Couple congruent thoughts synchronistically spun themselves into my head recently.

First, Delta’s D&D Hotpost asked, “Was Module B1 a Good Design?” This revived my old argument that B1, B2, and the original version B3 are — at least conceptually — a really solid introduction to dungeoncrawling:

B1 teaches the DM how to key a dungeon. For those unfamiliar with it, the module provides a map with an incomplete key: Rooms are described, but blanks are left for monsters and treasures. At the back of the module, a list of monsters and treasures are provided: The DM is supposed to take them and assign them to rooms. In practice, this teaches the DM that:

(1) Rooms are not defined by the monster you fight in them.

(2) The distribution and arrangement of monsters and treasure will fundamentally change the gameplay of a dungeon.

(3) You can stock a given chunk of geography in many different ways (and many different times).

B2 teaches the players how to play. When you go the Caverns of Chaos, you enter a valley and the first thing you see are a dozen cave entrances: So the very first action the players have to take in the module is to make a choice. And the choice they make will completely alter the future course of events through the module. It’s an incredibly empowering moment and a really important lesson for any player of an RPG to learn.

Finally, the original version of B3 (which was very different from the version eventually published) introduced what was originally supposed to be the centerpiece of every D&D campaign: The megadungeon. Jean Wells provided the upper levels of the dungeon, but included several “empty” rooms which the DM was supposed to key for themselves. And she included a number of passages that would lead down to lower levels that the DM was supposed to design for themselves. Although sometimes crude and inadequate in its presentation, B3 would have transitioned the DM into designing and expanding their own megadungeon on the superstructure it provided.

None of these modules were perfect. But new players who worked their way through them received a really solid education in what it meant to run and play an RPG.

In the years since then, a lot of introductory adventures have been produced by the RPG industry. And the interesting thing about most of them is that they take a very different approach: They try to simplify and carefully curate the first experiences of new players. They spoon-feed the GM and hand-hold the players.

Which brings me to the second thought, this one from the Psychology of Video Games: “How Game Tutorials Can Strangle Player Creativity.” In this essay, Jamie Madigan discusses a psychology experiment which demonstrated, in brief, that:

(1) If you take a toy with many different functions which are not immediately evident and introduce a child to it by “spontaneously” discovering one of its functions, then the child will experiment with the toy and discover its many different functions.

(2) But if you take that same toy and introduce a child to it by saying, “This is an awesome toy. Here’s how you use it.” And then demonstrate one of its functions, the child will spend less time playing with the toy and discover fewer of its functions.

(Madigan’s discussion of the study is excellent. I recommend clicking through the link and reading the whole thing.)

The application to roleplaying games should be almost self-evident: Introductory scenarios should be robust (so that new players don’t become stymied or lost). But that robustness should not take the form of hand-holding or railroading. If you want to introduce a new player to roleplaying games, then you need to embrace the Caverns of Chaos: You need to show them twelve options and say, “The choice is yours.”

Because, ultimately, it is that power of choice which makes RPGs special and exciting and worthwhile.

… is that it is a gentle (yet utterly awe-inspiring) reminder of the vast scope of our universe. It is a planet nearly the size of the Earth so far away that it is rendered as nothing more than a pinprick silhouette upon the surface of the sun. And that, in itself, suddenly lends a humbling perspective to our own distance from the sun and the vast size of that celestial body of fusion and flame.

It is a sight which is literally mind-boggling. Looking at that tiny dot of Venus, our brains simply cannot process the reality of what we’re seeing: Regardless of what the rational side of our brain may be capable of appreciating in that moment, our eyes nevertheless refuse to interpret that black splotch as a planetary mass.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone is a novel written using the English language. It was written by J.K. Rowling, who has also written several other novels.

As far as the novel goes, it has a nice cover featuring a picture of Harry Potter on a broom. It wraps-around fully and even goes onto the inside flaps. It’s rather whimsical and is one of the reasons that I bought the book. The book is a 6″ x 9″ hardcover with a glue binding. The type is very legible in 12-point Adobe Garamond. The interior art is all pencil drawn and of decent quality. I have seen better in other books, but it’s not bad. The margins are fairly large and the type is widely spaced. I did not notice any problems with proofreading.

