I can’t do a murder mystery because the PCs will just cast zone of truth!

Awhile back I shared Random GM Tip: Speak With Dead Mysteries, which looks at the particular challenges of designing a murder mystery scenario when the PCs have access to the speak with dead spell (or some similar magical or technological effect). A common follow-up question from people reading this article is, “But what about zone of truth?”

As I mentioned in the original article, you have to start by embracing the fundamental dynamic of a mystery: It’s not to withhold information from the detective(s); it’s about the detective(s) acquiring information.

Insofar as the zone of truth serves as one method that the PCs can use to acquire information, therefore, it won’t be a problem. It will only become a problem if (a) it trivializes all other methods of acquiring information and/or (b) short circuits a specific investigation.

Keeping that in mind, let’s take a closer look.

WHICH ZONE OF TRUTH?

There can be considerable differences in how zone of truth and similar effects work, and this will obviously have an impact on how it affects investigations.

First: Do spellcasters know when the targets of their spells — particularly enchantment spells — make their saving throws?

Personally, I prefer No. (And will often apply this as a house rule even in systems where the answer would be Yes under the rules-as-written or rules-as-intended.) I think pretending to go along with a caster’s domination spell, for example, is a classic genre trope.

This is how zone of truth worked in D&D 2^nd Edition and 3^rd Edition, and it obviously adds a layer of ambiguity to the spell. (If two people contradict each other, is that just a difference of opinion/belief? Or did one of them make their saving throw? Or both of them?) D&D 5^th Edition, on the other hand, adds specific language allowing the caster to know when the spell is in effect, stripping ambiguity.

Second: How often can a character resist the effects of the zone of truth? Do they make a single saving throw when entering the zone? Make a new saving throw every round? Make a saving throw each time they need to make a declarative statement or answer an explicit question?

Once again, D&D 5^th Edition’s version of the effect is the most troublesome for mysteries.

Third: Does the target know they’re in a zone of truth before they speak? If so, it allows them to account for the zone in what they say and how they choose to answer questions.

This has been true for every version of the D&D spell. Wonder Woman’s golden lasso, on the other hand, is usually depicted as surprising those bound by it.

Fourth: Does the effect compel the target to answer direct questions? This would obviously also make the spell a much more powerful tool in the detective’s arsenal, but it’s also not how the D&D spell works.

IDENTIFY THE QUESTION

To paraphrase something Margaret Frazer’s Dame Frevisse once said, the secret to solving a mystery is less about the answers you get to your questions than it is knowing what questions to ask and who to ask them of in the first place.

Often when talking about zone of truth mysteries in a hypothetical sense rather than a practical one, it seems people often default to thinking about an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery where there are eight specific suspects isolated on a country estate. In this scenario, with access to a zone of truth, it’s quite easy to identify both the question (Did you kill Bob?) and who you need to ask (the eight suspects).

But this type of scenario isn’t really common in RPGs to begin with: The plotting of these stories depends on the author having tight control over which questions are asked and when they’re asked in order to create a clever logic puzzle, the solution of which can only occur to the detective at the moment of the author’s choosing. Even if you want to prep a plot in an RPG — and you shouldn’t — it’s still basically impossible to force this kind of sequencing at the table.

As a result, RPG mystery scenarios tend to be built around other structures. For example, it’s not unusual for a mystery scenario to begin at a crime scene filled with physical evidence — e.g., the bloody carnage of a worg attack or the pale gray corpse of a vampire killing — and nary a suspect in sight. Before the PCs can start asking questions, they’ll first need to figure out — as Dame Frevisse said — what the questions are.

To put it another way: Zone of truth can’t short circuit the investigation if the investigation is about figuring who you need to question in the first place.

Next time you’re reading a well-made RPG mystery scenario — like Eternal Lies or Quantronic Heat — take note of how rarely NPCs actually lie to the PCs. Even NPCs who are just withholding information aren’t terribly common. In other words, even without a zone of truth, it’s not unusual for every NPC in these scenarios to say nothing but true things, and the scenario still works just fine.

There is one exploit, however, that clever players can use a zone of truth to unlock:

Can you think of anything that would help our investigation if we knew about it?

