DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 25B: Blood on the Orrery

The scene they found was gruesome: Bodies were scattered throughout the first two chambers of the bloodwight complex, many in various states of dismemberment. Faeliel’s body was spread-eagled across the orrery itself, dripping blood down upon the silver spheres.

Ranthir, coming upon the scene, eased Faeliel’s body to the ground. With tears welling in his eyes, he turned back to the others with a crack in his voice. “He wouldn’t have wanted the mechanisms damaged… is there anything we can do?”

The bloody fate of House Erthuo’s research team in this session is a good opportunity to spotlight an important part of how I run an RPG campaign, because it’s a fairly unadulterated example of the technique.

Let’s back up a dozen or so sessions: The PCs have discovered and are exploring the Laboratory of the Beast, a dungeon which is part of Ghul’s Labyrinth beneath Ptolus. At this point, neither House Erthuo nor the Surgeon in the Shadows are involved in this scenario. In fact, not even I — as the Dungeon Master — have the slightest inkling that these factions are going to become involved in this scenario. (Let alone that it’s going to end up in this horrific massacre.)

While exploring the dungeon, the PCs discover both a huge, antique orrery (too large for them to move) and a number of chaositech artifacts. Later, after leaving the dungeon, they’re intent on liquidating their loot.

First, they make some inquiries around town and sell some chaositech items. Looking at my campaign notes, I know that there’s an organization of chaositech dealers led by the Surgeon in the Shadows who is going to be part of an upcoming scenario in the campaign. If the PCs are selling chaositech, it’s likely the Surgeon in the Shadows will become aware of it and send an agent to negotiate with the PCs for it.

Second, during a party at Castle Shard in Session 12, Tee tells some of their contacts about the orrery, hoping for a recommendation on someone who might (a) be interested and (b) have the resources to remove the orrery from the dungeon. Looking at my notes for the party, I see that Lady Peliope Erthuo is attending the party. In her background notes, I’ve copied some descriptive text from the Ptolus sourcebook about House Erthuo: “House Erthuo is said to possess one of the finest collections of rare books, antiquities, and artifacts of historical significance in this part of the world.”

At this point I don’t have any particular plans for House Erthuo in the campaign: I’ve included Lady Peliope at the party as one of the incidental guests. (Not every single person the PCs meet in the campaign needs to be an Important Character™.) But she’s obviously a perfect fit for what Tee is looking for and it’s a great vector for prompting the PCs to continue circulating through the event. So Tee’s contact points here in that direction and she makes arrangements with Lady Peliope to meet with Cordelia Erthuo in order to arrange the sale of the orrery.

THE VECTORS ESTABLISHED

At this point, the actions of the PCs have created two vectors in the campaign that did not previously exist.

Now, if you’ve stopped prepping plots and are running situation-based scenarios, you’ll know that this sort of thing happens all the time. But this particular example, as I mentioned, is particularly clear-cut because it’s not only the vectors which didn’t previously exist in either the campaign or the specific scenario of the Laboratory of the Beast, but also the elements of the campaign world which have been pushed into motion.

Moving forward, in Session 14 the PCs met with Cordelia Erthuo and sold her the location of the orrery. This vector is now obviously pointed back into the dungeon, with House Erthuo planning to send a research team to study the orrery. (I make a note in my campaign status document to this effect.)

Later, in Session 21, an agent of the Surgeon in the Shadows called Ribok comes to the Ghostly Minstrel to negotiate with the PCs. By this point, however, the PCs have learned that chaositech is far more dangerous than they had suspected and they have no interest in selling. They turn Ribok away.

Okay, so what’s the vector from this? Well, the Surgeon isn’t going to take “no” for an answer. They’re going to try to figure out where the PCs are getting the chaositech from. How would they do that? Well, the PCs filed a claim for the labyrinth access under Greyson House… the one which leads directly to the Laboratory of the Beast. It’s possible that the Surgeon will be able to discover that… and a skill check indicates that he does.

So I note this down on my campaign status document, too: On the 12^th of Kadal, the Surgeon in the Shadows sends a chaositech strike team to Greyson House.

THE VECTORS INTERSECT

These two vectors are now pointing at each other.

Here’s the key thing: I still don’t know exactly how these events will play out, but if nothing disturbs these vectors it’s clear that they’re going to intersect and I have a pretty good idea what will happen when they do. So I now have the following entries in my campaign status document:

09/12/790: Surgeon in the Shadows sends a chaositech strike team to Greyson House, they end up killing House Erthuo’s team that’s examining the orrery.

