Colin R. asks: “What tricks or devices do you have for generating memorable NPCs? Especially for creating them on the fly when players go in unexpected directions.”

This will not attempt to be an exhaustive discussion of how to create memorable characters. You could write whole books on the subject, and people have. But perhaps a grab bag of techniques I’ve found useful as a GM will prove useful to you, too.

1. Give them a distinct mannerism. I talk about this in the Universal NPC Roleplaying Template, which is itself a good, quick structure that you can pour characters into. A simple, physical action that you can perform at the table — crossing your arms and stroking your chin, scratching your knee, tapping the side of your nose, winking, speaking with a particular accent, scratching the top of your head, a notably colorful preference for a particular swear word — will make it much easier for you to slip into and out of a given character, and make that character more memorable and distinct for the players.

2. Give the NPC a strong agenda. Make them want something. Better yet? A pair of agendas. If they’re agendas that partly conflict with each other, even better.

It actually works best if this agenda is not aimed directly at the PCs. Something that simply overlaps the PCs’ areas of interest is usually more effective. If the PCs’ actions/knowledge/connections/whatever could help (or hinder) the NPC, I’ve found it’s often more effective for the NPC to discover that during their interaction with the PCs. (Or for the PCs to discover it and then decide what to do with that knowledge themselves.)

This is not a universal rule, obviously: There’s nothing wrong with a patron showing up and wanting the PCs to do something for them.

But the less the players think “X exists because the GM wants us to do Y,” the more they will think of X as an actual person.

3. Throw out lots and lots of NPCs and then pay attention to which ones “click” with the players. Focus on those and be OK with letting NPCs that aren’t clicking move on with their lives. I talk about this a bit in Party Planning.

4. Neel Krishnaswami’s Law of the Conservation of NPCs is also useful to remember here:

In our last Nine Worlds session, I introduced Perseus, a captain of the Lunar space fleet, who was married to Nick’s PC’s wife. In the session before that, the players had been boarded by a Lunar ship which had confiscated our engineer’s robot as technological contraband. That ship had a captain, who went unnamed. So when I first mentioned Perseus, the players’ first response was “Hey, is he the same guy?” and my answer was, “Of course — the law of conservation of NPCs demands it!” The players chuckled, and we went on playing.

The principle of conservation of NPCs actually is one of my GMing strategies. Whenever I introduce a new conflict into the game, I try to see if existing NPCs can be integrated into this role before I consider introducing a new NPC. I find two big benefits from doing this.

The first is simply that the size of the cast stays under control — I’ve run plenty of games where NPCs multiplied without limit, and that meant that months of real time could pass before we saw an NPC reappear. This limits the amount of shared history the players can develop with a character, and is often a little unsatisfying as a result. So reusing NPCs helps prevent the narrative from fizzling out.

Secondly, re-using NPCs means they will have multiple facets relevant to the players. In our 9W game, Perseus’s family became a center of the narrative — each of the players was off doing something else, but they affected each other because their actions influenced Perseus and his family. So despite the characters being separated the players were still interacting with each other.

5. Have NPCs connected to each other and give them strong, contradictory opinions about each other. If everyone thinks Lord Bakersfield is a pompous asshole… eh, whatever. That’s fine. If some people think he’s a pompous asshole and other people think he’s the greatest man they’ve ever met (and they both have cause to think so), Lord Bakersfield is a much interesting character.

You’re also basically forcing the players (and their PCs) to make up their own minds about Lord Bakersfield. That means they’ll need to think meaningfully about him as a character, and that’s step one to memorability.

TOOLS FOR IMPROVISATION

Something that I talk about in Smart Prep is that if you’re looking to improve your improvisation, then you should prep tools that make it easier to improvise the stuff you find hard to improvise. What these things are is different for everybody: Some people find it hard to come up with cool names on the fly; other people find that trivial.

So which tools you find most useful is going to vary a lot.

NAMES: I put together a list of Fantasy Names by culling cool names I ran across in a data entry job and I’ve used that list over and over and over again in the last couple decades.

