DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23F: The Pale Tower

At last, Aoska brought them before great valves of silvered adamantine. She turned to them then and said, “You shall have audience with Sephranos, the First Among the Chosen.”

At her touch the doors parted and opened, revealing a hall of ivory and gold. Atop a dais at the far end, upon a throne of mithril, sat a gold-skinned man with white-feathered wings. His eyes were pits of pale blue fire shining out from a face both regal and welcoming.

Aoska approached him and whispered into his ears, and then his eyes were turned upon them. And, most particularly upon Dominic.

“We are honored to give audience to the Chosen of Vehthyl.” Sephranos smiled and turned his gaze to all of them. “We thank you all on the behalf of Edlari. We were saddened to see him leave us once again, but glad that he is now free to find his own path again. What boon would you ask of us?”

When the dungeoncrawl is done, it’s time for the PCs to deal with the lingering legacies and unresolved elements of the dungeon. This is a kind of epilogue which, structurally, you’re going to repeatedly experience when playing or running roleplaying games.

The simplest version – which is more or less the default – is just liquidating your loot. If all you’re hauling out of the place are coins and gems, this can be a purely routine transaction that’s quickly dispatched with. But even in this simplistic form, , I think this still functions as a primitive yet important narrative beat: The primary purpose of the epilogue is to provide closure, and even something as simple as divvying up the treasure can accomplish that; can definitively declare, “We have done this thing and this thing is done.”

However, one of the reasons I like including treasure in more exotic forms (besides flavor, immersion, and highly effective worldbuilding) is that the logistics of realizing its value can create an opportunity for intriguing entanglements. And, as you can see in the example of Pythoness House, in a fully realized scenario this will naturally extend far beyond simply treasure. In addition to selling their spoils and spending their new wealth, the PCs had to deal with:

• The lingering effects of Freedom’s Key (plus what to do with the key itself)
• The tainted items
• The Cobbledman
• Meeting Edlari at the Pale Tower

Figuring this out saw the PCs forging new alliances, gaining new resources, and setting up future scenarios. All of these things will either have a dramatic impact on how events play out for the rest of the campaign, provide an interesting crucible for roleplaying, or both.

In other words, what emerges from these logistics are stories. And when I see GMs skipping past these logistical concerns, what I see is not only a failure to provide proper closure for the previous adventure, but also a failure to properly plant the seeds for the next adventure.

Some of these elements will emerge naturally from your prep. For example, I couldn’t be certain that the PCs would free Edlari, but I knew that if they did he would extend them an invitation that would almost certainly pull them to the Pale Tower (where I could reincorporate Aoska, who they had met previously).

On the other hand, in a well-designed dungeon there’ll almost always be unanticipated fallout. For example, I had no idea that they would befriend the Cobbledman or take such care to help him seek aid from the Brotherhood of Redemption. In fact, I thought it quite likely that they would end up fighting and killing the Cobbledman.

Conversely, we could imagine an alternate version of reality where the PCs ended up befriending the ratlings in Pythoness House (instead of slaughtering them) and ending up with a potentially very useful gang of allies.

Which I guess is largely my point here: As with any other good scenario, the players should be making meaningful choices. These choices should, pretty much by definition, have meaningful consequences, and the logistical epilogue is where we begin to discover and define how these consequences are going to spill out of the scenario and into the ongoing campaign.

Which, in my opinion, is kind of inherently interesting.

How much time you spend resolving the logistical epilogue depends on how many consequences are spilling out of the dungeon and, of course, how complicated dealing with those consequences proves to be.

Pythoness House, for example, was a dungeon of moderate scope. Over the course of several visits intermixed with other events, the ‘crawl spanned a total of four sessions. I wasn’t recording my sessions yet, so I’m not sure exactly how long we spent in the dungeon, but it was probably twelve to fifteen hours in total. The logistical epilogue probably took up another thirty to forty-five minutes of playing time, while also incorporating some background events and other miscellaneous business the PCs wanted to take care of.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 24A – Running the Campaign: Player-Facing Mechanics
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23E: With Nought But Their Lives

“First, there is the Dreamsight. The Dreaming is the wellspring from which all reality is born and the grave to which all living memory returns. As such, those who can see the Dreaming with unclouded eyes can perceive deep truths of the world around them.

“Second, there are the Dream Pacts. The Lords of the Dreaming are powerful and fey. Those skilled enough in the dreaming arts can turn their souls into conduits through which the Spirit Lords can be made manifest in the world around us. But following such a path requires supreme self-control, for the Lords of the Dreaming are capable of reshaping your very soul.