09/13/790: House Erthuo investigates the disappearance of their research team and finds their workers dead. Cordelia contacts the PCs.

09/14/790: The Surgeon’s team leaves the Ghul’s Labyrinth complex with the chaositech artifacts from the temple; they also have discovered the mind-transference device.

What would happen next? Well, I have an inkling. (Ribok’s team couldn’t remove the mind-transference device, but they’re definitely interested in it. So they’ll be coming back – possibly in greater numbers? – to investigate it. Perhaps they’ll even dismantle it and take it back to the Surgeon in Shadows’ laboratory.) But I didn’t spend any time prepping this material or writing it down, because it existed beyond the event horizon: It was overwhelmingly likely that the PCs will have interacted with these elements of the campaign world before that happened (which, in fact, they did), with no way of anticipating how they would affect the vectors in play.

THE VECTORS IN PLAY

And, of course, we’ve now seen how this worked out in actual play: By pure happenstance, the PCs were actually in the dungeon when the Surgeon’s team showed up, creating the fantastic drama of seeing the House Erthuo team only a few short minutes before they were killed.

Could I have forced that outcome? Possibly. (Although I hadn’t actually thought of it until it occurred during play.)

Could I have instead forced the outcome from the undisturbed vectors described above? Certainly. (I could have just delayed Ribok’s arrival until after the PCs left the dungeon again.)

But the point, of course, is that we’re not predetermining the outcome. We’re discovering the outcome through play. And there are any number of other outcomes that could have happened that didn’t. (For just one example, Ranthir could have become fascinated by the discoveries of the House Erthuo team and decided to stay with them while everyone else explored the dungeon. What would have happened if he’d been present when Ribok arrived? I have no idea!)

Looking at just these two vectors in isolation is deceptive anyway: The campaign is actually filled with lots of these vectors (and, as we’ve just seen, the PCs can create new vectors at any time). There’s no way to know how these vectors will actually develop until it happens at the table.

Here’s another way of looking at this: If I had been predetermining events, I would never have set up these vectors in the first place – they were not, after all, part of my prep for the Laboratory of the Beast – and none of this would have happened.

This is what I mean by active play. When the PCs take an action, I think about how the elements of the campaign world are going to react to those actions. Some of those reactions will be direct and immediate (their vectors will immediately intersect the PCs). Others form vectors that I sort of let loose in the campaign world until they intersect with either another vector or the PCs themselves.

(Some of these vectors will end up never intersecting with anything. Or, at least, nothing that is part of the campaign. That’s okay. Sometimes you’re done playing with a toy and you don’t need to pick it up again.)

Of course, not all vectors originate from the PCs. When I create an NPC or faction in the campaign world, they’ll also have proactive vectors determined by their agendas.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 26A – Running the Campaign: Urban Splits
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 25A: The Second End of Ghul’s Labyrinth

They stepped forward into Elestra’s sanctuary. The wall closed behind them, transforming itself into a fireplace with a crackling fire already lit. Directly above the fire, a mirror was hung.

“What is this place?” Tee asked.

“A secret,” Elestra said, looking around with a sense of vague familiarity overwhelming her. “I think I’ll be able to open a doorway to this place no matter where we might be. We should be safe here. No one can see the entrance from the outside.”

Elestra is an urban druid.

The seed of this custom class came from an article in Dragon Magazine #317, but although the original packet of photocopied pages are still nestled away in the player’s folder, we’ve made any number of alterations to it over the years.

The original impetus was that Elestra’s player was interested in playing a druid, but it didn’t seem like a good fit for an all-urban campaign. She proposed playing the urban equivalent of a druid instead and I was able to pull the Dragon Magazine article from my archives.

Which, I suppose, is the first lesson when you’re looking to customize the game: See if somebody else has already done the work for you.

Actually, as we’ve continued customizing the class — modifying it to reflect both her vision and my vision of what an “urban druid” should be — most of what we’ve done is basically the same thing, with the only twist being that I’m frequently re-skinning material to achieve the desired effect.

“Re-skinning” something in an RPG system just means that you’re taking a mechanical element designed to model one thing in the game world and instead using it to model something else. For example, in this session you can see an example of how we’ve re-skinned a rope trick spell with a flavor conducive to the urban druid (i.e., opening the walls of a city and literally crawling inside them).