I recently prepped a name list for the Infinity RPG by doing a lot of research into real world cultures and their names, specifically to highlight the rich panoply of cultures found in the setting.

On a far more focused scale, Feng Shui 2 does something similar by distinguishing between characters from Hong Kong, characters from mainland China, and characters from Ancient China by using different methods of Romanizing Chinese names.

The globe-hopping Eternal Lies campaign very wisely includes a list of first and last names for each location the PCs go. Notably I did NOT follow the same practice in designing my Severn Valley expansion to the campaign because I felt confident in my ability to to improvise English names.

Over the Edge is another interesting example because Jonathan Tweet basically invented a set of naming conventions for the island of Al Amarja, subtly emphasizing the strangely akimbo nature of its place in our reality. I developed a cheat sheet of Al Amarjan Names to encourage GMs to lean into this. It can be found on Atlas’ official website.

MANNERISMS: Here’s a quick, one-stop shop: Maze Rats. It has a one page “Character Creation” sheet which includes random tables for appearance, physical details, costumes, personality, mannerisms, and hobbies.

You can get a lot of mileage by, say, randomly generating a part of your body and thinking about what you can do with it. If you have one of those dedicated hit location dice, here’s a really creative way you could use it.

AGENDAS: These are trickier to generate meaningful, high-quality random tables for, because they are generally going to be heavily dependent on the specific context of the game setting.

Assuming that your setting is already well-stocked with NPCs, however, one thing you can do is basically just co-opt an existing NPC’s agenda: In the real world, after all, there’s not just one guy who’s pro-Brexit or seeking to buy real estate in the Guildsman’s District or aligned with the Mafia or engaging in anti-android-apartheid activism.

So add this new NPC to one of these existing factions of interest. It works best to then give their agenda a twist so that it’s providing a different angle or insight into the agenda. The easiest twist is to simply flip the agenda and have them opposed to whatever the other NPC is trying to accomplish: So they’re anti-Brexit, trying to protect middle class property rights in the Guildsman’s District, a gangbuster, or an android-tester enforcing the apartheid.

KEEP A FILE: Something else you can do is to start keeping a file of cool NPCs you’ve seen in various adventure modules. I talk about this a bit in Strip-Mining Adventure Modules.

You don’t have to limit yourself to characters from RPG products, or even from the same setting or genre. A lot of the stuff that makes characters cool and memorable — their beliefs, their look, their mannerisms — all tend to translate well.

If these characters are a little too well known, this can be less effective. (Although, honestly, Ian McKellan’s Gandalf is basically an archetype at this point and it’s perfectly acceptable to have a wizard show up smoking a pipe, waggling their eyebrows, and speaking cryptically in dramatic whispers.)

Genre flips often solve this problem in any case: Use Gandalf’s mannerisms for a mafioso or Luke Skywalker’s characterization for a petulant halfling and your players will probably never even realize where you drew your inspiration from.

Vagabundork asks, “Why would the PCs accept these missions? Why would a satanist neuroscientist, a self-hatred writer, and a Colombian telenovela actress get involved in a scenario like this? (…) It usually falls to the, ‘we are a paranormal investigation agency’ which (…) removes all that makes cosmic horror awesome.”

There are a few ways to handle this, generally speaking.

First: Get the players on board during the character creation process.

It’s not solely your responsibility, as the Game Master, to explain why all these characters are hanging out together. As they’re creating the group, make sure the players figure out why these characters are operating together.

“We all have a job in the same organization” (i.e., the paranormal investigation agency) is an easy fits-all-scenarios answer to this, but it’s hardly the only one. What do they care about? What common goal do they all share? What secret do they all have in common?

Once you know what makes them a group, you can hang your scenario hooks off of it. This works even if their connection seems mundane and unrelated to whatever the scenario is. For example, let’s say they decide that they all work at the same comic book shop. Great, now you can threaten the store. Or have some strange person/creature come into the store. Or maybe the whole structure of the campaign becomes tracking down rare issues of comic books for resale, and the weird places, people, and estate sales they track down to obtain those issues also get them tangled up in whatever the scenario happens to be.