“Finally, there is the art of Dreamspeaking. Those practiced in the dreaming arts can reshape the Dreaming around them. Those who are masters of the Dreaming, however, can reshape the world around them by reshaping the dreams from which the world is born. These arts have been perfected into the dreaming tongue – a primal language which not only describes the most fundamental aspects of reality, but can be used to transform it.”

If you want to check out the mechanics for the Dreaming Arts that Tithenmamiwen is preparing to study, you can find them here on the Alexandrian. (Well, Dreamsight and Dream Pacts, anyway. Tee hasn’t chosen to study Dreamspeaking yet, so I haven’t finished putting flesh on those bones.)

Specialized sub-systems and mechanical options are, of course, quite common in roleplaying games, whether you’re homebrewing them or grabbing some cool new sourcebook. And when you’re playing a popular, crunchy game with lots supplements (like D&D or Shsdowrun or Ars Magica), you have to consider how you want to handle adding this type of material to your game: Do you use all of them? None of them? Some of them? Which ones?

Figuring that out could probably be a whole discussion itself. (And a fairly idiosyncratic one.) For the moment, though, let’s assume that:

1. You and your players have learned the “core” rules of them (however you choose to define that); and
2. You now have a new chunk of mechanics that you want to make part of your game.

How do you actually go about doing that?

Well, it turns out that this is ALSO a pretty big topic that can depend a lot on the dynamics and interests of your group. For example, you might have player(s) at your table who are not particularly interested in all the mechanical gewgaws of the game – they just want to be told what dice to roll. How you approach new mechanics for them is going to differ from how you’ll handle it if one of your players is really interested in exploring mechanical options and is actually the one advocating for a new sub-system to become part of your game. (And what if you have both types of players at the same table?)

There’s also the differences between player-facing, GM-facing, and dual-facing mechanics. Also, mechanics that are going to be used for one scenario vs. those that are going to be permanent additions. We could also look at the difference between modular components being bolted onto sub-systems already in play (like new maneuvers for a combat system) vs. completely new sub-systems (“We’re piloting mecha now!”).

These discussions, however, almost always deal with the metagame dynamic between you and your players. Which makes sense, of course, because the mechanics of a roleplaying game are inherently abstracted and metagamed – they are a thing you and your players interact with, not your characters.

But what I want to point out in today’s session of In the Shadow of the Spire is that you CAN introduce mechanics diegetically – as part of the game world and from an in-character perspective. This also makes sense because, even though they’re abstracted and metagamed, roleplaying mechanics are also inherently associated with the game world: They’re connected to what’s happening in that world and the choices your characters are making.

This connection can flow both ways: By adding mechanics we often add elements to the campaign for our PCs to experience, but by attempting new activities or acquiring new resources, the PCs can also create the need for new mechanics to handle those new aspects of their lives.

If you, as the GM, want to add some new mechanical element to your game – realms management, rigging, mercantile trading, pacts with Lords of the Dreaming – it can similarly be more effective to diegetically offer (or even require) those mechanics than it would be to simply, for example, drop a new sourcebook on the table and then wonder why nobody is using it.

To some extent, this is about how mechanics without a game/scenario structure to serve tend to wither and die, but it’s more than that. If you approach new mechanics diegetically, it gives you a whole bunch of new tools for pitching those mechanics to your group and getting them excited about it.

For example, you can offer the mechanics as a reward. Players love rewards. (Who doesn’t?) “Here’s your new ship!” you say, opening the door to those mercantile and crew management sub-systems you’ve been interested in exploring.

You can also nest new mechanics inside meaningful choices. You can see this with Tee’s dreaming lesson in the current session: The player is empowered to choose which sub-system she wants to introduce into play, which immediately invests her in that choice and makes her eager to read through twenty or thirty pages of custom house rules.

In this way, diegetic mechanics can also be connected to the themes of the campaign and/or the objectives of the PCs. (This also applies to Tee, obviously, who has been obsessed with learning the Dreaming Arts since the campaign began.) The mechanics aren’t just a generically cool new thing that you hope the players will be interested in; in a very real way they are the thing that the players already care about, just manifested in a different way.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23F – Running the Campaign: Detritus of the Dungeon
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23D: The Chaos Cultists

The end of the key seemed to be twisting and, looking more closely at it, Tee could see that it was actually made of innumerable pieces almost too small for the eye to see – they were constantly in flux, seeming to warp and twist and move in an almost impossible manner, as if their movement were not truly determined by the limitations of the natural world.