I’m a big fan of re-skinning. In fact, the very first RPG article I ever published was about re-skinning magical spells. (It appeared in an electronic fanzine distributed through the old Prodigy online service.)

Until recently I had a vague memory that I’d been introduced to the concept via an entire article discussing it in Dragon #162 (which was my first issue of the magazine). But upon going back to verify that, I discovered it was actually just one sentence in an article about roleplaying intelligent undead by Nigel D. Findley:

Finally, a lich fascinated with the aesthetics and nuances of magic, rather than its eventual outcome, might have eccentric versions of familiar spells: magic missiles that look like multicolored sparks, or fireballs that explode accompanied by a musical tone, for example.

I think I may have been conflating memories of the fanzine article that I wrote with Findley’s off-hand suggestion, but this is still a great re-skinning technique. And I’ll actually employ it on-the-fly when running NPCs: I’ll see that they have some vanilla spell in their spell list, but then describe it with radically different special effects in actual play. (In some cases, the players have then made a point of seeking out the enemy spellcaster’s spellbook so that they can learn the intriguing variant.)

The versatility of re-skinning becomes even more apparent when you realize you can also make small changes while re-skinning: Grab a goblin stat block and give it +2 armor to model a humanoid ant. Or a fly speed and stinger attack to model a humanoid bee.

At a certain point while doing this sort of work, you’ll probably realize that the difference between re-skinning and homebrewing something from scratch is much more of a spectrum than it is a sharp distinction: Using existing elements of a system as a touchstone for how the new thing you’re designing should work is more of a necessity than an option. The nice thing about straight-up reskinning is that it essentially lets you homebrew in the middle of a session without missing a beat.

As a final note, for some reason when I talk about re-skinning mechanics, some people become confused and think that this somehow means that the mechanic is dissociated. The argument seems to be that if a mechanic can model two different things in the game world, it must mean that it’s not associated with either of them. But this is not true: Just because we resolve an attack with a sword and an attack with a mace using the same rules for attack rolls, it doesn’t follow that your character doesn’t understand what a sword or a mace is.

I mention this mostly because I think the sword/mace distinction can be useful for grokking re-skinning: There are some RPGs in which there may be some slight mechanical distinction between a sword and a mace, but even the most detailed RPG is still an incredibly abstract model of the “reality” of the game world. One should not be surprised to discover, for example, that a tree, a crumbling wall, and a cliff face might all be described as a DC 15 Athletics check to climb.

PUTTING THE MYSTERY IN THE MAGIC

The other thing you might note here is that I use the re-skinning of Elestra’s rope trick to further deepen the meta-mystery scenario of the PCs’ amnesia: Her spell creates a place that they both remember and do not remember.

This technique is consistent with Putting the “Magic” in Magic Items, in which I wrote:

All of this advice can really be boiled down to a simple maxim: Life is in the details.

The difference between a cold, lifeless stat block and a memorable myth is all about the living details that you imbue your game world with.

If you let something like a rope trick spell exist in your campaign as a purely mechanical construct, then it will generally have only the blandest of utilitarian function. But when a spell truly lives in your campaign world, it can become an expression of personality, a clue to a deeper mystery, possess any multitude of meanings, and form any number of vivid memories.

And re-skinning can help unlock all of that potential.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 25B – Running the Campaign: Player-Initiated Vectors
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 24D: The Second Hound of Ghul

Everyone fell silent. Impossibly, the shadows seemed to deepen. And then, out of the darkness, the second hound of Ghul appeared: It was a bony, undead thing. At its shoulder, it stood nearly twice as tall as Agnarr. Four interlocking, razor-sharp sabered fangs punctuated a jaw of jagged teeth. Its claws were nearly as large. Its bones were thick and at the end of a long, sinuous tail was a bulbous ball of bone twice the size of a grown man’s skull.

“By the gods…” Elestra murmured.

In this session we see the dawn of one my favorite RPG in-jokes of all time, as Tithenmamiwen tells the illiterate Agnarr that “C-A-T” is the elvish word for “faithful companion,” leading the barbarian to name his new pet dog Seeaeti. I think every long-running campaign develops these shibboleths that are only meaningful to the players, and this one has been part of our group for thirteen years now. (And will probably remain so until we’re all dust in our graves.)

Speaking of Seeaeti, if you’ve been following In the Shadow of the Spire you know that getting a dog has been a major goal for Agnarr as a character. I’ve previously talked about how other milestones in this quest including important character crucibles that permanently reshaped the course of Agnarr’s life (and the entire campaign).