If they all share a dark secret, then a scenario hook just needs to threaten that secret in some way to pull them all in. Or they can all be blackmailed by the same mysterious patron.

Note: Just because the players are all collectively figuring out what binds their characters together, this doesn’t necessarily mean that the characters all know each other when the game begins! For example, they can all want to find the Ruby Eye of Drosnin or figure out the Truth About the Templars and be actively pursuing that without pursuing it together (at least not initially), which can also tie into…

Second: Use separate hooks.

If you design scenarios that are awesome situations instead plots, then you’ll discover that your scenarios aren’t generally limited to a single scenario hook: The cooler and more dynamic the situation, the more places there are to hang your hooks. Vagabundork’s question actually came in response to one such discussion (Scenario Hooks for Over the Edge), and you can also check out Juggling Scenario Hooks in a Sandbox for a different perspective on the same basic concept.

This also means that you don’t have to come up with a single explanation for why all of the PCs are involved in the current scenario. They can all be there for completely different reasons, quite possibly pursuing very different agendas.

It’s not unusual to have an initial scenario that works like this, but then the expectation is that, at the end of the scenario, all of these characters will decide that this was a jolly good time and they should all hang out doing similar stuff from now on. This can work very well in games that have a strong in-fiction conceit for small groups of freelancers coming together like this: D&D adventuring parties or Shadowrun teams, for example.

This is also, however, only the most generic version of this, and you can get a lot of mileage out of the same technique by making it specific. For example, during the first scenario all of the PCs get sprayed by a strange blue goo and now they share a common curse. Even if they don’t decide to all team up to figure it out together, they now all have a common goal… which means we’re back in scenario one and you can easily keep hooking them back into the same blue goo-related scenarios. If you can figure out a way to do this that ties into their specific character arcs and backgrounds, then you’ll get results that are even more specific and, as a result, powerful and meaningful.

This technique can also work well when combined with time skips: If the PCs are all pursuing different agendas, then it would be weird for those agendas to all coincidentally cross paths with each other every couple of days. But if you have a really cool scenario, wrap it up, and then deliberately skip a few months or years (or decades) until the next time these characters all happen to cross paths again, that can be a really cool conceit.

A specific variation of this technique is…

Third: Make them enemies.

Or, more specifically, set them in opposition to each other.

This is a technique I discuss in more detail in Technoir and PvP. The short version is that a good, situation-based scenario doesn’t actually need the PCs to be working together. It can often be even more interesting if they’re working in opposition to each other.

The simplest variation is to have different characters who both want the same thing and are in competition with each other for it. For example, Belloq and Indiana Jones from Raiders of the Lost Ark. The film not only contains two completely separate scenarios between these two antagonists, it reveals that they’ve been crossing paths like this over and over and over again for years. If you imagine them both as PCs, that sounds like an incredible campaign.

Another variation is to set things up so that one of the PCs is literally the objective of the other PC. Putting a bounty on the head of one of the PCs is a one-size-fits-all solution to this. The TV show The Fugitive, for example, uses this gimmick. If it was a campaign, the GM only needs to figure out how to hook Richard Kimble into each scenario… and then Lt. Philip Gerard will come following right behind.

This state of antagonism doesn’t have to be entered into with the expectation that it will last in perpetuity, however. When the PCs discover that their antagonism was all a big misunderstanding or, after being forced to work together, realizing that they actually make a really great team, this can collapse into Scenario Two above. (See, for example, basically the entire The Fast & the Furious franchise.)

When using this technique, however, you need to be prepared to actually lose PCs, either because they’re killed or because they just don’t want to work together. That can be OK. (Having one of the PCs leave only to return several sessions later as an antagonist not only for the original PC but for the new PC played by the antagonist’s player can be really cool.)

Fourth: Give them a patron.

When all else fails, patrons make scenario hooks easy: They tell you what your next gig is and then you do it.

