DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 32A: Enthralled in Oldtown

But as Agnarr cut through the room at the center of the complex, the floor suddenly buckled beneath him – plunging him down to the first floor in a loud, splintering crash of broken wood.

Looking around, Agnarr saw the problem: Several support walls had been completely destroyed and there were several broken floor beams. He tried climbing back up to the second floor, but the acid-eaten floorboards broke beneath his weight a second time and dropped him back down again.

“I’m just going to stay down here,” Agnarr said, heading towards the far door of the room he’d fallen into.

The PCs should not be in control.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they should not be given control. If they exert control, that’s completely different. In fact, exerting control is likely to be their goal. But a good scenario – particularly a good dungeon scenario – will continually challenge that control and force them to fight to maintain it.

The problem with a lot of modern dungeon design is that it allows the players to trivially control the expedition: The monsters politely wait in their rooms. The PCs are free to engage and disengage with them in whatever way and whatever pace they choose.

The problem is that when the PCs have that level of control, the game breaks in multiple ways: Resource management becomes irrelevant. Weird exploits become reliable. The experience flattens. The challenge vanishes.

When you challenge their control, on the other hand, the players will be forced to respond dynamically, shepherding their resources against unknown threats and thinking outside of the box when faced with situations that are neither ideal nor anticipated.

One way to achieve this is with dynamic opponents (through the use of random encounters, adversary rosters, etc.) that challenge the players’ ability to control the pace and composition of encounters.

But you can also challenge the players’ control over navigation.

This can be done through confusion or deception (e.g., a maze-like dungeon where the PCs literally get lost, illusory walls, undetectable slopes, etc.). It can also be done through metamorphosis (e.g., tunnels collapse or walls move).

But an old school classic is the trap that moves you. The teleportation trap is perhaps the Platonic ideal here: You’re in one place and then, against your will, you are in a completely different place. You are no longer in control of your expedition and you’re going to have to work (and apply your expertise and knowledge) to regain that control (by figuring out where you are and how to get back). As the current session demonstrates, of course, there are other options, including entirely naturalistic ones. In this case, Agnarr has broken through the unstable floor and dropped down to a lower level: That was not a choice the PCs made and now, instead of being able to proceed in an orderly fashion through the dungeon (clearing rooms before methodically descending to the next level), they’ve been thrust into a completely different tactical situation.

The fact that I was using adversary rosters, location timelines, and other active opposition techniques only served to enhance the trap. Intriguingly, in this case, it worked both ways: It wasn’t just the PCs who were thrust into a new tactical situation and needed to figure out how to handle it, the NPCs were also surprised!

And being challenged like that is fun for me, too!

Campaign Journal: Session 32B – Running the Campaign: Death at Tier 2
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 31E: Kabel’s Tale

Returning to the Ghostly Minstrel they spent the better part of an hour cleaning up the coagulate gore and blood that had been spattered across them in the Banewarrens (and only now pausing to reflect on Brother Heth’s blithe reaction to the same).

We all have weak spots as GMs. Stuff that’s tougher for us. Mistakes that we make more often than we’d like. Things we overlook or fail to take advantage of.

One of these for me is keeping an updated “mental portrait” of the PCs in my head (and, therefore, my descriptions). I generally have a vision of the PCs in mind, but I have a tendency to let it default back to its generic baseline instead of, for example, incorporating all the muck and filth that a bunch of people rummaging around in monster-infested caverns are likely to get coated in.

In this particular case, the players had also forgotten to think about this until later in the session (when they wanted to get cleaned up for a social event), so we were able to play it as ironic comedy beat.

(Although I feel that if I was better about personally tracking this sort of thing and incorporating it into my long-term descriptions, then my players would be less likely to forget about it themselves. So I think the failure still comes back to me.)

A technique I’ve found useful for this is to put a reminder of the group’s “descriptive status” on a swap note on my GM screen. Having it persistently present in my field of vision provides a periodic, unprompted reminder that helps me describe things appropriately and make sure the campaign world is reacting appropriately.

(Now I just need to remember to update the swap notes…)

I’m still running this Ptolus campaign today, and, as you can tell from the dates on the campaign journals, the campaign has progressed quite a bit beyond this point. As a result, I’ve actually discovered a long-term problem related to this one: My mental image of the characters is kind of “stuck” on how the characters looked during these early days of the campaign.

(Sort of like how you often think about how your friends looked in college, even if it’s been years and years since any of you were in college.)

Talking with the players, I discovered that I was not entirely alone in this.