When I was designing the Laboratory of the Beast and included the dog-soon-to-be-known-as-Seeaeti, I did suspect that this particular hound might become Agnarr’s. In fact, would I have included the slumbering dog if Agnarr hadn’t been looking for a dog? Maybe not (leaning towards probably not).

(At the table, though, there was a moment when I thought Tee was going to kill the dog before Agnarr even had a chance to see it. Given my previous comment about a thirteen year shibboleth, it’s really weird to think about that alternate reality.)

Later in the session, the group runs into an undead dog and Ranthir uses a spell to enslave it. For awhile there, it actually looked like this dog would also become a permanent addition to the group, but (as you can see here) it ended up getting destroyed instead.

Ranthir, of course, did not have a long-standing goal to get a dog and the ghulworg skeleton wasn’t something that I had anticipated becoming a “hireling.” So you can kind of see both sides of the coin here: Elements that we bring into the narrative because they’re long-standing goals of the players/their characters and elements that emerge out of the narrative.

We saw a third sign of this coin (thus irreparably rupturing our metaphor) earlier in this session, when Tee reached out to the Dreaming Apothecary and arranged to purchase a magical item that she particularly wanted. (With the twist that rather than just getting the magical lockpicks she wanted, the Dreaming Apothecary delivering a cool lockpicking ring.)

A few years ago there was a big folderol about magic item wish lists. I’m not actually sure what specifically prompted this advice fad, but it seems to have faded away a bit, along with the controversy that surrounded it.

Basically, the advice was that players should prep a wish list of the magic items (and other stuff) that they wanted for their characters and give it to their DM so that the DM could then incorporate that stuff into the campaign.

The controversy arose because many felt that this pierced the veil and ruined immersion, “Oh! I’ve always wanted a +1 flaming ghost touch dire maul! It’s so wonderful that we just coincidentally found it in this pile of treasure!” It also reeked of a sense of privilege and laziness: “Here’s my shopping list, Ms. Dungeon Master, please have it delivered to me as soon as possible!”

Personally, I think the controversy mostly misses the point.

First, one simply has to acknowledge that many people are playing in linear and/or railroaded campaigns. I can talk endlessly about why that’s a bad idea and that there are better ways to run your campaign, but unfortunately that’s still not true for a lot of people. Probably most people. And when a GM runs a linear/railroaded campaign, one of the many problems they create for themselves is a massive responsibility for everything that happens in the game: Since the players don’t have any meaningful control over what happens, the GM needs to ensure that every challenge is correctly balanced; that everyone has the appropriate spotlight time; and on and on and on and on.

Within that broken paradigm, for better or for worse, the magic item wish list provides the players with a method for communicating their desires as players, and it’s also useful to the GM who has, unfortunately, made themselves completely responsible for everything that goes into the game (particularly if they’re not using random methods for stocking treasure). It’s good for everybody involved. It’s good advice.

But, in my opinion, the magic item wish list has utility even beyond that linear/railroaded paradigm. It’s really just a specific subset of the wider concept of players clearly communicating what their goals (and the goals of their characters) are. That expression can be done diegetically, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it being directly communicated in the metagame (via a character’s background, a frank discussion, a wish list, or whatever). And although I’ve seen some who feel that it’s not “realistic” for a fantasy hero to say, “I really need some magic lockpicks!” I just don’t see it that way. They live in a world filled with magic and they use that magic in their daily lives to accomplish their goals. It’s no different than me trying to figure out what tripod I need for my teleprompter.

Here’s the key thing, though: The perception is that the magic item wish list makes the players passive; that by expressing their desire to the GM, it automatically follows that they’re just going to sit back and wait for the GM to deliver what they want without making any effort on their own part.

In my experience, this isn’t really the case. With a “wish list” in hand, there are still three core techniques for how it can be fulfilled:

• The players can take initiative. (Tee ordering her magic lockpicks. Or Agnarr’s earlier efforts in the campaign to find a stray dog.)
• The GM can seed their goals into their adventure prep. (Putting a sleeping dog into Ghul’s Labyrinth, which the PCs are exploring for reasons that have nothing to do with the dog.)
• The GM can seed the opportunity to achieve their goals into the campaign world. (For example, by having them hear a rumor in a local tavern that the legendary +1 flaming ghost touch dire maul of Leeandra the Nether Brute might lie within the Tomb of Sagrathea.)