On the contents. The inside covers are blank and navy blue in color. The first page contains the title, then there’s another page with title, author, and illustrator. The third page contains the copyright notice followed by a table of contents. There are seventeen chapters.

On page 9, the action starts. Harry Potter is a young boy who has been orphaned. This goes on for 17 pages, then we skip ahead a decade or so. Things proceed in a linear narrative from that point forward.

At the end of the book, there’s a couple pages detailing the type font and various other credits.

Overall, the novel was quite good. The format is a bit worn (young hero does heroic stuff), but there is a good mix of mystery and magic to offset this. It is supposed to be the first in a series of novels focused on Harry Potter, so the characters should see some much-needed development in the future.

I recommend this novel and await the next installment.

There are quite a few science fiction franchises out there (notably Star Trek) which feature progenitor species which “seed” planets with their genetic code, resulting — millions of years later — in a bunch of intelligent humanoid species who can all interbreed with each other.

That is not how evolution works.

But I’ve figured it out: Whenever a progenitor species talks about “seeding” their genetic code, what they’re actually talking about are mitochondria. We don’t realize it, but mitochondria are actually heavily designed pieces of biotech with significant subspace extrusions undetectable by modern science. They are specifically designed to tweak bipedal humanoid forms to Progenitor-style intelligence. When Progenitor-style intelligent species mate, the mitochondria are also responsible for making sure that viable offspring are possible.

Hmm… that’s technobabble? Yeah. Welcome to Star Trek.

True roleplaying — in which you pervasively portray and deeply immerse yourself into a character who is not yourself — is a difficult art. There are people who literally spend years studying and mastering improvisational acting. And quite a few of those people would look at the challenge of performing at a dining room table while simultaneously rolling dice to be a very high hurdle to clear.

On the other hand, I’m not a big fan of drenching this sort of thing in mystique. Plus, even untrained high school students can climb up on stage and perform. Just because you can’t consistently produce material like Matt Damon does in Saving Private Ryan (the entire story of his brothers was improvised) doesn’t mean you should just throw in the towel.

With that being said, I usually don’t worry too much about this on Day One with new players: If they want to play an avatar of themselves, no problem. If they want more than that, then a properly constructed set of rules, the example of other players, and their own creativity will lead them into it.

But when you come to second day of roleplaying, you might want to reach for something a little more daring. And that’s when you might discover that capturing the totality of a personality which isn’t yours can be a daunting task. It may seem too immense or you may not know where to begin. Even if you do manage to get a grip on the character, it can be easy for it to slip away once you actually start playing the game (and that can be really frustrating).

When that happens, this is my advice: Instead of jumping into the deep end and getting overwhelmed, start with a small, concrete checklist of “touchstones” that you can use to connect with your character.

Pick three touchstones. Focus on those.

For example:

1. Pick a single personality trait. (Think of it in concise terms, but you may benefit from not making it completely generic. For example, instead of just saying “greedy”, you might say “greedy, but will always give a coin to a child in need”. Focus on finding opportunities when you can make active choices based on that personality trait. Also focus on never acting contrary to that personality trait.)
2. Pick a physical mannerism. (This shouldn’t be flamboyant and it doesn’t have to be particularly fancy or complicated. In fact, the simpler the better. Something like “he drums his fingers” or “he scowls when he has to think hard about something” or “he likes to wink while giving a thumb’s up”.)
3. Create a catch-phrase. (It doesn’t necessarily have to be a specific phrase (which could easily get worn out and boring), but perhaps make it some core concept. For example, Conan often swears to Crom. He doesn’t do it all the time and it often takes different forms, but it’s a persistent element of his character. As a bard, you could pick some famous songwriter or storyteller who inspires you.)

While keeping those touchstones in mind, just keep doing what you’re doing now. But whenever it’s appropriate, hit one of those touchstones: Drum your fingers on the table. Or demand the choicest share of treasure. Or mention that “a beast like this was described in the song s of the legendary bard Moranth”.

Of course, don’t feel as if your character has to be limited to those things. But these are your touchstones: Focus on achieving them and let the rest take care of itself for awhile.

It won’t be long before you start to feel the character “settle in” around those touchstones. Over time, the character will become deeper and richer. But whenever you feel the character “slipping away” again, simply reach for one of your touchstones to find your way back.