The other nice thing about a patron is that you don’t need to figure out why all the PCs know each other or want to work with each other: You just need to figure out (a) why the patron would want to hire each of them individually and (b) why each of them would be willing to take the gig.

The fact that PCs tend to be hyper-competent usually provides the generic answer to the former. Money is a one-size-fits-all answer for the latter.

Nothing wrong with these generic answers, of course. Shadowrun basically builds a whole game around those answers and it does so very successfully.

But, once again, making things more specific instead of generic is generally going to give you better results. Fortunately, it’s generally easier to do this specifically because you don’t need to have the same answers for each PC.

You can also, once again, get the players onboard with this process during character creation. For example, the first time that I ran Eternal Lies, I simply asked the players to make sure that their character backgrounds explained why someone would be interested in hiring them to look into paranormal weirdness. The answers they came up with were all over the map (Chicago cop who got a string of weird cases; girl detective and her brother working amateur paranormal cases in London; combat pilot; author of Fortean nonfiction masquerading as ‘weird fiction’), but also chock full of awesomeness that made it easy to explain why their patron might want to pull them together to investigate her father’s mysterious legacy.

The second time I ran Eternal Lies, however, some of the players ended up with concepts that weren’t as clear-cut in terms of why a patron would seek them out. But we were still able to work together to figure out more personal connections justifying the hire. (For example, one of the characters had been previously involved with a friend of the patron. Another had briefly encountered her father and was, as a result, mentioned in the mysterious notes the group was being hired to investigate.)

Alternatively, maybe the PCs all DO have the same reason for working for the patron: Making that infernal pact so that you could all open a comic book store together sure seemed like a good idea at the time, but…

Another good variation here is to make one of the PCs the patron. See Ocean’s Eleven, for example. This, once again, narrows the focus of the scenario hook down to the desires of a single character, while simplifying everyone else’s involvement down to the question of why someone would want them on the team (which will generally boil down to expertise).

Let’s say that you have a scenario featuring a pack of werewolves that have taken up residence in a ruined castle a few miles away from a small village. What scenario hook could you use to get the PCs involved in this scenario?

Perhaps:

• The villagers could ask them for help, or perhaps a local burgher could offer to pay them to root out the werewolves. (This is an example of patronage; an NPC is requesting that something specific be done.)
• The PCs could hear rumors in the local tavern about the spate of recent werewolf attacks, or perhaps they see bounty notices posted by the local sheriff. (This is an example of an offer; the GM is simply offering information and it’s up to the PCs to determine what they want to do with that information, if anything.)
• As the PCs ride past the ruined castle, a couple of the werewolves come racing out to attack them. Or perhaps they hear screams of terror emanating from a farmhouse. (This is a confrontation; the scenario is directly encountered by the PCs.)

In each case, the PCs generally come away with a basic understanding of the situation and an understanding of what action they’re expected to take: There are werewolves in the ruined castle and they need to get rid of them. (With some of the hooks they might only know that there are werewolves in the area and need to do some investigation to identify the ruined castle as their den, but that still constitutes a general understanding of the situation. It’s also possible, of course, for the PCs to choose a course of action that doesn’t involve getting rid of the werewolves: But when you design a scenario with slavering werewolves who are killing innocent people, it’s fairly clear what the expected decision will be.)

This, however, is not a necessary characteristic of a scenario hook. In each case, you can twist the scenario hook by misleading the PCs regarding either the situation or the expected course of action or both.

For example, you might mislead them regarding the nature of the threat: The villagers, discovering dismembered limbs and unfamiliar with lycanthropic activity, think that the attacks signal a return of the tribe of cannibalistic ogres who plagued the region a generation ago. That’s what they tell the PCs, who will be unpleasantly surprised — and perhaps wish they had stocked up on silver weapons! — when they head out to the ruined castle and discover the truth.

You might also mislead the players regarding the motives of the various NPCs involved. For example, it turns out that the werewolves in the ruined castle have actually come to the area to END the attacks by hunting down their former packmate who is now suffering from silvered rabies.