Understanding what the goals of your players and their characters are will allow you to use the full plethora of these techniques to enrich the campaign. Achieving that understanding can come in a number of different ways, whether it’s a wish list, a character background, session post mortems, or diegetically framed campfire chats.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 25A – Running the Campaign: Re-Skinning
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 24C: The First Hound of Ghul

Returning to the tunnels beneath Greyson House, they proceeded carefully past the point where the pit of chaos now lay entombed. The stone above it was now visibly warping and buckling, making it clear that the effort to seal away the pool would not last for more than a few more days at most.

But, soon after, their fears regarding the unknown intruders were laid to rest: Drawing near to the former bloodwight nests, Tee could easily distinguish the distinctive sound of elvish voices. Stepping into the open, she confirmed that this was a party of workers and scholars from House Erthuo.

In this session, the PCs return to the Laboratory of the Beast. They’ve been here before. In fact, depending on how you count, this is their third or fourth foray into this section of Ghul’s Labyrinth. (It won’t be the last.)

What’s pulled them back this time is the desire to wrap up some unfinished business. There are a couple particular examples of this I’d like to draw your attention to.

First, in this week’s campaign journal, Tee obtains a set of magical lockpicks which allow her to open doors which had previously thwarted their efforts to open.

Second, in the next installment of the campaign journal, you’ll see them figure out how to haul some of the larger treasures out of the labyrinth.

Some GMing advice will tell you to fear failure: Your players couldn’t open the door? Didn’t find the secret passage? Missed a clue? You’ll find plenty of people who will tell you these outcomes aren’t “fun” and shouldn’t be allowed.

But this is myopic advice.

Failure is rarely the end of the story. It is an opportunity for the players to use their ingenuity to find a different path to success. And often the stories we discover along these paths are the most memorable and enjoyable.

Partly this is due to the sense of accomplishment and progress: When you discover that you can achieve a goal that was previously impossible, that’s satisfying. And when you figure out how to find a success that overcomes failure, that’s a success which you own. The context of failure gives meaning to the eventual triumph.

Also, the consequences of failure are usually fascinating and far more interesting than the consequences of success. This can be particularly true of roleplaying. As Admiral Kirk says of the Kobyashi Maru, “It’s a test of character.” How we deal with failure is far more revealing – and meaningful – than how we deal with success.

THE EVOLUTION OF THE DUNGEON

The other reason the challenges of failure often result in great stories is because they force you to re-engage with a situation.

You can see that in a pretty pure form in this session: There’s nothing inherently amazing about picking the lock on a door, but it motivates the PCs to come back to this dungeon. Which, in turn, allows them to see how the dungeon has been transformed as the result of their actions.

The Laboratory of the Beast is a fairly sterile complex, inhabited primarily by the remnants of technomantic and necromantic experiments from the distant past. But even here, the PCs encounter the researchers from House Erthuo: The things which they have done in the past are having a tangible effect on the game world.

This makes the game world feel real. It also gives meaning to the actions of the characters and the choices of the players. The first engagement with something is often scarcely removed from exposition — it establishes the basic facts, but can rarely delve deep in exploring them. It is in the re-engagement that story happens.

Of course, there are other ways that you can motivate players to, for example, revisit a dungeon. But simply allowing failure to exist in your campaign will see this behavior emerge organically from the events of play with little or no effort on your part.

LOGISTICAL CHALLENGES

Much like failure, you’ll often see GMing advice which suggests that logistical elements like encumbrance are “boring” and should just be skipped over.

There are certainly times when the logistical hurdles of a situation are clearly manageable and, therefore, the trivial details of exactly how they are managed are best skipped. And there are certainly, for example, encumbrance systems which are so burdensome that it’s better to find an alternative.

But that’s really no different than, say, an overly complicated combat system or the fact that you don’t need to bust out the initiative rolls to let 15^th level PCs intimidate and rough up some street thugs. And I think it’s a mistake to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

D&D, in particular, is a game of expeditions. When you remove the logistics from an expedition, you remove most or all of the challenge from that expedition. And I don’t just mean that in a mechanical sense. When you remove adversity from a narrative, it generally doesn’t improve the narrative!

In the current session, you can see how the logistical problem of getting bulky-yet-valuable items out of the dungeon forced the players to come up with alternative solutions. That includes bringing the House Erthuo researchers to the dungeon (“if we can’t move the orrery to sell it somewhere else, we can sell access to it where it is”). It also created a failure state which, once again, brought the players back to the dungeon.