Given any kind of limited suspect pool, this question can be used as a quick shortcut for identifying the question(s) they need to ask to solve the mystery, so if you don’t want to get caught flat-footed at the table, it can be useful to prep the clever answer your bad guy(s) will use to evade it.

A good, one-size-fits-all solution here is the incomplete answer: They have to speak the truth, so they do, in fact, have to give the PCs something helpful. But it doesn’t have to be everything that they know would be helpful, nor does it need to be the most helpful thing. Stuff that wastes a ton of time while, technically, being useful is a great fit here.

Can you think of anything else that would be helpful?

Clever player.

The NPC can’t say, “No,” of course, but deflecting back to the first answer is usually possible.

Player: Can you think of anything that would help our investigation if we knew about it?

Bad Guy: I’d check the security cameras.

Player: Can you think of anything else that would be helpful?

Bad Guy: Hmm… I really think the security cameras are what you should check next.

GAIN ACCESS

The other crucial thing about deploying a zone of truth is that you need to (a) get the suspect in the zone and (b) get them to answer your questions.

Returning to our Christie-style manor mystery, if seven of the suspects all readily hop into your zone of truth and the eighth suspect refuses, then the jig is probably up. To avoid this problem, you need to have multiple suspects refuse. The PCs may still be able to use the spell (or the threat of the spell) to narrow the scope of their investigation, but not close it.

The reason for refusal might be specific to each character. The most likely explanation would be some dark secret unrelated (or at least not directly related) to the crime that they nevertheless do not want discovered.

Alternatively, it might be a society-wide condition that can be broadly applied. For example, it might be a cultural more that casting an enchantment spell on someone is unacceptably rude or unethical, such that even suggesting it will likely provoke an outraged response. It could even be a matter of explicit law, with the use of such spells being tightly regulated, limited, and controlled.

This touches on another issue, which is whether or not the PCs have the authority to question people. If they’re police detectives, then it will give them an advantage. (Although they’ll also probably have to abide more closely to the aforementioned laws, in which case they may need to do a bunch of legwork before they can deploy their spell.) If they’re just a bunch of random bozos who have wandered into town, it may be a lot easier for the suspect to dodge their calls.

Which leads us to another obstacle to gaining access, which is just literally finding them. Sure, you want to question Bob. But the door to his apartment has been kicked in, the place has been ransacked, and he’s either been kidnapped or is in the wind. In other words, the mystery — or a significant part of the mystery — can just literally be trying to track down the person you want to use your zone of truth spell on.

Of course, in order to find the person you want to question, you first have to identify them. The manor mystery, of course, still assumes that the list of suspects is immediately obvious, but in a lot of mysteries it’s anything but.

For example, you’ve found Bob: He’s been brutally murdered and his corpse dumped in an alley. You can’t question every single person in the city, so you’re going to have to figure out how to narrow down your suspect list first.

Even once you’ve gotten a suspect into the zone of truth, though, access can continue to be a problem if you enforce the time limit. The D&D 5^th Edition spell, for example, only lasts for ten minutes. That time can vanish surprisingly quickly, so set a timer.

This can be even more of a limitation in a manor house mystery: How many suspects can you rush through the circle before you run out of spells for the day?

If the PCs are trying to rush bunches of NPCs through their zones and you don’t want to play through every encounter, might rule that each witness requires 2d6 minutes or questioning; or perhaps 1d4+1 minutes if the PCs take disadvantage on their interrogation checks.

DESIGN THE CRIME

Imagine that it’s 1850 and you’re anachronistically GMing a roleplaying game. The science fiction game you’re running describes strange devices known as “security cameras” which record everything that takes place in a room.

“How am I supposed to design a mystery scenario when there are security cameras everywhere?!” you cry. “They can just see who did the crime!”

Modern criminals, of course, simply know that security cameras exist and they plan their crimes accordingly. In many cases, the evidence they leave behind while countering the security cameras will be the very clues detectives use to track them down!

An easy solution, of course, is to say something like, “I drank a potion of anti-enchantment that lasts for forty-eight hours,” thus negating the zone of truth entirely. (A clever criminal, of course, will make sure they have some perfectly reasonable pretext for having done so. An even cleverer criminal will have slipped it into the drinks last night and everyone at the manor house has immunity.)