In the actual campaign, though, the PCs are all decked out in awe-inspiring magical gear, one of them has horns now, and a couple have been transformed into albinos. (As you do.)

For this, I discovered that commissioning some fresh character art and then either hanging it in the game room or using it for my GM screen did the trick.

Campaign Journal: Session 32A – Running the Campaign: The Traps That Move You
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 31D: The Midnight Watch

Tee floated up to the roof and kept an eye on the street to make sure that he wasn’t actually leaving the building. A few minutes later, however, she saw a light through the rear windows of the building moving back towards the room with the corpse. She returned to the window in time to see a group of several people return: The same grey-robed man was accompanied by two others wearing serpent symbols and a fourth man with a large tattoo in the shape of a black hand on his throat.

After no more than a cursory inspection of the corpse, the group fell into arguing with each other. Tee was having problems hearing, so she cautiously cracked the window open.

NPCs talking to each other.

…

I have felt a great disturbance in the Force. As if millions of GM spines suddenly shivered at once and in unison.

Roleplaying one character is tough. Roleplaying two characters is tougher. Roleplaying two characters talking directly to each other sometimes feels completely impossible. (Dial up your terror level as the number of NPCs increases.)

In practice, this is the result of two distinct challenges.

First, putting words into the NPC’s mouths. Literally just figuring out what they’re actually going to say.

Second, making it clear to the players which NPC is talking (and who they’re talking to).

Of course, neither of these challenges are unique to scenes featuring multiple NPCs. Whenever the PCs interact with an NPC, we must establish who’s speaking and then play the role (i.e., figure out what they say). The exponential complexity arises from switching, often rapidly, between roles, turning simple performance — which can be difficult enough in its own right — into a juggling act.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a magic wand I can wave to make this simple for you. But here’s a cluster of techniques that I use to turn the untenable into the manageable.

First, universal roleplaying templates. I make a point of prepping these for major NPCs, and particularly for those that I know (or suspect) will be putting in an appearance during a big social event. A key utility feature here is that each template appears on a separate sheet. That might be a full A4/Letter sheet, or it could be a half sheet. Regardless, you want a separate sheet for each NPC because it allows you to easily grab the NPCs you need and lay them all out on the table in front you. This allows you to easily swap from one character to another by just flicking your eyes around.

With a little extra effort, you can make tent cards for the NPCs. Put a picture on one side and their name on the other, then put them on the table or drape them over the top of your GM screen where both you and your players can see them.

(For NPCs with shorter write-ups, you might even be able to fit all their info — or maybe just duplicate the most important info — on the back of each card.)

These tent cards make it very easy for everyone to keep track of which NPCs are present in the current scene (or the current grouping within a larger party scene). It can also vastly simplify indicating who the current speaker is: Simply pick up the appropriate tent card, then set it back down when they’re done talking.

Another trick for indicating current speaker is body position. Just sort of flipping back and forth in your chair can feel silly. It can be more effective, rather than thinking about the act of turning back and forth, to pick a point of focus for each NPC. (For example, King Abelard is looking at the dragon statuette in the corner to your right and Lady Beatrice is looking at the AC/DC poster on the wall to your left.) When the NPCs are talking to each other, just have them address the appropriate point of focus.

You might also consider standing up. Simply moving from the left side to the right side of your chair can feel more natural than spinning in place, while having an even greater clarity for the players. (Each NPC literally gets their own physical space in the game room, even if it’s only a slight distinction.)

Finally, returning to the roleplaying template, I highly recommend making sure each character has a distinct physical mannerism (stroking their beard, tapping their fingers together, bawdy winking, running their fingers through their hair, tugging their ear nervously, an accent, etc.). Such mannerisms not only help clue the players into which character is speaking, they can also make it a lot easier for you to switch between characters: The mannerism becomes a convenient hook for picking the character up and sliding into the role. Swapping from tugging your ear to stroking your imaginary beard is a mnemonic that helps easily propel you from one POV to the other.

Speaking of POV, that brings us to arguably the most difficult part of the whole exercise: Figuring out what each character is saying.

What I recommend here is to really clearly define for yourself what each character’s objective is. Why are they participating in this discussion? What are they trying to achieve? Don’t get wishy-washy with this. The more specific it is — and the more motivated they are to get it — the easier it will be find their words.

If you want to get more technical with this, then start thinking in terms of tactics: How is the NPC trying to achieve their goal? Once again, making this as specific as possible (she’s going to blackmail him with the photos to make him steal the vault codes; he’s going to appeal to the duke’s sense of morality; the goblin is going to lie about he saw) will make it easier for you to flip to the other side of the conversation and ask, “Does that work?” (And, if not, why not?) If you’re uncertain, then play the uncertainty. Or make a dice roll to resolve it.