Or when the werewolves come rushing out of the castle towards the PCs, it’s because they’ve just escaped from the hidden torture dungeons of the local baron, who is transforming innocent villagers into werewolves to build a powerful, supernatural army. Reversing good guys and bad guys like this is an extreme example of the principle.

When NPCs are involved in delivering the misleading scenario hooks, it can be useful to distinguish between whether the NPCs are deceiving the PCs or if it is, in fact, the NPCs being deceived (or mistaken) about the situation: If the villagers know that the werewolves are just peaceful nature-lovers and they want the PCs to eliminate them so that they can claim the werewolf clan’s ancestral property in the valley, that’s a very different story from the villagers honestly believing that the werewolves are guilty of horrible crimes.

The possibilities are basically endless, and can obviously vary greatly depending on the actual details of the scenario in question.

The reason to use these misleading scenario hooks is because you’re creating a reversal: The players enter the scenario thinking that it’s one thing, and when they discover the truth the entire scenario changes into something new. In practice, delivering a strong reversal like this can turn even an otherwise pedestrian scenario into a truly memorable one.

MULTIPLE MISLEADING HOOKS

Having multiple hooks for the same scenario is a good idea, for the same reason that the Three Clue Rule is a good idea in general. Ideally, you want each of these scenario hooks to be distinct: Coming from different sources. Including different (although probably overlapping) information about what’s going on. Being driven by different motives.

(It’s less interesting for three different villagers to all follow the same basic script in asking the PCs to help them fight the werewolves. It’s more interesting if they see werewolf tracks in the forest and then a villager asks them for help and then they spot a poster offering to pay a bounty for werewolf pelts.)

When some or all of these scenario hooks are misleading — particularly if they are misleading in interesting and different ways — it not only becomes much easier to vary the hooks, it immediately creates a sense of mystery that will tantalize the players and encourage them to engage with the scenario in order to figure out what the heck is going on.

THE BAIT HOOK

The other form of a misleading scenario hook is one that is only “misleading” from a metagame perspective: This “bait hook” can be completely legitimate from the perspective of the game world, but the reason the GM includes it is in order to put the PCs in a position where they can be confronted by the true scenario.

For example, they might be hired to guard a package of diamonds that’s being delivered to a bank vault. But the only reason that job exists (and it might even go off without a hitch) is to put the PCs in the bank when the bank robbers show up.

On rare occasions, bait hooks like this can also be diegetic when an NPC gives the PCs a false job offer in order to maneuver them into a location or situation for an ulterior purpose. This plot conceit is quite common in pulp fiction, for example, when detectives are hired to keep a person or location under observation so that they can be framed for a crime.

SPOILER WARNING!

If you click the image above, you will see the entire scenario structure for the Severn Valley scenario I designed for the Alexandrian Remix of the Eternal Lies campaign. If you do not wish to be spoiled on this scenario, DO NOT CLICK THE IMAGE. Its specific content is not essential for understanding the rest of this essay, and this essay contains no other spoilers for the Severn Valley scenario or the Eternal Lies campaign.

But I did want to show an example of an actual scenario structure that’s been used in actual play, and not just some deliberately over-the-top example.

What this image is specifically showing is a visual representation of the node structure of the Severn Valley scenario. If you’ve read Node-Based Scenario Design, you may recall that the essay features a number of explanatory diagrams that look like this:

This has, for better or worse, created the misapprehension that I design scenarios using this visual motif. This is, almost without exception, not the case. (I do occasionally, during the outline stage for certain scenarios, sketch out a high-level organization to clarify the location of funnels.) And the primary reason I don’t bother with visual node diagramming is, in fact, overloaded diagrams like the one at the top of this post: That’s the structure of what I would consider a medium-complexity scenario, and the visual diagram for it is just noise… I can’t really process any meaningful data out of it and I’m the one who wrote it.

So how do I organize these scenarios?

Text-based revelation lists.

I discuss revelation lists in the Three Clue Rule: For each conclusion that you want the PCs to make, list the clues you’re including in the scenario for it. This functions as a checklist which allows you to track their progress and (importantly!) a diagnostic tool during actual play to make sure they’re on track.