This sort of stonewalling — where the PCs’ abilities are simply negated — is mostly just frustrating, however. It’s usually more fun to find ways that don’t just completely shut off the spell.

To put our suspect at their maximum disadvantage, let’s once again return to the manor house scenario that takes so many other options (access, identifications, etc.) off the table. This, however, is precisely the situation in which the murderer would anticipate a zone of truth. So how would they plan for that?

• They would anticipate the question, “Did you kill so-and-so?” and therefore have planned their crime so that they can honestly say, “No,” (e.g., they tricked them into suicide, arranged for a convenient accident, or hired someone else to kill them).
• They sent a dominated doppelganger disguised as themselves to enter the zone of truth. If the doppelganger’s identity is discovered, the PCs will find the NPC “knocked out” and tied up in their room. Who did this to them?! The mystery deepens. (Meanwhile, the zone of truth has expired.)
• They covertly trigger a dispel magic effect that destroys the zone of truth, possibly while someone else is being questioned. How many of those spells can you cast today, exactly?
• They arrange for a distraction. “Can you confirm that your name is Miguel Cavaste?” “Yes.” “Can you—” EXPLOSION. By the time of the chaos of the explosion is dealt with, the zone of truth has once again expired.

And so forth.

CONVERSATIONAL GAMBITS

Taking all of the above into consideration, there will nonetheless come the time when the suspect is in the zone of truth and faced with the PCs’ questions.

Maybe that’s all she wrote: Either they confess dramatically, surrender meekly, or initiate the final action scene by attacking the PCs, summoning reinforcements, or attempting to flee.

On the other hand, maybe not.

Instead, the zone of truth questioning can become a cat-and-mouse game: a final riddle for the players to unravel.

Let’s take a look at the conversational gambits an NPC (or PC!) might use when trapped, literally or metaphorically, in a zone of truth.

We’ve already mentioned giving incomplete answers. Just because you have to say true things, doesn’t mean you need to say EVERY true thing you know. Questions like, “Did you see anything suspicious last night?” gives the suspect a huge latitude in directing the interrogators’ attention towards any number of useful distractions.

They can also answer a question with a question. A question, technically, cannot be a lie. So if they can slip this past the interrogators, it can often create the illusion of a false answer: “Do you think Robert could have done this?” or “I had drinks with Marcia last night… what time was it? Around six?”

Another option is to simply refuse to answer. This, of course, looks suspicious. However, we’ve previously talked about cultural mores (“I plead the fifth!”) and simply feigning outrage (“How dare you ask me that?!”) can deflect or, at the very least, buy time.

On that note, simply rambling, delaying, feigning confusion, or otherwise running out the clock is also a perfectly viable strategy when you know the zone of truth has an unforgiving time limit.

SOLUTION IS A KEY, NOT A CONCLUSION

If you think in terms of node-based scenario design, the goal of any interrogation is to gain a lead that will point you to another node where you can continue your investigation.

As long as this remains true, the zone of truth only provides a key that you wanted the PCs to get in the first place. And therefore, of course, the zone of truth isn’t a problem at all.

So this can also bring us back to some basic first principles in RPG scenario design: Don’t prep the specific things that the PCs will do. Instead, prep a robust, dynamic situation for the PCs to interact with.

If you try to prep a specific thing for the PCs to do, the zone of truth can thwart you by giving them an alternative method of achieving their goal. But if you’ve prepped an interesting situation, then the zone of truth will often just be one more prompt for you to respond to with all the cool toys you’ve made for yourself.

FURTHER READING
Speak with Dead Mysteries
Three Clue Rule

Go to Part 1

Since writing the Three Clue Rule, I’ve spent just over a decade preaching the methods you can use to design robust mystery scenarios for RPGs that can be reliably solved by your players.

Now, let me toss all that out the door and talk about the mysteries that your players don’t solve. And that, in fact, you’re okay with them not solving!

These generally come in a couple different forms.

First, there are unsolvable mysteries. These are mysteries that you don’t WANT the players to solve. There can be any number of reasons for this, but a fairly typical one is that you don’t want them to solve the mystery yet. (For example, because you don’t want to reveal the true identity of the Grismeister until near the end of the campaign.)