“Reggaloch’s dead, Gavele. Theral found the body here.”

“Theral killed him you mean!” Vocaetun shouted.

While the other cultists went back to arguing, Gavele knelt down next to Reggaloch’s body and did a more thorough inspection of the corpse. Unnoticed by the others (but not unnoticed by Tee), she found a note and slipped it into her pocket. Then she stood up.

“That’s enough,” she said. “Reggaloch has been dead for days. Give the body to the thralls. They’ll eat it up. Then come with me and we’ll settle this. You really don’t want me to have to bring this idiocy to Illadras’ attention.”

Finally, if each character has clearly defined and opposing objectives in the scene, it will become a lot easier to identify when the scene is over (i.e., when one of the characters has achieved their objective). That will help make sure that the conversation doesn’t just kind of whimper out or continue forever without any sort of resolution.

Campaign Journal: Session 31E – Running the Campaign: Gore-Spattered Reactions
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 31C: The Obstinate Prisoner

“It’s been two days since I had a drink,” the orc said. “Are you planning to kill me?”

“What are you talking about?” Tee said. “I just poured water over you head.”

“Maybe if we tried a nicer approach?” Ranthir said. “Tell us what we want to know and we’ll give you some food.”

“You tore off my ear and killed my friends and you think I’m going to talk for a little bit of food?”

They shut the closet door and withdrew a little.

A bad habit for a GM is to just keep constantly re-making the same check until the outcome swaps. That might be calling for Stealth check after Stealth check until the PCs finally fail a check and the whole compound goes on high alert. Or it might be letting the PCs make Interrogation after Interrogation check until they finally get a success and crack their target.

That’s obviously not how I handled the interrogation in this session. (The orc prisoner remains uncracked.) Instead, I’m using a Let It Ride technique. In its most basic form this boils down to treating the initial check to resolve a situation as a binding result. For example, you can’t just keep making Pick Locks checks until you pick the lock: Your initial check determines whether or not this is a lock that you can pick at this time. (For a detailed example of what this can look like in practice, check out Letting It Ride on the Death Star.)

In this case, the binding check actually took place in the previous session when the PCs first attempted to interrogate their prisoner. I did allow a couple of different checks before “locking” things in, basically modeling your typical good cop/bad cop situation. (These were, in my opinion, sufficiently different approaches that different checks were merited. Similar to how you could still try to kick down the door even if your Pick Locks check failed.)

Players, of course, will continue to push for more checks if they’re trying to escape a failure. That’s good! The key thing, though, is that you want them to be creative. Not just, “I do it again.” (“I pick the lock again.” “I threaten the orc again.”) But creating some new way of thinking about or approaching or solving or overcoming the obstacle. As the GM, you want to hold the line – particularly in muddy social situations – because it will push play forward in interesting ways.

The last thing to note about letting it ride in a social scene, like this interrogation, is that you can – and almost certainly should! – play through the scene. The check determines outcome, but it’s still worthwhile to roleplay through the actual interaction. (And, through that interaction, the players may end up identifying the alternative approach that will allow them to forge a new path.)

With that being said, don’t let the players’ desire to escape failure allow the scene to drag out. If a social scene starts to spin its wheels, you need to wrap it up:

• Is there anything else you want to say here?
• It doesn’t look like she’s going to budge. What do you want to do next?
• You keep at her for another thirty minutes, but she refuses to crack. Now what?

Or, frankly, just cut to the next scene.

Campaign Journal: Session 31D – Running the Campaign: Roleplaying NPC Scenes
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 31A: Kabel in Hiding

This is a trap. Head to Pythoness House, a manor house overlooking the King’s River Gorge in Oldtown. I will contact you there. Go now. They are coming.

Creative elements — characters, locations, actions, items, etc. — can manifest in a roleplaying game through:

• Introduction, when an element first appears.
• Repetition, when an element reappears.
• Reincorporation, when an element reappears in a new context and/or with connections to other pre-existing elements.

The distinction between repetition and reincorporation is a finicky one, and arguably often doesn’t have any practical effect. But the key thing we’re talking about here is setup and payoff.

It is narratively satisfying to our “evolved to deliver a dopamine hit whenever we identify cause-and-effect” brains when we recognize patterns and see the connections. We’re hardwired to fundamentally believe that the world makes sense, and that’s why we find deus ex machina so unsatisfying. (Plus, the payoff makes it clear we weren’t just wasting our time watching the first half of the film.)