In my scenarios, they look like this:

SCENE 1: ELVEN CORPSES

– The Duke’s Map (Scenario Hook)
– Encountering Mutilated Corpses (Adventure 3:The Old Forest)
– Reports of Mutilated Corpses (Adventure 2 – Scene 4)

SCENE 2: THE BLACK TREE

– Tracking Drow Scouts (Proactive 1: Drow Scouts / Scene 1)
– Map to the Black Tree (Scene 3: The Drow Camp)
– Elven Retaliation Scrolls (Proactive 2: Elven Retaliation Squad)

SCENE 3: THE DROW CAMP

– Tracking Drow Scouts (Proactive 1: Drow Scouts)
– Elven Retaliation Scrolls (Proactive 2: Elven Retaliation Squad)
– Map of the Old Forest (Scene 4: Drow Citadel)
– Questioning Prisoners (Scene 2: The Black Tree)

SCENE 4: DROW CITADEL

– Questioning Prisoners (Scene 2: The Black Tree)
– Subverting the Crystal Ball (Scene 3: The Drow Camp)
– Following the Slave Train (Scene 3: The Drow Camp)

CLUE LIST vs. REVELATION LIST

There’s basically two ways to organize lists like this: You can list all the clues a node contains or you can list all the clues that point to the node. For the sake of clearer discussion, I’m going to refer to the latter as a revelation list (like the sample above) and to the former as a clue list.

I’ll often use a clue list when outlining or developing a scenario. After coming up with the “big concept” for a scenario, my design process generally consists of writing down cool ideas for various nodes. Then I’ll think about what kind of information a node might naturally contain to point at the other nodes. For example, I might jot down:

SCENE 2: THE BLACK TREE

– Questioning Prisoners (to the Drow Citadel)
– Questioning Prisoners (to the Drow Camp)
– Drow Scouts might show up here (track to Scene 1 or Scene 3)

Once I’ve done that for all the nodes, I’ll do a quick audit for each node to make sure I’ve included three clues. If I haven’t, I’ll get proactive figuring out how I can creatively include more clues. As I actually write up the full version of each node, however, I’ll assemble the revelation list: Each clue I include in the full write-up gets listed in the revelation list under the node it’s pointing to (with a cross-reference back to where it’s found).

This allows me to double-check my design process to make sure I’ve got all the clues I need. But it’s also important because, when it comes time to actually run the scenario, it’s the revelation list that’s essential. (I’ll have long since thrown out the clue list.)

(1) I generally don’t care if the PCs have missed the clues in their current location, but I do care intensely about whether or not they’ve missed all the clues that would enable them to find a particular node. That’s what I need to track during actual game play, and it’s also the information that’s more difficult to glean on-the-fly without a properly organized list because…

(2) The information about which clues exist in a given node is already encoded in the text. The clues are listed in the description of the node, right? Because that’s where they are.

In terms of grokking how a particular scenario “works”, though, the revelation list can feel confusing if you’re not familiar with it. For some people, it’s simply more intuitive to look at the list of clues a node contains and then follow where they lead. (This is, after all, how the PCs will conceptually work their way through the scenario.) This is one reason why, when developing the design standard for Infinity scenarios of this type, I included the requirement for both a Revelation List and an Operational Summary (which would explain the sort of “guiding principle” of how the scenario was supposed to function in play).

You don’t necessarily need the Operational Summary, though. You can get the same basic effect from a revelation list: You just need to work backwards.

Look at a node and ask, “How would the PCs get there?” In other words, follow one of the clues on the revelation list back to its source node. Then repeat the process there.

For example, how would the PCs get to the Drow Citadel in the scenario above? Well, let’s pick a random clue: Following the Slave Train from Scene 3: The Drow Camp. So we look at Scene 3 and pick a random node there: Tracking Drow Scouts from their proactive scene. Since that’s a proactive scene, it’s essentially a scenario origin point. It’s the trail head, so to speak, and from the trail we’ve followed we can see that “tracking bad guys through the Old Forest” is one approach to the scenario.