Tee was fascinated – almost enthralled – by the artifact. With delicate fingers she reached down and picked it up…

And felt a coldness rush up from her fingers and seem to bury itself in her soul. Despite the throbbing pain and waves of weakness emanating from the key, her curiosity could not be contained. She turned to the next chest, the one labeled “Mysteries of the Purple City”. Inserting the golden key carefully into the lock she turned it.

The lock opened with a satisfying click. But the pain and the cold intensified. Tee almost felt as if her soul were being ripped out through her. Her hand flew to her head and she sagged, nearly fainting where she stood.

“Tee!” Elestra cried. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Tee said. “But I don’t think I should be using this key any more.” She slipped it into her bag of holding… but even there she could still feel its presence like a cold weight on her soul.

Dungeons & Dragons generally embraces a fairly simple binary when it comes to enchanted items: There are magic items, which are good. And there are cursed items, which are bad.

This dichotomy, of course, leaves out a fairly large middle ground. And it is, in fact, a middle ground that is occupied by many magic items in fantasy and mythology. Often these items are not simply a boon, but carry some price for their use: Tyrfing, the sword that would never rust or miss a stroke, but which was cursed to kill a man each time it was drawn. The Necklace of Harmonia which granted eternal youth and beauty, but also ill fortune. The Nine Rings given to mortal kings which grant immense power, but slowly transform their wielders into slaves of the Lord of the Rings.

Requiring a price to be paid for the power offered by a magic item can create interesting stories and also unique dilemmas for the wielders (or would-be wielders) of the items. Pathfinder introduced the Drawback curse, which was actually a collection of minor curses that could be applied to an item so that it could “usually still be beneficial to the possessor but carry some negative aspect.”

But you can push the concept farther than that by using the cursed price of a magic item to actually balance (or limit) abilities that would otherwise by unbalanced or undesirable for the PCs to possess.

You can see an example of such an item in the all-key found by the PCs in this session: The key (referred to by the players as Freedom’s Key based on the inscription of the chest they found it in) allows its user to open ANY lock that has a keyhole.

The narrative potential of this key is really interesting. But it’s also problematic because it would essentially excise an entire slice of game play: With the all-key, the PCs would never have to pick another lock or kick down another door.

Removing an entire facet of gameplay like this isn’t inherently problematic, but should be approached with caution. And that caution, in this case, is the price paid by the user of the all-key: Merely carrying the all-key inflicts negative levels, and additional negative levels are inflicted each time the key is used.

The intended result (and, in fact, what ends up happening in the campaign) is that the PCs can’t just carry the all-key around with them and whip it out for every lock they encounter: They need to tuck it away some place safe and only fetch it when they have great need for its power.

This not only keeps the lockpicking and key-finding aspects of a  typical D&D generally intact, but it also makes each use of the all-key momentous: It requires a certain threshold of need to even consider using it, and then its use explicitly involves careful planning. Ironically, the all-key actually feels MORE powerful because of its limitations than an unfettered item with the same ability whose use would become a trivial bit of irreverent bookkeeping.

One of the risks of attempting to balance otherwise undesirable power with a price, however, is that such drawbacks can end up being highly situational and thus, with a little effort, easily avoided. This can be particularly true if you are drawing inspiration from fantasy and mythology, where the drawbacks of the items are often not only idiosyncratic, but would be non-mechanical when translated into D&D. Such limitations either put the weight on the DM to make them meaningful or, in some cases, are simply irrelevant to the PC who might get their hands on the item. (“Using the One Ring will slowly corrupt my soul and turn me into a Dark Lord?” said Sir Patrick ‘the Bloodstained Butcher’ Rasseroth. “That’s adorable.”)

Of course, if you’re designing an item for use in your own campaign, you can tailor its design to the PCs to make sure that the price will, in fact, be paid.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23E – Running the Campaign: Diegetic Mechanics
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23C: Beneath Pythoness House

But when they returned to the statue, they found that the hole in its stomach had closed up.

“It’s like its reset or something,” Elestra muttered.

“I MUST FEED…”

Now, standing in this hall, they were sure that the voice was emanating directly from the statue itself.

Last week we talked about techniques that break down the natural firewall of the dungeon: Techniques that will have you and your players thinking holistically about the entire dungeon environment instead of just one room at a time.

Today’s journal entry features a similar technique in the form of cyclical dungeon activity.

Basically, all of these techniques seek to take a static dungeon — in which each room passively exists in a status quo until the PCs enter it — and transform it into an active complex. The advantages of this are myriad and probably obvious: it deepens the players’ immersion by making the game world seem truly alive; it increases the strategic challenge of the scenario; it emergently creates complex dramatic situations and difficult dilemmas.