There’s a whole gaggle of writing and improv techniques you’ll find clustered around this concept. You’ve got Chekhov’s Gun (if you make a big deal about something at the beginning of the story, it should have a payoff at the end) and the Rule of Three (you set it up, you remind the audience of what you set up, you get the big payoff by bringing it back a third time). All kinds of stuff.

Of course, the advantage a writer of a novel or movie has is that they can go back and revise the script to setup the stuff they need: If Jayhawk needs a gun in the final scene, for example, they can go back and hang it above the mantlepiece.

In a roleplaying game, though, you can’t go back and insert the gun. (Unless you’ve got a time machine. And if you have a time machine, please get in touch.) This is why it’s usually more useful to draw our inspiration from improv theater techniques, and think primarily in terms of:

• What has already been established in the fiction?
• How can I use those elements to fulfill my current creative needs?

(Unlike pure improv, though, the GM’s scenario design does afford some opportunity to plan ahead. So don’t discount that entirely.)

You can see this, for example, in the Principles of RPG Villainy, where simply asking, “Instead of a new villain, is there an existing villain I can use again?” can add great depth to your campaign.

Another way of thinking about this is that, each time you reuse an element of the campaign world, you are building up the players’ (and PCs’) relationship with that element. It’s kind of like applying lacquer. It’s all about the layering.

You’ll usually not even know what all those layers are adding up to. The mere act of adding the layers is enough. You’ll find the destination once you get there.

The flip side of this technique begins when you first introduce the element. A key trick here is making sure you drop enough specific detail so that you CAN reincorporate that element in the future. This doesn’t have to be a lot. In fact, to start out with, you may not need anything more than a label. For example, when the PCs go shopping for supplies, make a point of giving the shopkeep a name.

The name gives you handle that you can grab. If you don’t give the shopkeep a name, you won’t be able to easily refer to them as being the same shopkeep the next time the PCs go shopping.

Of course, giving the shopkeep a name doesn’t obligate you to reincorporate them in the future. There’ll probably be lots of random details that get scattered into your campaign that will never be revisited. That’s just fine.

As you make a point of establishing these handles, though, you’ll likely discover that the players also start picking them up.

You can see a very large example of that in this session, as the PCs decide to offer Pythoness House — which they know to be long-abandoned — as a safehouse for Sir Kabel and his knights. But you’ll see it at every scale of interaction: They might choose to specifically go to that shopkeep you mentioned. Or hit up an NPC they met a half dozen sessions ago for a favor in solving their current problem.

Or might even be a blink-and-you-miss-it reference in casual conversation.

If you’re a player reading this: Do more of this! You’re helping to make the campaign something more than the sum of its parts, gently tugging it into a comprehensive whole.

As a GM, when this happens, you’ve basically got two responsibilities:

First, get out of the way. For example, I had a different idea in mind for Sir Kabel’s plans. I could have easily had Sir Kabel say something like, “Thanks for the offer, but I have other plans!” But that would obviously be a terrible idea.

This is largely just another example of default to yes, but I find it to be particularly vital here. Reincorporation is a really important way of giving meaning to events. (Pythoness House is available to serve as a safehouse because you cleared it out.) It’s also a great way of demonstrating that the game world is persistent; that it continues to exist even when the PCs aren’t looking at it. (Pythoness House didn’t cease to exist the minute you looked away from it.) So unless you have a strong reason not to embrace reincorporation, you should try to avoid stripping your campaign of meaning and verisimilitude.

Second, lean into it. If a player cares enough about a past event, person, place, or thing to spontaneously attempt to re-engage with it, they’re sending a clear signal that it resonated with them. Maybe they like it. Maybe they hate it. Regardless, it mattered to them. It interests them. So take your cue and run with it:

• Drop that location into your campaign status document so that it can develop over time.
• Next time, have that NPC reach out and initiate contact with the PCs (instead of vice versa).
• Flesh out that shopkeep with a universal NPC roleplaying template or some sort of unique twist to their merchandise; or maybe use them as an adventure hook.

In the case of Pythoness House, I just needed to completely embrace Sir Kabel’s use of the location: Not just a safehouse for tonight and a meeting place for tomorrow, but the headquarters of the Imperial Church loyalists during their rebellion against Rehobath’s false-novarchy.

A one-and-done dungeon would now be a major centerpiece for the entire next phase of the campaign.

Thanks, players!

Campaign Journal: Session 31B – Running the Campaign: PC vs. PC Social Checks
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index