Do it again: You can also get to the Drow Citadel by questioning prisoners from Scene 2: The Black Tree. You can get to the Black Tree by talking to (or stealing intelligence from) the Elven retaliation squads operating in the area. So here we have a path that follows a trail of demihuman misery.

Do this two or three times (or more for more complex scenarios) and you’ll get a pretty good feel for the contours of the scenario structure.

So you’re a GM who wants to run a new gaming system. Maybe you’re a little intimidated because it’s more complex than anything you’ve run before. Maybe it’s your first time prepping to run a game you haven’t previously played. Maybe it’s just something new.

In any case, you want the process to go smoothly. And you want to make as few mistakes as possible. (Although Step #0 is really accepting that mistakes will happen, and that’s okay. That’s part of the process.)

Step #1: Read the Rulebook. Cover to cover. I’m afraid there’s no cheating around this and no shortcuts. If you’re lucky, the RPG you’ve chosen will have a well-organized rulebook, but the process of mentally “touching” every page of the book will not only prevent you from missing a rule entirely, it will also begin constructing a mental map of the rulebook which will allow you to look up information inside it more quickly.

Step #2: Cheat Sheets. Make a cheat sheet. It’s real easy to fake mastery of a rule system when you have it all laid out six inches in front of your face. The act of creating a cheat sheet also enhances your own learning process: It involves “touching” every part of the system a second time, and also requires you to mentally engage with that system and really understand what makes it tick. (A lot of RPGs are also terrible when it comes to technical writing, and the act of boiling a messy text down into a clear cheat sheet will also result in you pre-resolving difficult cruxes that would otherwise booby trap you during play.) The cheat sheet will also often suss out those weird rules that RPG manuals leave lying about in dank corners.

Step #3: Run a One-Shot. If I’m interested in running a long-term campaign in a given system, I’ll virtually never start by jumping directly into that campaign. I’ll run a one-shot (usually with pregens). It allows both me and the players to work out the kinks, and the players gain a lot of valuable context when it comes time for creating their long-term characters.

Step #4: Co-Opt Player Expertise. Do so in every way you can. That includes, “Bob, can you look up the rule for pugilating people?” It also includes defaulting to, “Anybody know the rules for pugilating people?” (instead of defaulting to looking it up yourself). There’s sneakier stuff, too, like, “I can’t figure out how to beat the PCs when they use ability X. So I’m going to design a bunch of bad guys who use ability X, and I’ll see how the players deal with it.”

Step #5: Rules Highlight Sessions. This is something I originally discussed in Random GM Tips: Running the Combat, but for any game with a lot of specialized sub-systems, I’ll very specifically design sessions which highlight a particular sub-system so that we can, as a group, get a lot of focused repetition using it. Often groups struggle with these sub-systems because they only come up once every four or five sessions, which means every time they come up you’ve forgotten the last time you muddle through them and you end up muddling through them again. Having problems with grappling? A whole scenario based around grasping gorillas and their pet pythons will usually lock those rules in for the group. You’ll have increased expertise across the entire group.

Step #6: Set a Reference Time Limit. If you find yourself getting frequently bogged down in the new rules, set a time limit. If you can’t find the answer you’re looking for in 30 seconds (or 60 seconds or whatever feels right to you), make an arbitrary ruling and move on. Be open and clear about what you’re doing with the players, and make a note to review those rules after the session. Then, before the next session, review the correct rules with the group.

Step #7: Identify Your Hierarchy of Reference. This is something I originally discussed in the Art of the Key, but you should try to prep your scenario notes so that everything you personally need is on the page. (This can tie in well with #5.) Where the system cheat sheet gives you the core rules at your fingertips, this technique puts the relevant class abilities, superpowers, creature features, and similar character-specific abilities that are pertinent to the current situation at your fingertips. Over time, recognize when you’ve mastered certain material so that you can refocus your notes on just the stuff that you need now (i.e., “I now know what the Spring Attack feat does, so I can stop copy-pasting that into the NPC stat blocks.”)