Cyclical dungeon activity is one way of accomplishing this.

THE GLOBAL TIMER

The concept of a “global timer” comes from video games. To simplify greatly, it’s a counter that is constantly iterating and helps keep all of the events in the game in sync. In video games this can range from the broad to the very specific. (For example, in Mario 64 small snowflakes generate when the counter is even and large snowflakes are generated when the timer is odd.)

You are not a computer and you shouldn’t run your game as if you were.

But we can borrow the concept of the global timer and apply it fruitfully. You can see a simple example of this in Pythoness House:

• When the statue says, “Come to me…” the spirit within it seals the castle so that the PCs cannot easily escape.
• When the statue says, “I must feed…” the statue itself is warded by a curse.
• When the statue says, “Chaos is the key…” the depression into which the spiral contrivance can be inserted opens on the statue’s belly.

In short, your “global timer” is a set of discrete states, with each state determining particular features in the dungeon. As the state changes, the topography, feature, and/or inhabitants of the dungeon will shift.

The advantage of the technique is that you only need to keep track of one thing — Which state is the dungeon currently in? — and you can apply that one piece of information to whatever area the PCs are currently in. This lets you manage dungeon-wide changes and activities with incredibly simple bookkeeping.

PLAYER INTERACTION

As you can see in the example of Pythoness House, the switch state can be both diegetic (i.e., something actually shifting in the game world) and directly apparent to the players (everyone in the dungeon can hear the spirit’s declaration).

Neither is necessarily true. There may be no clear “signal” that will notify the PCs that the state of the dungeon has changed (or what it has changed to). It’s also quite possible for the global timer to be partially or entirely an abstraction that exists only for your managerial benefit.

For example, you might design a slavers’ fortress in both a Day state and a Night state, but this doesn’t mean that the slavers all become clockwork automatons. (Although a fortress of clockwork slavers has some fascinating thematic implications. But I digress.) The global timer is a useful tool for broadly modeling the fortress, but if the PCs start closely examining the place what they’re “really” going to see is quite different than that abstraction.

Regardless, as you can see in the campaign journal, this type of cyclical dungeon activity can naturally function as a puzzle for the players, ranging from the simple to the complex. In addition to more specific effects, figuring out how the dungeon’s cycle works will make it easier for the PCs to navigate and overcome the dungeon’s challenges. (For example, figuring out when the best time to strike the slavers’ fortress would be.)

Something else to consider are player-triggered state changes. This might be something they deliberately choose to do, but more often it’s not: The dungeon might shift every time they enter a particular room, go down a particular staircase, or drink from a particular fountain.

When combined with obfuscated or nonexistent signals, these player-triggered state changes can create delightfully complicated puzzles.

(It’s also fun when the players think that there must be something they’re doing to trigger the state changes, but it’s actually just random or on a global timer.)

Such state changes could also be a one-time event: The dungeon is in one state until the PCs trigger a trap, and then the whole dungeon shifts into a different (and presumably more dangerous) state.

This also creates the possibility for NPC-triggered state changes: Everything is fine until one of the bad guys manage to hit the big red PANIC button and the alarm klaxons start sounding.

KEEP IT SIMPLE

With only a little imagination, it’s easy to see how such timers could be made quite complex, dynamic, and perhaps even conditional.

So let me just briefly reiterate: Don’t do that.

You are not computer. The whole point of this technique is to simplify your bookkeeping and management of the dungeon. It’s real easy to become enamored of the Rube Goldberg device you’re constructing until the tail starts ferociously wagging the dog.

If you do want to increase the complexity of your dungeon states, try adding a second global timer — unconnected to the first and out of sync with it — to your dungeon. I suspect you’ll find the combinatory interactions between the two cycles will add a delightful amount of complexity while keeping your bookkeeping dead simple. This will, in particular, be more than sufficient to mask the nature of cycles you would prefer to keep hidden from your players (because, for example, they’re a non-diegetic abstraction intended to create a living world).

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23D – Running the Campaign: The Price of Magic
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23B: Binding Foul and Fair

“Well, the book should tell us more,” Ranthir said, and picked it up. He flipped it open… and the pages seemed to blur before his eyes, forming a black maw that seemed to open inside his very mind… threatening to overwhelm him… to swallow his very mind…

Ranthir jerked the book away, slamming it shut and throwing it onto the table.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Ranthir rubbed his forehead. His thoughts seemed blurred. The edge of his intellect dulled. “The book… the book betrayed me!”