You can see another example of this in Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, actually. Once the players have found the huge cache of coins which is the ultimate reward in that campaign, the question of how they’re going to get that gold out when there are potentially multiple factions looking to steal it out from under them is really interesting.

(With minimal spoilers, Neal Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon is a mind-bending look at a similar conundrum.)

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 24D – Running the Campaign: Magic Item Wish Lists
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 24B: The Meeting of All Things

As they discussed it, they realized that they had a wider need to take stock of what they had accomplished, analyze what remained to be done, and make some hard decisions – as a group – regarding what their immediate and long-term goals should be.

As the others returned to the inn, therefore, they gathered them together in Elestra’s room.

Tee asked the most important question: What are our immediate goals?

This week’s campaign journal is attempting to accomplish two goals.

First, it’s trying to capture the actual experience of the session, in which the players spent a significant amount of time poring over their notes, discussing their actions, and setting an agenda for the session to come.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, it is seeking to preserve the essence of that debate, its conclusions, and, for lack of a better term, its findings of fact so that they can be easily referenced by the players in the future. In other words, it’s more or less serving as the detailed minutes of the meeting.

Something to be aware of if you’re a GM writing a campaign journal like this, is that this actually takes a fair degree of delicacy. The difficulty is that they were attempting to figure out mysteries to which I already know the answers: In summarizing their thoughts and conclusions, therefore, it can be quite easy for me to subconsciously focus on the correct solutions.

For example, over the course of the conversation the group might make five different hypotheses about why Character X did Y. One of the five hypotheses is actually what’s happening. In summarizing that conversation for the journal (a process which, by its nature, streamlines the discussion), I could thoughtlessly trim away the superfluous hypotheses and only include the correct guess. (Because, after all, that’s the only important one, right?) In fact, without careful consideration and note-keeping, it can quite difficult to even remember what the other hypotheses were.

THE COLLATION

The meeting itself is of a type which I have found to be pretty much inevitable in any campaign featuring extensive lore books (the creation and use of which I discussed a couple months ago). Or, more accurately, any campaign in which extensive clues and lore have been encoded into handouts. At some point the density of this information reaches a point at which the players feel the need to organize it, collate it, and figure it out.

(Such meetings will sometimes trigger in other campaigns, but this is usually due to extensive recordkeeping by one or more of the players: Those notes become the hardcoded data store that needs to be sorted through and sorted out. For example, in my Castle Blackmoor open table, there was a session where all of the various PCs who had been mapping the megadungeon specifically scheduled a session where they could all get together, compare their maps, and figure out how to connect them into a larger, more definitive map.)

These sessions are, in my experience and without exception, fantastic. They can be particularly spectacular when the players all commit to carrying out the discussion in character, turning the whole thing into a tour de force of focused roleplaying that almost invariably deepens the players’ instinctual grasp of their characters while simultaneously immersing them deep into the lore of the campaign.

Oddly, I can rarely predict when one of these lore book meetings (as I’ve come to think of them) will break out. They often come when the players have run out of obvious threads to pull on, but can also happen when the players feel overwhelmed by the number of loose threads they have in hand. They almost always happen when the characters themselves are in a moment of quiescence, and are often triggered by just one or two players who decide that it’s time to “figure all this stuff out.”

I know some GMs who get antsy in sessions like this. I think it’s because they aren’t doing anything and it doesn’t seem as if the players are doing anything. I think this sensation is heightened because the GM knows all the solutions: Watching someone solve a puzzle you already know the solution isn’t exactly exciting, even though the person bending all of their brainpower upon the problem is, in fact, intensely engaged with it.

There may be times, however, when the group has truly run aground and you need to gently prod them back into motion. This, too, requires a light touch because, once again, you know the answers: It’s just not your place to push them in a particular direction. I know you’re excited for them to discover the incredibly cool thing you made, but your hints are almost certainly defeating the purpose of making it an engaging mystery in the first place!

Honestly, your job in these sessions is almost always to just sit back and enjoy the show, while perhaps occasionally helping players track down a particular prop or answer questions which their characters would know the answer to.

With that being said, though: Listen carefully! The players are going to drop a lot of clues for you in figuring out where the PCs are going next and what you should be prepping.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 24C – Running the Campaign: Back, Back to the Dungeon
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index