Unsolvable mysteries are easy to implement: You just don’t include the clues necessary to solve them.

The other type of mystery we’re talking about is structurally nonessential. These are mysteries that the PCs can, in fact, solve. They’re revelations that the players are completely capable of figuring out.

But it’s possible that they won’t.

And that’s OK.

In fact, it can greatly enhance your campaign.

It’s OK because structurally nonessential revelations are, by definition, not required for the players to successfully complete the scenario: Knowing that the Emerald Pharaoh loved Sentaka La and arranged for her to buried alive after his death so that they could be reunited in the afterlife is a cool bit of lore, but it’s not necessary in order to complete The Doom of the Viridescent Pyramid.

Note: A corollary here is that structurally nonessential mysteries don’t need to obey the Three Clue Rule (although they certainly can and I’d certainly default to that if possible).

But if it’s a cool bit of lore, why wouldn’t we want to force the players to learn it?

When we, as game masters, create something cool for our campaigns, there’s a natural yearning for the players to learn it or experience it. That’s a good impulse, but it’s also a yearning that, in my opinion, we have to learn how to resist. If we force these discoveries, then we systemically drain the sense of accomplishment from our games. Knowledge is a form of reward, and for rewards to be meaningful they must be earned.

THE POWER OF ENIGMA

More importantly, the lack of knowledge can often be just as cool as the knowledge itself.

An unsolved mystery creates enigma. It creates a sense of inscrutable depths; of a murky and mysterious reality that cannot be fully comprehended. And that’s going to make your campaign world come alive. It’s going to draw the players in and keep them engaged. It will frustrate them, but it will also tantalize and motivate them.

Creating enigma with strategically placed unsolvable mysteries can be effective, but I actually find that having these enigmas emerge organically from structurally nonessential mysteries is usually even more effective:

• What’s the true story of how the Twelve Vampires came to rule Jerusalem?
• How did the Spear of Destiny end up in that vault in Argentina?
• What exactly was Ingen doing on Isla Nublar in Jurassic Park III?
• Who left these cryptic messages painted on the walls of the Facility?

The technique here is simple: Fill your scenarios with a plethora of these nonessential mysteries. (You can even create a separate section of your revelation list for them if you find it useful, although it’s not strictly necessary since you have no need to track them.) At that point, it becomes actuarial game: When including a bunch of these in a dungeon, for example, it becomes statistically quite likely that the PCs won’t solve all of them.

The ones they don’t solve? Those are your enigmas.

In my experience, the fact that these mysteries are, in fact, soluble only makes the enigma more effective. I think that, on at least some level, the players recognize that these mysteries that could be solved, and that invests the enigma with a fundamental reality. It’s not just the GM choosing to thwart you. The reality of that solution — and the fact that you, as the GM, know the solution — also has a meaningful impact on how you design and develop your campaign world.

(Which is not to say that there isn’t a place for the truly inexplicable and fanciful in your campaign worlds. Check out 101 Curious Items, for example. But it’s a different technique, and I find the effect distinct.)

ADDING MYSTERY

In the end, that’s really all there is to it, though: Spice your scenarios with cool, fragile mysteries that will reward the clever and the inquisitive, while forever shutting their secrets away from the bumbling or unobservant. When the PCs solve them, share in their excitement. When the PCs fail to solve them, school yourself to sit back and let the mystery taunt them.

You can, of course, make a special effort to add this kind of content, but I generally take a more opportunistic approach.  I don’t think of this as something “extra” that I’m adding. Instead, I just kind of keep my eyes open while designing the scenario

• Here’s a wall studded with gemstones that glow softly when you touch them. Hmm… What if pressing them in a specific order had some particular effect? What could that be?
• This was a laboratory used by Soviet scientists engaged in post-Chernobyl genetic experimentation. Can the PCs figure out exactly what project they were working on here? And what WAS that project, exactly?
• This Ithaqua cult was founded in 1879. Hmm… Who were the cult founders? How did they first begin worshiping Ithaqua?