I often talk about how one of the unique strengths of the dungeoncrawl structure is the way in which it firewalls individual rooms: If you’re a GM – particularly a new GM – you don’t have to keep an entire adventure scenario in your head. You only have to think about the room the PCs are currently standing in. All the information you need right now almost certainly fits on a single piece of paper, and you don’t have to worry about anything else until the PCs choose an exit and go to the next room.

It’s the equivalent of juggling one ball.

This also extends to creating the dungeon scenario in the first place: In its most inchoate form, the dungeon is made up of entirely independent rooms. The new GM can fill a dungeon room with fun stuff and then move on to filling up the next room without any concern for what they put in the first room.

Once you’re no longer a beginning GM, though, you’re going to start using techniques that break down this firewall. You’re not going to completely eschew the advantages of the clearly defined room key (no reason to throw the baby out with the bathwater), but you will slowly stop thinking about the dungeon only one room at a time and start adding extra dimensions and complexity to your dungeon scenarios.

You’re going to start juggling multiple balls at the same time.

One such technique is the adversary roster: Instead of keying encounters to specific rooms, adversary rosters make it relatively easy for the GM think about and actively play the inhabitants of a dungeon as they move around the location, living their lives and responding to the incursions of the PCs.

Another technique are dungeon clues. To generalize, a dungeon clue is information in one room of a dungeon which influences or determines the PCs’ actions in a different room.

Some of these clues will likely be quite straightforward: For example, the key in Room 11 that opens the door in Area 41.

Other clues, however, will be complicated, perhaps requiring a series of revelations gleaned from clues in multiple locations throughout the dungeon before the final solution can be found. You can see an example of this here in Session 23, as the PCs piece together the clues that will let them locate the broken halves of the spiral contrivance.

“If the key is in the square tower and it requires a ladder to reach the secret entrance, maybe that entrance isn’t on the wall of the tower – maybe it’s under the tower.”

They returned down to the large, empty room on the fifth floor of the tower. “We should be directly beneath the tower here,” Ranthir said.

Tee floated up to the ceiling and quickly found a bit of false plaster. Scraping that aside with one of her dragon-hilted daggers, she revealed a small keyhole. She took out the key she had found in the nook below the ruined garden and found that it was a perfect fit.

A particularly effective technique is to design your dungeon clues so that the PCs are forced to crisscross the dungeon — gaining information in Area A that takes them to Area B, before sending them back to Area A to complete the sequence. These types of interactions help to transform the dungeon from a linear experience to a multi-dimensional one, in which expertise and knowledge gained from one traversal of the dungeon become rewarding when the players revisit those areas a second time.

In sufficiently complex dungeon scenarios, you can have multiple enigmas featuring overlapping patterns of dungeon clues in play at the same time. This creates navigational interest in the dungeon as the players now have to figure out their own priorities and the routes that proceed from those priorities.

The last thing to note is that dungeon clues frequently aren’t necessary to successfully complete a scenario. For example, the PCs could have found the pieces of the spiral contrivance without necessarily obtaining or figuring out all the clues. If the revelation indicated by your dungeon clues is necessary for the scenario, though, you’ll want to remember the Three Clue Rule.

THE DYNAMIC CYCLE

For the GM, dungeon clues usually aren’t something they need to think about too much while running the game (although for sufficiently complicated scenarios it might involve tracking a revelation list), but that’s obviously because the clues are getting baked in during prep. Players, on the other hand, will be actively engaged with these clues — collecting them, thinking about them, trying to figure them out — during play.

In fact, all of these techniques — adversary rosters, dungeon clues, etc. — don’t just break down the GM’s firewall. They also force the players to stop thinking about things one room at a time and instead start thinking about the dungeon as a whole. In other words, the players will stop thinking only tactically about their immediate circumstances and start thinking strategically about the broader scenario.

Once the players have been nudged in this direction, you’ll discover that their strategic consideration of the dungeon will actually feed back into the scenario itself, creating dynamic interactions which were never explicitly part of your prep: The deliberately placed dungeon clues will get them thinking about how Room 11 and Room 33 relate to each other, for example. But now that they’re thinking like that, they’ll also think about:

• Using a passwall spell to move from Room 14 to Room 22.
• Tricking the goblins in Rooms 9 thru 12 into attacking the ogre in Room 41.
• Scavenging alchemist’s fire from the traps in the lower hallways to destroy the cursed tapestries in Room 42.

This dynamic play on the part of the players will, in turn, give you the opportunity of rising to the challenge and finding more ways to actively play the scenario in order to respond to them.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23C – Running the Campaign: Dungeon Cycles
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index