook and it should give your players enough context to begin taking action in the scene. (Reacting to what they see. Going to speak with someone they know. Et cetera.)

From that point forward, running the event is largely a matter of picking up the various toys you’ve constructed and then putting them into play in different configurations.

• Which NPCs are talking to each other? (Consult your guest list.)
• Who might come over and join a conversation that the PCs are having? (Again, guest list.)
• What are they talking about? (Look at your topics of conversation.)

Encourage the PCs to split up. Cutting back and forth between various conversations is extremely effective in large social events, and you’ll want to use crossovers between various interactions to make the party feel like a unified whole. (For example, if one of the PCs gets involved in a huge shouting match with the Ariadnan diplomat, the other PCs should either hear it directly or hear people talking about it.)

Keep the social groups circulating. You don’t have to completely use up everything interesting about a particular NPC in a single interaction. In fact, you shouldn’t. Reincorporate characters that the PCs met earlier in the scene. Similarly, reincorporate topics of conversation – let the players discuss similar things with different people in order to get (and argue) different points of view.

Pay attention to which NPCs “click” with the PCs (whether in a positive or negative way). In my experience, there’s really no way to predict this: Part of it is just random chance. Part of it is which character traits particularly appeal to your players. Part of it will be which NPCs are clicking for you (and therefore providing stronger and more memorable interactions). Regardless, make a point of bringing those NPCs back and developing the PCs’ relationships with them.

If things feel like they’re lagging, either cut to another group of PCs or trigger the next event on the main sequence.

Don’t hog the driver’s seat. Allow the PCs to observe things that they can choose to react to. (For example, instead of having every NPC come to them, instead allow them to notice NPCs walking past or overhearing a group talking about a topic of interest. Let them choose whether and how to engage.) Make a point of asking them what they want to do (and if they don’t have an answer, trigger the next event).

What essentially makes this scenario structure work is that you have not prepped a dozen specific interactions for the PCs to have. Instead, you’ve prepped a couple dozen different toys – people, topics, events – and you’re going to constantly remix those into new configurations for as long as they hold the players’ interest.

QUICK ‘N DIRTY VERSION

The full scenario structure I’m describing here obviously requires preparation to run to full effect. But what if the players have just spontaneously decided to crash the society debut of the Governor’s daughter? Is there any way to use this scenario structure on-the-fly?

Here’s the five minute version for emergency use:

• Make a list of 3-5 places people can congregate.
• Make a list of 10 characters.
• Make a list of 5 events.
• Make a list of 5 topics of conversation.

Don’t go into detail. Just list ‘em.

If this social event is growing organically out of game play, then you’ve probably already got the NPCs and the topics of conversation prepped – you just need to pull them onto the lists for this event.

Finally, if the PCs are going to the social event in order to achieve some specific goal, use the Three Clue Rule and figure out three ways that they can do that. Notate it in the appropriate places. (For example, if they’re trying to figure out who in the Governor’s circle of friends might have assassinated Marco’s sister, then you’ll probably want to identify a couple people who can tell them that. And maybe one of the events is an opportunity to witness the Governor’s chief of staff slipping off to talk to a known Mafioso.) Of course, when you’re actually running the scenario don’t forget the principle of Permissive Clue-Finding – there may be a bunch of other ways for the PCs to also accomplish their goal. Follow their lead.

For a detailed example of this scenario structure in practice, check out Running the Campaign: A Party at Shipwright’s House.