In the full context of a scenario, these aren’t just a bunch of random bits or unrelated puzzles. They’re all part of the scenario, which inherently means that they’re also related to each other. Thus, as the PCs solve some of them and fail to solve others, what they’re left with is an evolving puzzle with some of the pieces missing. Trying to make that puzzle come together and glean some meaning from it despite the missing pieces becomes a challenge and reward in itself.

This also means that, as you work on this stuff, you’re refining, developing, and polishing the deeper and more meaningful structure of the scenario itself.

On a similar note, this can also help you avoid one of my personal pet peeves in scenario design: The incredibly awesome background story that the PCs have no way of ever learning about.

This has been a personal bugaboo of mine ever since I read the Ravenloft adventure Touch of Death in middle school: This module featured what, at least at the time, I thought was an incredibly cool struggle between the ancient mummy Semmet and the Dread Lord Ankhtepot. I no longer recall most of the details of the module, but what I distinctly remember is the moment when I realized that there was no way for the PCs to actually learn any of the cool lore and background.

In practical terms, look at the background you’ve developed for your scenario: If there are big chunks of it which are not expressed in a way which will allow the players to organically learn about it, figure out how the elements of the background can be made manifest in the form of nonessential mysteries. Not only is this obviously more interesting for the players, but actually pulling that back story into the game will give the scenario true depth and interest.

If you put in the work, you win twice over. And then your players win, too.

Everybody wins.

Next: The Two Types of Leads

This article has been revised from Running the Campaign: Unsolved Mysteries.

Go to Part 1

The noir detective, stymied in his investigation, returns to the scene of the crime. He paces slowly, lost in his thoughts. He must have missed something here. Some vital clue. But what could it be?

The PCs have been eating at Norma’s Diner every day since they came to the sleepy town of Everglade, gathering there every evening to compare their notes and brainstorm what their next steps should be. But then they discover evidence that corpses are being shipped from the county hospital to the basement of the diner. What exactly has Norma been cooking up this whole time?

This dynamic is a staple of the mystery genre. Another common variant is when a spy publicly approaches a target during daylight hours, socializes with the bad guys (or their staff) for a bit, and then comes back later after everybody has gone home to conduct a more thorough investigation. (James Bond does this in almost every film, for example.)

Structurally, at the game table, we’re talking about a situation where the PCs go to a node — a person, place, organization, event, etc. — and fail to find all (or possibly any) of the clues. Then, later, they return and discover what they missed.

This might occur for purely practical reasons: The PCs’ investigation has stalled out and they need more info, so they have no choice but to double back and try to figure out what they missed.

But it can also be played for dramatic effect: What seemed innocent is revealed to be sinister. The twist villain reveals themselves. The irony of discovering that you were standing on top of Captain Adachi’s treasure the whole time.

If you’re using node-based scenario design in concert with the Three Clue Rule, this will often occur organically: The PCs don’t realize that a clue means they need to look UNDER the apartment building, so they stake it out for a bit, come up empty, and decide to pursue other leads. Then, later, they find a new clue, realize their mistake, and rush back to the apartment building for some clandestine excavation.

In this sense, it’s kind of like red herrings: You don’t need to prep this dynamic; it will just emerge during play. It’s just a natural consequence of missing or misinterpreting clues, and we know the PCs will do that (which is why we’re using the Three Clue Rule in the first place).

But you can also prep some variants of this dynamic deliberately.

For an easy example, the PCs may visit a location for reasons that aren’t investigatory — their friend invites them; they have a seemingly unrelated appointment; etc. — and then later clues point them back to the earlier location with investigation on their minds.

More complex versions may have one set of clues which point the PCs to a node and then another set of clues that they’ll likely encounter later in the scenario that will point them to a completely different aspect of the node. For example, they find clues suggesting that they need to talk to Miles Duverney, who lives in the penthouse of Central Park Tower. They question him there and then continue their investigation… only later discovering the clues that reveal a secret satanic temple was built beneath the building.

In either case, you need to be mentally prepared for a clever or insightful party to make an intuitive leap that uncovers the “hidden” aspect of the node they first time they explore it. (“Wait a minute… Why did Duverney help design Central Park Tower? I’m going to go check out the architectural plans on file with the Department of Buildings.”)

JUST ONE MORE THING…

This is a dynamic that the GUMSHOE system, used in RPGs like Trail of Cthulhu and Esoterrorists, actually struggles with because the PCs in that system are supposed to automatically find every clue in every scene. As a result, it can’t emerge organically and instead has to be arbitrarily forced by the GM.

GUMSHOE recognizes it has a problem, however, and attempts to rectify it through another structure which can be conceptually useful in a wide variety of investigation games: leveraged clues.

A very common form of the “revisit a node and learn new information” dynamic is questioning suspects: It’s bog standard for a detective to talk to a suspect (or witness) early in their investigation and then question them again later and gain new information.

But in GUMSHOE, this doesn’t work because you’re supposed to get all the information an NPC has when you talk to them! Rather than having all of the social dynamics of a mystery story flatten out, therefore, GUMSHOE patches over the issue with the leveraged clue: In order to get certain clues from an NPC, you first need to obtain a different clue — the prerequisite or leverage clue — and then invoke it while talking to the NPC.

Columbo, for example, is basically this conceit injected with steroids and then turned into a procedural formula where every episode is just him repeatedly re-engaging with the same NPC node, but with new leveraged clues each time.

And, as Columbo demonstrates, this concept can be quite useful for organizing dynamic NPC interactions that evolve over the course of a scenario.

FAILING SCENARIOS

In some cases, however, the PCs revisiting nodes they’ve already investigated can be a sign that the scenario has gone awry: They’ve missed enough clues that they don’t know what to do next, and so they’re being forced to retrace their steps and try to dig up clues

Most of the time, though, this is still just fine: The players have already identified the problem and are taking action that will likely solve it. (Unless, of course, they’re still missing all the clues for the same reason they missed them the first time through — e.g., they just aren’t thinking to check the cult members’ computers and that’s where all the information they need is.)

What’s more problematic is when the players have become stuck and aren’t going back to find the clues they missed.

When this happens, one technique described in Three Clue Rule for getting the scenario back on track is to use a proactive node to give the PCs a new clue. This might be a clue directly pointing them to a revelation they need, but it could also be a clue pointing them back to a node where they’ve been but missed a clue at.

Note that it’s not enough to just point them back at the node. (This can be too easily dismissed with, “Well, we’ve already been there and didn’t find anything.”) Instead, the new clue must specifically indicate how they’re supposed to investigate the node in order to find the clue they missed (e.g., “the note in his pocket is written on Linustech stationary and appears to be the user name and password for System 42” or they get a phone call from an informant who tells them to “follow the money”).

WHILE YOU WERE GONE

Another variant of this technique is when the PCs return to a former node and discover that it has changed in the interim: The apartment has been ransacked. The NPC has been murdered. The laundromat has burned down.

This can create all-new clues for the PCs to find, or make the clues they previously missed more obvious.

Personally, I wouldn’t spend a lot of time prepping this type of thing ahead of time unless there’s a separate set of clues specifically indicating that the PCs should revisit a location. (Or if there’s some other structural reason for them to do so.) But if a mystery scenario has derailed, the players are feeling lost, and they double back to a location they’ve already been, improvising such changes in order to get them back on track is a solid option.

Next: Enigma

Thanks to the members of the Alexandrian Discord, particularly bobamk and Alberek, for suggesting and inspiring this article.

I have an article printed in Bayt Al Azif #5: “The Three Clue Rule!”

“Now wait a minute,” you say. “I’m familiar with the Three Clue Rule. In fact, I can read that article right here on the Alexandrian!”

That’s true!

But this particular version of “The Three Clue Rule” has been revised and rewritten. The original version of the essay was written in 2008. In fact, today is the 15th Anniversary of the Three Clue Rule! There are people reading this today who weren’t even born when the Three Clue Rule was published.  I’ve learned a lot in the last fifteen years and I wanted to bring the “Three Clue Rule” into accord with that. (For example, the terms “node-based scenario design” and “scenario structure” didn’t even exist yet in 2008.)

Now, to be perfectly honest, if you’re already a long-time fan of the Alexandrian, this new-and-improved version of “The Three Clue Rule” probably isn’t a good enough reason to grab a copy of Bayt Al Azif #5 all by itself. The new tools I’ve incorporated into the article are things you can also find lurking around on the site.

But Bayt Al Azif is just a fantastic magazine for Cthulhu roleplaying, so it’s worth checking out regardless! Issue #5, for example, includes:

• Interviews with John Tynes, Shanna Germain, and Sean K. Reynolds
• “Die Not Gloriously,” a Trojan War scenario by Rina Haenze
• “The Human Element,” a look at good starter scenarios by Lisa Padol
• “Dead Man’s Chest,” a Golden Age of Piracy scenario by Stefan Droste
• Shannon Appelcline’s “Designs & Dragons Next: Arc Dream Publishing 2007-Present”

And more!

The core structure of a mystery is not the absence of knowledge (as one might first assume), it is the acquisition of knowledge: It’s the detective finding the murder weapon. It’s the sleuth following the werewolf’s footprints. It’s the kid on the bike spotting the guys in Hawaiian shirts loading packages into an unmarked van.

So if that’s the case, why is the failure to find a clue so vital for a rich and engaging mystery scenario?

This can actually be a controversial statement, so let’s back up for a moment. If you go poking around the RPG meme-sphere, you’ll find all kinds of advice telling you that allowing the PCs to fail to find a clue in a mystery scenario is a sin somewhere on par with murdering a nun.

Much, but not all, of this advice is the result of running fragile scenarios in which Clue A leads to Clue B leads to Clue C in a breadcrumb trail that completely collapses the moment a single clue is missed. This isn’t good either, of course, and techniques like the Three Clue Rule can be used to build more robust scenarios where missing a clue doesn’t become apocalyptic.

Far more important than simply being able to miss a clue, however, is for the investigators to go looking for a clue and not find it because it doesn’t exist.

You can think of this a little bit like the scientific method: As the PCs investigate a mystery, they will form hypotheses and will then test those hypotheses to see if they’re true. (“If it’s a werewolf, then the attacks will only have happened during the full moon.” or “If the murderer came in through the window, then they would have left tracks in the mud outside.”) Null results are an essential part of that problem-solving process because it allows the PCs to discard false conclusions and refine their hypotheses (which can, of course, be tested through further investigation).

You can experience analogous problem-solving when working on a crossword puzzle, for example. Your read a clue, reach a conclusion about what the word might be, and then test it against the grid. If it doesn’t work, then you have to think about other possible solutions; or combine the clue with other information (e.g., letters crossing the answer) to figure out the answer. Sometimes you’ll think you have the right answer, but then later discover (due to crossing clues) that you were wrong.

You may have encountered techniques like these:

• Improvising a clue so that the PCs find a clue, no matter what method of investigation they used.
• Altering the solution of the mystery to match whatever theory the players come up with.
• Auto-finding all clues (so that the players can have complete surety that they didn’t miss anything).

These all remove texture from a mystery scenario by damaging or completely removing the feedback between creating and testing hypotheses: It can be a pleasant pastime to fill in a crossword grid with words you choose at random, but it’s not actually the same thing as solving a crossword puzzle.

It should be noted that these techniques can be quite popular, however, so I have no doubt that many hackles have been raised reading this.

So, to be clear, these are not intrinsically bad techniques, per se. In fact, they are often successful in redressing the problem they’re designed to solve, and it’s far better to have, for example, a shallow scenario than a broken one. It’s also quite possible for these techniques to be moderated or modified to good effect. For example, Brindlewood Bay is a storytelling game designed entirely around the players inventing the solution to the murder, succeeding because (a) it explicitly replaces the joy of solving mysteries with the thrill of creating them and (b) it mechanically enforces null results in the form of failed theories, forcing the players to create anew. Similarly, permissive clue-finding is a form of improvising clues, but with the important proviso that you’re doing so in a way consistent with the solution.

To return to the point: You don’t need to choose between shallow mysteries and broken ones. There are methods for creating robust mysteries that will preserve and even enrich the depth of the scenario.

Next: Returning to the Scene of the Crime

RUNNING MYSTERIES
The Null Result
Returning to the Scene of the Crime
Enigma
The Two Types of Leads
Hints
Proactive Nodes
Background Revelations